‘There is a time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance’ [Ecclesiastes 3:4]
It is probably fair to say that, over the years, I have written more about how life can sometimes be difficult and not infrequently sad, than I have of how life can, on occasions, be all that you want it to be and, therefore, often gloriously happy. And so, in order to redress the balance a little, I thought I’d write about a wedding that I went to recently.
Because it was a hugely happy day.
Now you might be expecting me to say something about how it was lovely to see a young man and a young woman coming together in marriage and pledging to love one another till death does them part. But I’m not. Because, whilst it was indeed lovely to see them standing at the front of the church and making their solemn vows, this isn’t what I want to focus on. Nor do I want to dwell too much on the moving address given by the preacher who, taking verses from Philippians Chapter 2* as his text, spoke of how a successful marriage comes about by humbling oneself, and, like Jesus, considering the needs of others above those of your own. And neither do I want to ramble on about the fine old hymns that were sung during which, sentimental old fool that I am, I found myself totally unable to hold back happy tears.
Instead I want to say something about what happened later, after the religious bit was over.
And no, I’m not going to wax lyrical about the food, delicious though it was. Nor the three amusing yet touching speeches given in traditional fashion by the father of the bride, the groom and the best man – all of whom stressed how important Christ is to both halves of the newly wedded and now exceedingly happy couple.
So, having put all that to one side, what I do want to tell you about is the dancing – and, in particular, that which took place after the cèilidh when the village hall where the reception was held was packed with people moving their bodies to the tracks of a suitably upbeat playlist, played via somebody’s mobile phone, through a highly effective set of speakers.
Now anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t do D.I.S.C.O. dancing. This is for two reasons. Firstly I am far too self-conscious to venture out in even the most subdued lighting conditions, and secondly, even were I able to miraculously overcome my genetic disinclination to boogie, the stuff that I would endeavour to strut would not be considered by anyone to be even remotely funky. And so on such occasions, I prefer instead to stay safely on the sidelines. lurking in the shadows, forlornly staring into a half empty pint glass all the while musing how wonderful it would be if I too were somehow able to enjoy myself in the way that so many other people can.
But such moroseness was not what I felt on this occasion – on the contrary, I felt happy too. And this despite the fact that I have never in all my born days seen anyone dance as joyously as the bride and groom did that night. My abiding memory of the evening was the moment when, with her arms tightly clasped round her new husband’s neck, the bride bent her knees, lifted her legs off the ground and, with a smile as big as anyone could ever wish for, allowed herself to be swung around and around, every bit as energetically as the music that all the while played on.
It was a truly beautiful moment – one that got me thinking that perhaps the religious part of the wedding day hadn’t ended as the couple walked down the aisle and out into the churchyard, nine hours earlier.
Because, I thought, this was perhaps a moment of religious significance too.
And here’s why.
In the Bible, Jesus is sometimes referred to as a groom and the church is sometimes referred to as his bride. As such, one very important part of Christian marriage relates to how it is meant to reflect the relationship that exists between Christ and his church. Thus it is that when a Christian man and Christian woman come together in holy matrimony, they enter a partnership that is supposed to be life long**, one in which they are meant to be as inseparable as Christians are from the love of Christ.
That love relationship is then sealed; first by the giving of a ring, the external sign or an internal reality, much like baptism; and later by making love, the spiritual as well as physical act by which the newly wedded couple complete one another as the two become one flesh – an act which itself mirrors the union that Christians have with Christ and which is experienced, most profoundly perhaps, in the spiritual as well as physical act of receiving Holy Communion.
But the parallels don’t end there – they continue on throughout a couples married life. For just as Jesus laid down his life for the church, a Christian husband should be prepared to lay down his life for his wife and, just as the church should remain faithful to Christ, so too should a Christian wife remain faithful to her husband.
God’s love is both patient and kind, it neither envies or boasts, it is not arrogant or rude. It bears all things, hopes all things, and endures all things – even death on a cross. And not only does God’s love never fail, neither will it come to an end. And so, as recipients of such love, we find ourselves rejoicing with a joy that is even greater than that which I witnessed on the dance floor, a joy so overwhelming that words can’t be found to describe it, a joy that is, quite literally, inexpressible.
The Bible goes on to speak of how when Jesus returns, it will be like a wedding day, a day when Christ is fully united with his then perfect bride. And, we’re told, the ensuing party will be like that of a wedding supper, a reception where the exuberant celebrations will be more joyous than any that have ever taken place before.
That really will be a time to dance.
And this is what I was reminded of as I witnessed the joy that was so evident on the faces of, not only the bride and groom, but all who danced alongside them, And I was left looking forward to that great day, longing all the more to experience that greater joy which I believe will one day be mine.
But if my joy is to be complete, I need to cast aside my metaphorical pint glass and lose my self-consciousness. For it is only by being prepared to look a fool, that I will be able to look forward to the fullness of joy that will characterise that most happy of occasions. By which I mean that, in order to be confident of a place at those heavenly celebrations, I need to give up my foolish pride that likes to imagine that I’m somebody of note, somebody who might, perhaps, look good on the dance floor, and, recognising my weakness, cling instead to the one who saved me despite my falling woefully short of the person I am meant to be. That is, I need to cling to Jesus, the one who both clings to me and loves me, not because I am lovely, but because He himself is loving.
Only then, confident of the forgiveness won for me on the cross, can I be sure of being in God’s presence, a place where, as well as fullness of joy, there are, we are promised pleasures forevermore as well.
That for me is something worth looking forward to. I, for one, want to be in that number when the saints go dancing in. I long to be at that heavenly wedding reception – and I hope, one day, to see you there too.
And so I wonder, have you heard your invitation?
‘There is no God in heaven There is no hell below So says the great professor of all there is to know But I’ve had the invitation that a sinner can’t refuse It’s almost like salvation It’s almost like the blues’
[Almost like the Blues – Leonard Cohen’]
*Philippians 2:1-13
‘So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.’
**I appreciate, of course, that this is not always the case. No marriage, including my own, is perfect, and some, sadly, do fail. But when they do, there is always grace available for those in need of forgiveness – and that is the case for me who is need of it as much as anyone. Even so, for the reasons given above, marriages are supposed to last a lifetime, they are meant to point us to Christ, and really are designed to be ‘happy ever after’.
A man enters a shop, in the corner of which an accordionist is inexplicably playing ‘I am a Cider Drinker’. Several members of the Nempnett Thrubwell Young Farmers Club are also present. Dressed in the traditional attire of the Morris dancer they are waving their handkerchiefs and sticks in the air. The man, who is the chair of the selectors [CS] for the Somerset cricket team, approaches the counter behind which stands a shop keeper [SK].
CS: Good morning
SK: Morning, sir. Welcome to the Somerset Cricket Players Emporium.
CS: Thank you my good man.
SK: What can I do for you sir?
CS: Well I was sitting in the top tier of the Marcus Trescothick Pavillon, skimming through the latest edition of Wisden when suddenly I came over all perturbed.
SK: Perturbed, sir?
CS: Discomfited
SK: Eh?
CS: Aye, I was roight worried loike.
SK: Ah, worried.
CS: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, I’ll ease my anxious rumination as to how I might make up a full team of players for Somerset’s next outing in the Metro Bank One Day Cup by visiting your establishment. So I curtailed my scrutinisation of the aforementioned Almanack, executed a quick single and and took up my guard in your place of purveyance to enquire upon the availability of a individual distinguished in the art of either batting or bowling.
SK: Come again?
CS: I want a player for an upcoming cricket fixture.
SK: Oh, I thought you were moaning about the accordion player.
CS: Oh, heaven forbid, I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Adge Cutler benefaction.
SK: Sorry?
CS: Ooh ah, I loike the Wurzels my lover!
SK: So he can go on playing, can he?
CS: Most certainly, now then, a cricketer my good man.
SK: Certainly, sir, who would you like?
CS: Well, how about a Tom Banton.
SK: I’m afraid we’re fresh out of Tom Banton, sir
CS: Oh, never mind, how are you on Riley Meredith?
SK: Not at this point of the season sir, he may be available in later.
CS: Tish tish, no matter, well stout yeoman, a full portion of Tom Lammonby if you please.
SK: He’s been on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting him to be made available this morning.
CS: T’s not my lucky day, is it, aah, Roelof van der Merwe?
SK: Sorry sir.
CS: Lewis Gregory?
SK: Normally, sir, yes. Today, though, no.
CS: Ah, Tom Kohler-Cadmore?
SK: Sorry.
CS: Shoaib Bashir?
SK: No
CS: Craig Overton? Ben Green?
SK: No.
CS: Will Smeed perhaps?
SK: Ah we do have Will Smeed, yes, sir.
CS: You do? Excellent.
SK: Yes sir, he’s ah, not entirely match fit.
CS: I’ll be happy if he has two legs and a willing spirit.
SK: Well, ah, he is rather a long way from being fully fit actually.
CS: No matter, fetch hither the opener with the bulging biceps brachiosaurus, mwah.
SK: I think he’s more unfit than you’ll like, sir
CS: I don’t care how unfit he is, hand him over with all speed.
SK: Oh!
CS: What now?
SK: He’s suffered a hamstring injury and is unfit to play.
CS: Has he?
SK: Yes, sir.
CS: Jake Ball?
SK: No.
CS: You do have some Somerset cricket players, do you?
SK: Of course, sir, it’s a Somerset cricket player shop, sir. We’ve got…
CS: No, no, don’t tell me, I’m keen to guess.
SK: Fair enough,
CS: Alfie Ogbourne?
SK: Yes.
CS: Ah well, I’ll have him.
SK: Oh I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mr Alfred Ogbourne, that’s my name.
CS: Sonny Baker?
SK: No.
CS: Aah, how about Matt Renshaw?
SK: We’ll, we don’t get much call for him around here sir. Not these days.
CS: Not much call, he’s been a popular overseas player for Somerset for some seasons now.
SK: That’s as maybe sir. But he’s sadly returned now to Australia. So he’s no longer available – not round these parts at least.
CS: Tell me then. Who is the most sought after player round these parts?
SK: Tom Abell.
CS: Is he?
SK: Oh, yes, he’s staggeringly popular in this neck of the woods.
CS: Is he?
SK: He’s our number one most reliable player
CS: I see, Tom Abell, eh?
SK: That’s right, sir.
CS: All right, okay, ‘Have you got him?’ he asked, expecting the answer ‘No’.
SK: I’ll have a look, sir…[the shopkeeper has a good look round]…um, No.
CS: It’s not much of a Somerset Player shop is it.
SK: Finest in the district.
CS: Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please
SK: We’ll it’s so clean.
CS: It’s certainly uncontaminated by Somerset players.
SK: You haven’t asked me about Migael Pretoria’s, sir
CS: Is it worth it?
SK: Could be
CS: Have you Migael Pretorius?
SK: No, he’s done so well this season that he’s been called up for the Proteas test team. Back home in South Africa now I’m afraid.
CS: That figures, predictable really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me?
SK: Yes, sir
CS: Have you, in fact, got any Somerset players here at all?
SK: Yes sir.
CS: Really?
SK: No, not really, sir.
CS: You haven’t?
SK: No sir, not a single one. As well as a couple of players on international duties and an injury, it’s the consequence of so many players being drafted to The Hundred, sir – eleven at last count.
CS: Well, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to complain about the state of county cricket.
SK: Ah, yes, county cricket… What’s wrong with it.
CS: I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. It’s dead. That’s what’s wrong with it
SK: No, no, sir…it’s resting.
CS: Resting? Then why is red ball cricket being sidelined to that part of the year when the weather is at its least agreeable for playing the summer game? And why has the much loved one day competition been downgraded to a development competition to make way for a dumb-downed and wholly unnecessary second competition in the shortest format of the game?
SK: Ah, that’s to ensure a ‘strong, high performing, domestic game the fans will love’.
CS: A domestic game the fans will love?! The domestic game is no more. It has ceased to be. It’s expired and gone to meet its maker. It’s bereft of life, it’s kicked the bucket, it’s shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible. It is now an ex domestic season.
SK: Sir?
CS: What is it?
SK: We appeared to have slipped into a different sketch
CS: So we have. I’m sorry.
[The chairman of selectors turns, tells the accordionist to stop playing and, with head bowed low, leaves the shop. Behind him the shopkeeper opens the iPlayer app on his phone and out of curiosity starts watching coverage of The Hundred.]
SK: What a senseless waste of human life.
With apologies to life long Somerset supporter John Cleese and all the other members of Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
This is the second updated version of a blog first posted in 2022 and is meant only to highlight the adverse effect of ‘The Hundred’ on what was once a highlight of the domestic cricket season – namely the one day cup. It is in no way meant to criticise those players taking part in ‘The Hundred’ or indeed undermine the efforts of those who remain available to play for Somerset.
And for any unfamiliar with Monty Python’s original, you can view it here
Other ‘The Hundred’ related blogs
To read ‘Is Cricket Amusing Itself to Death’, click here
After recording a highly acclaimed debut album, musicians sometimes struggle to come up with what is often described as ‘the difficult second album”. I don’t know whether something similar is true for writers, but it’s clear that Dr Lucy Pollock has overcome any such difficulties and has followed up “The Book About Getting Older’ with another 18 chapters of outstanding writing, which, whilst they are neither sing along-able to or toe-tapping are nonetheless both thought provoking and engaging, and every bit as enjoyable and enriching as those in her first book.
‘The Golden Rule’, subtitled ‘Lessons in living from a doctor of ageing’, reads like the resumption of a conversation with an old friend, a friend who cares deeply about what she is talking about and whose evident wisdom is the result of years of experience working as a consultant in geriatric medicine.
But whilst this is an easy book to read, it doesn’t shy away from areas that are often difficult to talk about. Subjects like growing old without children and, equally hard perhaps, approaching death with children who, for whatever reason, still need looking after. And there is, of course, a chapter that discusses death and dying itself, and, in so doing, importantly encourages us to discuss them too, urging us to be realistic about the inevitability of death without ever underestimating the value of those who live to advanced old age. As with her previous book, Dr Pollock writes movingly about real case histories and, for me at least, most movingly of all about Henry, whose wife Iris is left feeling guilty for loving her husband enough not to want to unduly prolong his life. I don’t mind admitting that, on reading her account, I was left close to tears.
I found myself similarly affected when reading of real life examples where those who, manifesting their prejudices, had genuinely detrimental effects on those to whom those prejudices were directed. Such discriminatory language and behaviour will, sadly, no doubt continue, but this book, as well as calling out such unacceptable attitudes, will, I hope, go some way in reducing the ageism that is still all to apparent in a world where, rather than celebrating all that the elderly bring to our communities, far too often consider them nothing but a burden on society.
‘The Golden Rule’ is a very honest book. As well as describing some of the sadnesses that she herself has experienced in her own life – doctors are human too – Dr Pollock also writes about some of the sadness she has felt when she herself has made mistakes. ‘Kind and lovely can still be wrong’, she says. Even so, when medicine does fail, far better that the inevitable fallibility of even the finest clinicians is accompanied with compassion and understanding rather than an arrogant disregard for those who they are supposedly looking after. ‘Do as you would be done by’ is, after all, the golden rule.
But there are, perhaps, other rules that Dr Pollock suggests that we should not so slavishly seek to adhere to. And here we aren’t just talking about the inappropriate blanket application of guidelines to individuals, each of whom, having differing needs, therefore require differing management plans. In chapters that review both what went well and what went badly wrong during the COVID-19 pandemic, Dr Pollock reflects how decisions taken based on blind adherence to the rules without the necessary thoughtful consideration of the real, rather than imagined, risks involved in following them, all too often did more harm than good by isolating the already lonely and adding to their unhappiness. Here, as in other areas, we are urged to consider what matter’s most to those being cared for – and allow the answers we receive to guide our actions as we go about trying to help.
Other chapters addressed by Dr Pollock are the effectiveness of resuscitation attempts in sick, elderly patients, the value of social prescribing, and how the breaking of bad news can be done most effectively. Also covered is the uncertainty that, as well as being a part of all our lives, is very much a part of all our deaths. Because not even death comes when we might expect it.
Tucked away somewhere in the middle of ‘The Golden Rule’, there’s a throwaway remark that suggests that Dr Pollock drives ‘a clapped out car’ for which she is ‘perversely fond’. Somehow I’m not surprised. Because, what is abundantly apparent from reading her book is her immense fondness for folk who, though she would never be so insensitive as to describe them as ‘clapped out’, are, nonetheless, at least a little past the best. And equally apparent is the fact that her fondness for them, far from being perverse, is nothing other than wonderfully appropriate.
And this, at heart, is what this wonderful book is all about. That, at a time when medicine is in danger of becoming ever more impersonal, we maintain a deep and abiding sense of what it is to be human and remember that, irrespective of our age, we all need to be listened to and understood in order that we can then be cared for rather than merely managed.
To read a review of Dr Pollock’s first book. ‘The Book About Getting Older’ click here, and to read ‘Paddington and the Ailing Elderly Relative’ in which Dr Pollock, or somebody very like her, makes a cameo appearance, click here
Other blogs related to ageing:
To read ‘On approaching one’s sell by date’, click here
To read, ‘Vaccinating to remain susceptible’, click here
When it comes to giving a testimony, there are some that begin with the now, seemingly squeaky clean speaker, describing how they were once the most evil person on the planet. Well, rest assured, I won’t be trying to make out that I’m squeaky clean but, when it comes to my past, what I once got up to might be something that genuinely shocks.
Because, you see, up until about seven months ago I was…and it’s hard for me to say this…
…a GP.
My reluctance to admit this is, of course, feigned, and done so with my tongue very firmly in my cheek, but it reflects the fact that GPs are once again being portrayed as public enemy number one – as those who are responsible for much of what is wrong with the NHS.
But, having worked as a family doctor for 27 years, I know that the truth is very different. I know how hard my colleagues worked and, no doubt, have continued to work since I retired from medicine in November of last year.
Throughout the happy years I worked at East Quay Medical Centre, in Bridgwater, Somerset, there were many funny incidents.
One of my favourites happened some years ago on a day that began with me performing a minor op. As I was administering the local anaesthetic. the syringe came off the needle and I ended up spraying a little of the anaesthetic into the eye of Doreen, the HCA who was assisting me at the time.
Happily the procedure continued without further incident but, an hour or so later, I was calling another patient from the waiting room when, out of sight of everyone else, Doreen saw me and started pretending to have a problem with her vision. There she was, winking and grimacing at me in an exaggerated fashion, just like some latter day pirate.
‘Who do you think you are?’ I asked, loudly enough for everyone in the waiting room to hear, ‘Long John Silver?’
At which point the patient I’d just called, reached me…complete with his false leg and a very pronounced limp.
Fortunately he saw the funny side!
But not everything that takes place in a GP surgery is as amusing. Sadly my one legged patient, and his wife who accompanied him that day, have both now died. And there were many other patients who suffered terribly, many of whom I was not able to help as much as I would have liked.
Over the years I have on occasions been asked how being a Christian affected my day to day work. But before I say a little about that, can I just be clear on a few things.
Being a Christian didn’t make me more caring than my non-Christian colleagues. Hopefully it made me more caring than I myself would otherwise have been, but Christians have no right to think that they are more caring than non-Christians.
Neither should it be considered that the ethical positions I took on matters such as termination or pregnancy or active euthanasia are ones that are taken only by those who profess a Christian faith. Many non-Christians hold the same position on these matters as I do.
And finally, being a doctor and a Christian didn’t furnish me with better medical treatments than my non-Christian colleagues – antibiotics prescribed by me didn’t work any better than those that were prescribed by my colleagues – though my handwriting, more legible than some, may have meant that my prescriptions were a little easier to read!
As such, whether or not you’re a Christian, you should want to be treated by a competent doctor, not a Christian one – though I like to think that the two aren’t mutually exclusive!
And so to those situations where my being a Christian did affect my work. For the most part they related to matters that, whilst presented as a medical problem, medicine had little or nothing to offer – areas in which, blindly putting one’s faith in medicine, was not only unjustified, but also potentially harmful.
Because whilst there is much that medicine can offer the patient who suffers from depression, it has nothing to offer the person who is simply unhappy. Whilst there is much that medicine can offer the patient who suffers from anxiety, it has nothing to offer the person who is merely anxious. And whilst there is much that medicine can offer the patient who is suffering from symptoms as they approach death, it has nothing to offer the person who is actually about to die.
But in all these situations I had the opportunity, privilege and joy of being able to say something very different to what my non-Christian colleagues were able to say. Because I could point my patients away from themselves, to something bigger and better – namely the objective truth of the glory of God and the wonderful hope that is found in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Let me explain – take unhappiness for example.
I saw many unhappy patients with low self-esteem and a catalogue of problems which I was powerless to do anything about. I could of course listen and empathise, and I trust that that was at least a little helpful, but, still I would be left wondering, what would really make a difference?
So, stuck with anything to suggest, I would sometimes ask this question ‘What do you want from life?’
And the reply that almost always came back was, ‘I just want to be happy’.
But of course I knew that – everyone wants to be happy.
So the next question became ‘What is it that makes you happy?’
And that is where many people came unstuck – because it was often the case for those who sat in my room, that all the traditional answers to that question – family, status, relationships, possessions – had manifestly failed to bring about the happiness they desired.
And so I would ask another question:
‘Have you ever climbed to the top of a mountain and admired the view, or looked up into the night sky and been amazed by the stars? Have you ever stood on the coast when the waves were crashing against the rocks or marvelled at a particularly beautiful sunrise or sunset? And when you have been in such a place, have you ever thought, “I could stay here and enjoy that view forever”?’
Most people I asked this question readily agreed that they had. At that moment they had felt happy, satisfied – not because of who they were or what they had, but because of what it was that they were experiencing. That is, they were standing on the edge of greatness and felt satisfied simply by being able to witness that greatness.
And so my advice to my unhappy patients was to look outside of themselves for that which is truly great?
My patients wanted to be happy. I wanted them to be happy too – infinitely and eternally happy. And for that, I believe, they needed, not high self-esteem but to esteem highly the infinitely and eternally great.
Now ideally I don’t want to be merely 50% or 75% happy – if it’s possible I want to be 100% happy. Likewise, I don’t want to be wholly happy for just one day – for one month, one year or even one lifetime. Given the chance I want to be 100% happy for all eternity.
And that’s why I’m excited by Psalm 16:11 which tells me that
‘In God’s presence there is fullness of joy, at his right hand there are pleasures for evermore.’
Sounds good doesn’t it? Well, that’s because it is!
And don’t make the mistake of thinking that all this pursuit of pleasure is just another form of self-gratification – because it’s not! On the contrary, to delight in God is to give him glory for the soul satisfying deity that he is. To dutifully obey God, and only begrudgingly give him praise, serves only to minimise his worth whilst at the same time suggesting that it is we who should be admired for our efforts to please him.
I am indebted to John Piper for this illustration. Imagine it’s my wedding anniversary. I come home from work and rather than simply entering my home, I ring the doorbell instead. And when my wife opens the door, I pull out a bunch of red roses. My wife is delighted and says ‘Oh Pete – why did you’?.
And I answer, ‘Because it’s my duty!’
Such a response is unlikely to please my wife! For it suggests that it is me who should be admired for so diligently pandering to my seemingly needy wife.
So let’s try again.
Once again I arrive home and ring the doorbell. Once again my wife opens the door and when I present her with the roses, she once again says, ‘Oh Pete, why did you?’
But this time, I answer, ‘Because I couldn’t help myself! Go and get changed, I’m taking you out for dinner. Because nothing gives me greater pleasure than my being with you!’
My wife would like that. Admittedly she’d be surprised and probably just a little suspicious but, leaving such considerations aside, she wouldn’t think that my actions were selfish, that my only motivation was only to do what would give me pleasure. Because to delight in my wife is to honour her, not me.
And so it is with God. Delighting in him, honours him. By delighting in him, we give him praise.
But none of this is meant to suggest that, for Christians, sadness is a thing of the past. On the contrary. But the hope of a better tomorrow changes how we feel about today.
Suppose, back when I worked as a GP, a patient came to see me with a really nasty chest infection. They feel horribly unwell and are seriously worried that they will never recover. But then I give them a prescription for some antibiotics and promise them that, if they take them, they will soon be restored to health.
Immediately they feel better – even though they aren’t
How could they be, they’ve not even picked up the prescription yet. But they nonetheless begin to feel better because they have believed my promise that better is what they will one day be.
Well God has made a promises too, one’s that can be depended upon far more reliably than any promise made by any doctor ever. Specifically God has promised a day when all our tears will be wiped away, a day when death will be no more [Revelation 21:4].
And because his promise is so certain, there is a sense in which ‘all is well’ even as our tears continue to flow and daily we are surrounded by death and disease.
‘Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning’, says the Psalmist. Such a certain hope can, I believe, sustain folk through even the darkest days. It does me.
But what about anxiety? Many people are anxious. Not in a pathological, abnormal, neurotransmitter kind of a way, but in the way that we are all when it comes to the things that concern us. For some the uncertainties are many and the associated anxiety high. They understandably want to know what tomorrow will bring and just how things will eventually work out.
But Medicine, of course, can’t tell them!
It was once suggested to me that anxiety was a form of arrogance. Now it’s important to appreciate that I am not saying that all anxiety is arrogant – if you’re tied to a railway line and, as the train approaches, you feel a little apprehensive, that’s not you being arrogant. On the contrary, that’s just you being normal. But the idea that some anxiety is a form of arrogance was one that helped me with the anxiety I sometimes experienced when working as a doctor.
The idea is that our anxiety is sometimes born out of the belief that it all depends on us. So for example, a patient comes to see me with a headache. After a careful examination, I conclude that there is no sinister underlying cause and offer appropriate reassurance. However, having parted company with my patient, it is quite possible that I would be left wondering ‘What if it was a brain tumour after all’ and then find myself anxiously fearing the consequences if, as a result of my making a mistake, there is a significant delay in diagnosis.
Now the guy who suggested to me that anxiety was arrogance, would at that point say to me.
‘Who do you think you are? You’re only a doctor.’
And of course he’d be right.
I was just a doctor and a pretty average one at that. I was not the best doctor in the world, nor was I the best doctor in my practice. Indeed, sometimes I wondered if I was the best doctor in my consulting room when it was only myself and my patient who were there!
And even if I had been the best physician on the planet, even then I would only be able to do what a doctor can do. And no doctor can diagnose a brain tumour in a patient who presents with a headache which has none of the characteristics of that more sinister underlying cause.
To think otherwise would indeed have been arrogant.
Now this does not absolve any of us from the responsibility of doing our best, but we all need to realise that our best may not be good enough. We have to come to terms with the fact that we do not control the future, we cannot solve everybody’s problems, that we are, inevitably, only human.
Or, to put it another way, we are not God.
But God, reassuringly, is!
So yes, we should do what we can, but at the same time we need to come to terms with the fact that we are weak. And we cannot hope to be anything but anxious if we insist on taking on the responsibility for everything that ever happens.
For that we need someone bigger than ourselves. Someone bigger, wiser, and stronger.
I believe that God is that someone – someone who is sovereign, who is in absolute control. Someone who is both all good and all powerful – someone who is, therefore, all we could ever wish for him to be.
Which is why the Bible is giving sound advice when it urges us to ‘cast all [our] anxieties on Him’. God is amply able to cope with all that we cannot. And, what’s more, he is pleased to do so too. Because, we are assured, ‘hecares for [us]’ [1 Peter 5:7]
So I would often encourage my patients to accept their limitations and acknowledge that they are not God. Because, rather than on themselves, the future ultimately depends on the one in whom we can all confidently put our trust.
Guilt is another problem that was often presented to me by patients. Sometimes, of course, that guilt was an irrational guilt and, in such circumstances I would try to help people see the irrationality of what it was they were feeling.
Now you don’t need any Christian faith for that – a bit of CBT will, for the most part, eventually sort such people out. But what about real guilt? What will help:
• the man who has built up enormous gambling debts that now threaten his family’s livelihood
• the women who drank heavily during her pregnancy and whose child now has learning difficulties
• the man who can’t get over the guilt he feels for the sexual crimes he committed many years previously.
What will help these people? Not CBT – their guilt can’t be rationalised away. Because they know that their guilt is real.
I had one patient who came to me because of the guilt she felt over the abortion she had maybe 20 years previously. I asked her why she felt guilty. Because it was wrong, she told me. ‘Says who?’ I asked. Her eyes looked heavenward.
What could I say to her? That she was mistaken? That I was sure it was for the best? That God didn’t mind? None of those answers would have helped her because…well because she wasn’t stupid.
Like all those others whom I mentioned earlier, she considered her guilt to be real.
As indeed, do I consider mine.
Medicine has nothing to say to the genuinely guilty. All the CBT or anti-depressants in the world won’t help them in the slightest.
Most people know they are not as good as their own publicity. We don’t live up to our own standards. I know I don’t. And if we care to think about it, if we don’t come up to our own standards, we surely don’t come up to the standards of a holy God.
We may endorse the so called ‘golden rule’ – to love our neighbour as ourself – the only problem being that we don’t even begin to come close to keeping that rule. And if you’re not convinced about that, take a look at ‘The Parable of the Good Samaritan’, and you’ll realise just how far short you fall!
Which means, if God is both good and just, then we have a huge problem – because a just God must punish our wrong actions – together with our wrong thoughts and our wrong words too. All my earlier enthusiasm for enjoying being in the presence of God comes to nothing if God is against us because we are guilty of wrong doing.
As I say medicine has nothing to offer such a patient. But the Christian gospel does. Only Christianity offers a solution to the problem of our guilt before a holy God. And so I would sometimes tell my patients the gospel. I’d say to them:
Think of it like this. You and Jesus have separate accounts – accounts that reflect how good you are. Only your account, like mine, is in terrible debt because of all your wrong doing – because of all your sins.
Jesus’ account, on the other hand, is overflowing with good deeds – for he lived a sinless, perfect life – the only sinless, perfect life that was ever lived. His was the only life that ever lived up to God’s standard.
Now the good news of the gospel is this. God takes your record of sin, and credits it to Jesus whilst, at the same time, taking Jesus’ perfect righteousness and crediting it to you.
And then, he punishes your sin by pouring out his wrath on Jesus. A willing sacrifice, Jesus acted as your substitute and died in your place, suffering the punishment that you deserved. As he hung on the cross, he was satisfying God’s justice. Your sin was atoned for, was dealt with, such that it no longer remains to be punished. What’s more, with Jesus’ righteousness credited to you, God can look on you as if you had lived the perfect life that only Jesus lived
That is very good news. That is the gospel!
And so, as forgiven people, we can now come into God’s presence – not fearful of his judgement against us, but in peace – able to marvel at him and enjoy him forever.
And so, when my patients came to me about their sense of guilt, I again encouraged them to look outside of themselves. Rather than imagining they could bring about their own rescue, I urged them to accept that they need to be rescued by somebody else.
That somebody is Jesus who, on the cross, has already done all that is necessary to bring about the rescue, not only my patient requires, but you and I require too. In this we can rejoice – that because of Jesus Christ we have already been wonderfully saved.
In short, we all need to stop trying to forgive ourselves but rather accept the forgiveness that is offered by God.
And so lastly a word about death.
Medicine can ease the pain of death and delay the time of death, but it cannot remove the inevitability of death. Christianity, however, can – since it assures us that death is not the end – that there is a resurrection to come. The Christian has a living hope, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, of an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled and unfading, kept in heaven for us. (1 Peter 1:3-4)
No matter our current difficulty.
Make no mistake though, death always brings sorrow – let’s not pretend that when a Christian dies, other Christians are nothing but overjoyed. Not at all. Even so, there is, for the Christian, hope and joy in God, even as we experience suffering and sadness.
And it is the gospel that is the cause of this hope and joy. Because of Jesus there is hope in the greatest difficulty – not because he’ll cure all our illnesses, resolve all our relationship difficulties, and ease all our financial concerns in this life – but because there’s more to life than merely our 70-80 years here on earth.
It’s not about us. It’s about God. We need to be content to allow him to be the hero of our story and the sooner we grasp this, the sooner we’ll be happy, the sooner we’ll be at ease with the world, and the sooner we’ll be at peace with God.
Which is all very well – but is all this talk of Jesus true. Because if it’s not, I’m just deluding myself, irrespective of how lovely the delusion might seem.
Well I believe the gospel is true. And not because of some gooey feeling that I experienced whilst a preacher was speaking to me at a vulnerable time in my life and emotive music was being played in the background.
Not at all!
My faith is based on an objective and external historic reality – namely the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Unlike any other religion, Christianity makes historical truth claims – claims that stand up to close scrutiny.
Because contrary to what many believe, faith is not a leap in the dark. Rather, faith, as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary, is belief based on evidence, testimony or authority. As such, my sure and certain hope that after death I will one day be resurrected and go on to experience endless pleasure in the presence of God [Psalm 16:11], far from being just wishful thinking on my part, is, in fact, an entirely rational belief based on compelling evidence for the historicity of the empty tomb, credible eye witness testimony of those who saw Jesus after he had been raised from the dead, and the authoritative word of the one who spoke the universe into existence.
Paul, writing in the New Testament, spoke of 500 people, who saw Jesus after the resurrection – many of whom were still alive at the time of writing. Essentially he was saying to his readers that if you don’t believe that Jesus rose from the dead, go and ask the eye witnesses who were still alive at the time and who could, therefore, continue to testify to the truth.
As such, you can believe in the resurrection as confidently as you can believe my story about the one legged patient that I told at the start of this blog. At present, you have only my word to go on, but you can nonetheless be confident that it really happened because I am an eyewitness to what really did take place all those years ago. And if you don’t believe me, go and ask Doreen, because though the patient has now died, Doreen is still very much alive!
Noted philosopher Anthony Flew was once asked how his notoriously atheistic beliefs would change if Jesus really had been raised from the dead. His answer was that if Jesus had been raised from the dead, that would change everything.
Shortly before his death Flew authored a book entitled ‘There is a God’. He had simply followed the compelling evidence and concluded that Jesus really had been raised from the dead.
And that, he realised, really had changed everything!
And so I now work for the Slavic Gospel Association, an organisation that supports the church in Eastern Europe and Central Asia and Far East Russia.
Why?
Well that’s another story, but suffice to say that, despite all the good that medicine can do, it cannot deliver the eternal life it seems to sometimes promise. Furthermore, I believe we all need a saviour more than a surgeon, Christ more than a cardiologist, and Jesus more than a GP.
And, I’m delighted to tell you, whilst GPs may be in short supply and, as a result, often hard to get hold of, Jesus is only ever a prayer a way.
Related posts:
To read ‘The Way Ahead – from EQMC to SGA‘, click here
To read ‘Lewis Capaldi – Retired Hurt: The Need for Kindness’
They say that politics and religion shouldn’t be discussed in polite company, in which case we had better hope that this isn’t polite company.
Because today is election day and we are once again being asked to choose our political leaders. Whilst some are understandably advocating for change and others are urging for caution, unsure of what that change may look like, there are others still who see very little difference between the political parties and feel unable to vote for any of them.
On their 1988 album, ‘Sunshine on Leith’, The Proclaimers asked the question, ‘What do you do when democracy fails you?’ Which seems a pertinent question, because, irrespective of which political party you’ll vote for today, it’s probably fair to say that democracy isn’t working terribly well for anyone just now.
Back in November 1947, Winston Churchill said:
‘Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all wise. Indeed it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time’.
To be frustrated with the limitations of democracy then is nothing new – we shouldn’t be surprised when democracy fails. But what should we do when it does?
First, perhaps, it would be wise to consider why it so frequently disappoints.
Firstly democracy will ultimately always fail because of the nature of the people who run for government – and the nature of those given the responsibility, and privilege, to vote.
Those who run for election aren’t omniscient. Politics is a complicated business and no politician can genuinely know what is best in all situations for all individuals. Furthermore, whilst I don’t doubt that most are in it for the right reasons, politicians aren’t devoid of selfish ambition and are, therefore, prone at times to promote themselves and their own ends in preference to what may be best for the country.
We who vote are no different. We are not infinitely wise either and can not appreciate what is always for the best. Like turkeys who, in the excited anticipation of a visit from Santa Claus, vote for Christmas, we too can be swayed by promises of short term gains without fully appreciating the long term consequences.
Like politicians, neither are we selfless.
Concerned for our own welfare, anxious about our future, and understandably longing to be sure that we’ll be looked after when we have need, we are prone to vote in ways that serve us best rather than the country as a whole.
This is not to suggest that we, or our politicians, are incapable of doing good – created in the image of God there is much that is admirable in the human condition. Even so, we are, at heart, all deeply flawed.
The one time Dean of King’s College London put it like this:
‘It is precisely when you consider the best in man that you see there is in each of us a hard core of pride or self centredness which corrupts our best achievements and blights our best experiences. It comes in all sorts of ways: in the jealousy which spoils our friendships, in the vanity we feel when we have done something pretty good, in the easy conversion of love into lust, in the meanness which makes us depreciate the efforts of other people, in the distortion of our own judgement by our own self-interest, in our fondness for flattery and our resentment of blame, in our self-asserted profession of fine ideals that we never begin to practice.’
A second reason that democracy fails is the inability of those in power to be sufficiently gracious to the less than perfect people like me that they govern.
At one end of the political spectrum there is the view that everyone is worthy and all have a right to the support of government. To one holding such a view, a question enquiring about the worst thing they had ever done* might be laughed off with a nod and a wink as if there was no such thing as wrongdoing, nothing at least for which one ought to be ashamed. But denying the existence of wrong, in either oneself or others, is both naive and ultimately precludes justice.
And considering everyone as deserving is not what grace is about.
At the other end of the political spectrum there is the view that only those who have been responsible enough should have the support of government. To one holding such a view a question enquiring about the worst thing they had ever done might be answered in such a way that makes it clear that at heart they consider themselves to be pretty good – they wouldn’t have done anything really bad, nothing worse, perhaps, than running through a field of wheat.
But imagining that one is fundamentally good is naive and leads to arrogance.
And only helping those who are sufficiently deserving isn’t what grace is about either.
Because grace is about being generous to those who are undeserving, to those who really do do bad things. It fully acknowledges the sinfulness of those it acts generously towards – but acts generously towards them just the same.
One can understand why a government might be anxious about embracing grace as a political ideal. Apart from anything else, to be genuinely gracious is impossible for those with finite resources. Nobody can possibly meet everybody’s needs – there has to be limits doesn’t there? After all, there isn’t a magic money tree.
So democracy fails because of human nature, a misunderstanding of the nature of grace and the lack of sufficient resources to act genuinely graciously even in the event of a government genuinely wanting to.
This is not to suggest that democracy should be abandoned, or that we should not be fully engaged in the democratic process. It is, after all, the best form of human government that we have. But even as we engage in it, we should, I think, recognise that it will, ultimately prove inadequate.
So what do you do then when democracy fails you?
Well perhaps we should look for an alternative form of government. A government led by a genuinely good ruler, who has a truly good heart and is wise enough to be trusted to govern well.
A government which has, at its helm, one who understands grace, is benevolent enough to want to act graciously and has the requisite infinite resources to do so.
A government that is led by God.
Now as you’ll probably have gathered, I am one of those peculiar people who consider themselves to be a Christian, one who recognises Jesus’ lordship, and seeks, all be it imperfectly, to submit to his benevolent rule. As such I consider myself, even now, to be part of his kingdom. Furthermore, when, as it surely will, Christ’s kingdom comes in all its fullness, I believe it will be one that will remain in place forever.
This is something that I consider to be very good news for, having read his manifesto, I know that he has promised to end all that troubles us today.
For there will be no need of a National Health Service when sickness and death are things of the past, neither will there be calls for better access to psychological therapies when every tear has been wiped away. Furthermore, those who worry about immigration will one day discover that God’s people hail from all four corners of the earth, and those who live under the threat of war will know real peace when nations beat their swords into ploughshares. And those who understandably worry about the current cost of living will come into the inheritance that even now is kept for them in heaven as, in Christ, they will know what it is to fully enjoy the immeasurable riches of God’s grace.
Admittedly, such undeserved kindness, can sound too good to be true. But true is what I believe it most certainly is.
Now there are those who are uncomfortable with the idea of grace and find it hard to be the recipient of unmerited favour. Some are too proud to allow themselves to be helped, not wanting to be left feeling indebted to another.
But God’s grace to us doesn’t create a debt – rather it pays one. We have only to be humble enough to accept the kindness that he is pleased to show us.
Now, not only can it be hard to receive grace, it can also be hard to see others treated graciously. Take for example the hoo-hah over the release of Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed al Megrahi – the Libyan man convicted of the Lockerbie bombing. Released on compassionate grounds as doctors believed he’d less than three months to live, the Scottish justice system was being gracious.
But many in 2009 criticised the decision – reacting angrily and asking where the justice was in such a move.
I wonder though, whether those who shouted so loud at the time, will be so eager for justice when they themselves stand before God and find that it is they who are on trial. Will they want justice then – or will they want grace?
I know what I will want on judgment day. I know what I will need. Grace! Because I will want, and need, to be treated better than I deserve.
And if, as I am declared “Not Guilty”, wholly on account of Christ’s work on my behalf, there are those who cry out, ‘Where is the justice?’, the answer I’ll give will be ‘On the cross at Calvary, where Jesus paid the price for all my crimes.’
For it was there, as my substitute, that he bore the punishment for my sin. It was there that God’s justice and mercy met so perfectly, thereby allowing me to counted righteous when righteous is what I so self evidently am not. It was there that God’s grace was most visibly on display.
There will of course be those who point to the triumphant homecoming of Megrahi to Libya as evidence that it is naive to act graciously. But however inappropriate the response of Megrahi was, it in no way alters the value of the Scottish government’s gracious act. Even so, it is worth saying that when a genuinely repentant sinner receives grace, their response is, not an arrogant, but a humble joy. They don’t mock the one who has shown them grace – rather they respond in love and praise for the one that has shown them such favour.
Which is how our response should be to the grace that we have received from God.
How wonderful then to have Him as the one who rules over us. How wonderful to have in power somebody who is both infinitely good and infinitely powerful – one who knows what is best and has the ability to bring it about. And how wonderful to have someone in control who is not only willing to be gracious but has the resources necessary to be able offer that grace – not just to some, but to absolutely everyone, no matter how undeserving they may be.
And so, rather than putting too much hope in what the next government will achieve, or find ourselves despairing over what they may or may not do, we should instead take a reality check and look to the only one from whom real help comes.
Psalm 121 begins:
‘I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.’
The psalm is one of the so called psalms of ascent sung as travellers headed to Jerusalem.
On the way they would have seen on the hills the evidence of pagan worship but the psalmist affirms that, rather than looking to such sources for assistance, his help comes from the Lord.
Similarly today there are those who put there hope in science and technology, medicine and sociology and, especially at election time, politics and economics. But like those emblems of pagan worship, these sources of help will all ultimately fail too.
Becasue regardless of who becomes Prime Minister today, they will not be able to govern the nation in the way that is required. As I’ve already said, we need a leader whose qualifications to govern are infinitely greater – one who is truly good and has the resources to be infinitely gracious.
But will such a government led by Jesus Christ really last for ever. Well yes – in Isaiah’s prophecy we hear these words written some 700 years before the birth of Jesus – words well known even to non-Bible types on account of Handel’s ‘Messiah’
‘For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.’ [Isaiah 9:6-7]
God’s kingdom will endure, his government will last – and the reason we can be so sure is given in that final sentence. God’s kingdom will last because its capacity to do so will depend, not on us, but wholly on God. For it is His zeal that will ensure that what He has promised He will be deliver.
Nearly 3000 years ago King Uzziah died, and the future at the time seemed so uncertain for the people of Isaiah’s day. Isaiah, however, saw beyond the immediate political uncertainty.
‘In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!” And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke.’ [Isaiah 6:1-4]
There is an image of one who is utterly in command. Uzziah may have died but God was still on the throne.
He still is today.
Many today are yearning for a leader who is wise enough, good enough and powerful enough to bring about real positive change. The good news is that that is exactly the kind of ruler God is. He is not fretting anxiously over the cost of living crises or the state of our public services. On the contrary, he is in complete control and is, therefore, one who can be trusted to fulfil all his promises.
So what do we do when democracy fails us? We stop being surprised and look outside of ourselves to one who, undeserving though we are, is gracious toward us and can deliver what He promises.
We remain confident that irrespective of the very real problems that surround us, God is sovereign.
And we hold fast to what we know with absolute confidence – that our loving Heavenly Father’s authority is absolute, his power is infinite, and his wisdom is supreme. He really is in total control of every second of our lives.
So what do we do when democracy fails us? We rejoice that the Lord is King.
*Jeremy Corbyn and Theresa May were asked this question, and answered accordingly, during the run up to the 2017 election.
Related blogs:
To read ‘A Good heart these days is hard to find’, click here
About Hector this year, I’ve shared quite a lot, Of how he does things that he really should not, So now it’s the case from Belgrade to Bridgwater, Folk know he seldom behaves as he oughta.
He’s chewed through a table leg, chewed through a tree. He’s chewed through a Bible, to Acts Chapter three He’s chewed in a manner, worthy of a goat, He’s chewed through the case of our TV remote.
He prowls round the garden, digs holes in the grass, At pulling up rhubarb, he’s top of the class, And as for my trio of tomato plants, With Hector about, well they haven’t a chance.
A gooseberry crumble with custard is nice, The thought of one now though, will have to suffice. Cos he’s eaten the bush, and the fruit – which ain’t cool, It seems then it’s him who’s the gooseberry fool!
From mud covered paws we’ve a dirty back door, Whenever he’s fed, he leaves drool on the floor, Downstairs in the house, we all know where he’s been, For there on the carpet his fur can be seen.
When walking in woodland, oh what a delight If Hector, when summoned, should hove into sight, But not if our noses, to us then suggest, He’s gone and rolled in something foxes egest!
The nights, they are short, in both June and July, When Hector wakes up in them – I ask him ‘Why?’ He tells me that whilst I might long for my bed, He’d much rather play in the garden instead!
That he can be friendly though can’t be denied, Cos sometimes he’ll sidle up close by your side, But don’t be misled as you’ll still need protection, For he’ll often attack after shows of affection.
With Hector a one year old, it’s now my wish, He’d stop combing beaches for rotting dead fish, But I have my doubts that he’ll ever mature, Or give up his fondness for eating manure!
But despite all his foibles, his faux pas, and faults, Despite all his fearsome, full frontal assaults, Despite all he mangles that we’ll never mend, we’d not be without our fine four-footed friend!
To read ‘The Hector Chronicles’, the diary of a Black Labrador’s first year life, click here
Other dog related blogs:
To read ‘A Farewell to Barns’, with an exclusive performance of Barney’s recently discovered Christmas hit, click here
The leaders of the two main parties were shocked today as news broke that a Black Labrador was hoping to become the next MP for Taunton Deane.
Today, at a packed press conference, Hector announced his intention to run for parliament adding that, with the country having gone to the dogs, it was only right that he should be unleashed and given a chance to lead the nation. Unveiling his canine manifesto, he promised to address environmental concerns by introducing a ‘walkies to work’ policy within days of his being elected.
Asked who would make up his cabinet in the event of his becoming Prime Minster, Hector explained that such decisions would be made based on the past performance of those in his party – as such he’d be looking to see who has the waggiest tail, who has the most appealing eyes, and who, going forward, has the best fiscal policy for economic growth.
Refusing to be drawn on ‘Tomatogate’, and sidestepping questions regarding allegations of historic garden vandalism, Hector sought instead to reassure voters regarding his plans for national security. Insisting that Cuddles the Cockapoo continued to have his full support, he dismissed as unfounded claims that the prospective Defence Secretary once allowed his home to be burgled when the intruder offered him a sausage.
Finally, in a move that is likely to be popular with voters in marginal seats, Hector promised to legislate for all dogs to be allowed on the furniture and to introduce heavy fines for disreputable owners caught breaking dog treats in half.
‘This appalling behaviour has been increasing under successive administrations’, he claimed. ‘For far too long the dogs of this country have been badly let down by both the Conservatives and the Labour Party. But now at last we have a chance to bring about real change. It’s an op-paw-tunity we must not fail to take and so, on July 4th, I urge you to vote neither red nor blue. Instead: Vote Black! Vote Labrador! Vote Hector!’
*****
STOP PRESS – 3rd July 2024
Despite trying to garner support for his campaign by bungee jumping off the Clifton suspension bridge, I regret to have to inform you that Hector today has had to withdraw from tomorrow’s General Election.
This was after it emerged that he had placed a bet on himself NOT winning ‘Most obedient Labrador’ in Nempnett Thrubwell’s upcoming novelty dog show. And this after I told him he had no chance!
Furthermore, his announcement yesterday that, if elected, he’d not be available to work on Friday evenings has drawn additional criticism. Whilst nobody has used his decision to cast doubt on his all too apparent commitment to the cause, some have questioned how his stated desire to dedicate that time to devouring the trees in his back garden, fits in with his manifesto pledge to champion green issues.
Hector appreciates how disappointing this news will be to the huge number of supporters who have been backing him to become the UK’s first canine Prime Minister and asks for both their understanding and the privacy he and his family need at this difficult time.
It is rumoured that he is now considering running to become the next President of the United States, a role for which neither his past misdemeanours, nor his oftentimes bizarre behaviour, should in any way prove a disadvantage.
Here then is the requisite picture of Hector at the Polling Station – the only problem being that, just as I took this snap, he realised he’d forgotten his photo ID and nipped back home to fetch it.
Mind you, in the unlikely event of him actually retrieving it, and it being in one piece by the time he returns, I doubt he’ll allow it to be removed from his mouth in order for it to be inspected.
So perhaps it’s best to simply put him down as a ‘Don’t know’!
The story of Hector’s incredible rise to power is told in an unauthorised biography that has been published today. Read the unexpurgated account by clicking the link here.
This week I was in the room where it happened. By which I mean the auditorium of the Bristol Hippodrome where on Wednesday evening I went to see the touring production of Hamilton. It was a good evening, not least because it was able to see something live rather than through a screen.
Similarly, yesterday evening, I was in the cricket ground where it happened. On that occasion I was able to enjoy watching Somerset defeat Essex in their opening fixture of this year’s T20 competition. Again, being there in person to see a dozen Somerset 6’s was so much better than watching the game via the livestream, notwithstanding how fantastic the Somerset livestream is.
Many today are living increasingly remote lives. Which is sad because being physically present is vastly better than the virtual contact which doesn’t come anywhere close to the real thing.
When life is difficult, it’s good to know that someone is thinking about you – but it is better still to have someone physically with you, someone who is, quite literally, there for you. Because. as well as showing that you care, being there also allows you to care.
More than that, it causes you to care too*.
Similarly, whilst lovers who are separated may draw comfort from the letters that they send each other – so much more precious, on account of their tangibility, than emails – bits of paper nonetheless remain a poor substitute for being together in person. In order for relationships to be all that they are supposed to be, there needs to be physical contact. That is, after all, why we kiss. More than just a sign of the love shared between two people, a kiss is a physical act of love, one that, since it cannot be undertaken whilst apart, is so much more precious than an ‘x’ added to the end of a text message.
Time then spent in each other’s company is important. Without it, we are diminished as much every bit as much as the lives we consequently lead.
It is sometimes said that what is of prime importance is not so much how much time we spend with those we care about, but the quality of that time. But whilst there may be some truth in this, we make a mistake if we think that the two are independent of one another. Relationships, like a fine wine, take time to mature and quality time doesn’t spontaneously arise aside from a significant quantity of time being spent to allow friendships to develop.
Something else that is often taken as self evident is the idea that on line meetings are better than no meeting at all. Again, there may be some truth in such an assertion, but I can’t help thinking that this is only the case in situations where no physical meeting is possible and the enforced suboptimal interaction is only seen as temporary. In other situations however, where face to face meetings have been replaced by supposedly more convenient virtual encounters, I wonder if they might actually be doing real harm – on account of the increasing isolation that results from their favouring of friendships that are only ever superficial at best.
When meeting up is impossible, be that due to distance, disease or diktats such as were in place during the pandemic, then our absence from one another should, as the saying goes, make our hearts grow fonder. As a result, it should leave us yearning all the more for the time when we will be reunited once more. But when we fail to spend time with one another simply because we can’t be bothered to make the effort, then surely there is something very wrong with our relationships be they with our friends, our family or our work colleagues.
No wonder then that there is a verse in the Bible which warns us not to neglect meeting together [Hebrews 10:25]. Here, of course, the context is in relation to our gathering in church and encouraging one another there, but it remains the case that no virtual relationship can offer the support that friendship maintained in person can since they are, quite frankly, no less artificial than the intelligence that we have lately been hearing so much about.
There are both as equally fake.
Because the truth is we were created to be in physical relationship with one another. Which is surely why we feel such a depth of grief when death separates us from those we love
How much more then should we now spend quantity time with those we care about. And how much more must we ensure that we are there, in the room, where it happens.
*See ‘On not remotely caring’, a link to which can be found below.
I’d parked in the Cannon Street car park, And wondered how much I should pay, ‘Cos the game could be over by lunchtime, And yet it might last the whole day.
Josh Davey, his bug having settled, From the river end, he trotted in, The runs, as he bowled, they weren’t flowing And his wickets they set up the win.
When Kent were all out they had set us, A run chase that we’d not decline, For Somerset, 54 overs Remained to score one eighty nine.
For Lammers the runs they came briskly, For Renshaw, the same it was true. At tea the runs scored, they were sixty, And the wickets lost, they numbered two.
Then Umeed, he came to the wicket, He wielded his bat with aplomb, One shot that I’ll always remember, Was the one he hit over mid on.
When Renners, he made it to fifty So warm was the round of applause, No less a Somerset favourite, For hailing from far away shores.
Umeed, he too made it to fifty An innings of power and poise, The partnership now worth a hundred, ‘Well done’ to those Somerset boys.
From there it was all rather easy, From there it was never in doubt As Somerset reached the set target, With Renshaw and Umeed not out.
I’d parked in the Cannon Street car park, Nine-twenty I’d chosen to pay, A sum that was worth every penny, To see such a fine day of play.
Other cricket related blogs:
To read ‘A Purr-fect day at the cricket’, click here
To read ‘Is Cricket Amusing Itself to Death’, click here
To read ‘Safe and Sound at the County Ground, Taunton’, click here
It is now over forty years since I put down my pen at the end of my French O’Level and ended my five year flirtation with the Gallic tongue. Quite why the above expression remains so firmly fixed in my memory I could not say, but if one day I were to find myself in Cannes having to announce that a famous actress has gone missing, at least my years of study would not have been entirely wasted.
Languages then were not my forte at school. French was not my raison d’être, when it came to German I was something of a Dumnkopf, and my approach to Latin was always somewhat ad hoc.
Which is perhaps a shame, for had I lent more towards linguistics, life may have been somewhat simply. Take for example the time I spent in the Northwest Frontier Province of Pakistan, back when I was a medical student. Living alongside a mix of Urdu and Pashto speakers, had I been able to discern who was speaking what language, there may have been less instances of me saying ‘paKhtu Khabaree’ [I don’t speak Pashto] to people who only spoke Urdu and ‘mujhe Urdu nhi ata’ [I don’t speak Urdu] to people who only spoke Pashto!
Furthermore, in recent months I might have communicated rather more effectively with the new friends I’ve made across Eastern Europe, many of whom seem to speak a different language to the one spoken in the county in which they live. And so I know Moldovans who principally speak Russian, Romanians who generally speak Ukrainian, and Serbians whose first language is Hungarian.
It has all been rather confusing.
Which is, of course, the way it’s meant to be, every since, that is, the days of Genesis Chapter 11 when mankind sought to build the Tower of Babel as a symbol of human autonomy, it’s height intended to act as a proud boast by the people of that city that they had no need of God. In so doing, rather than honouring God as they ought, the people wanted instead to make a name for themselves.
It seems though that their plans were somewhat optimistic since, despite planning a tower that they hoped would reach as high as the heavens, God still had to ‘come down’ to see what it was that they were up to. And having done so God then proceeded to frustrate the plans of the people, first by confusing their language, so that they would not understand one another’s speech, and secondly, by dispersing them over the face of the whole earth.
Even so, there would come a time when God would reverse the judgment that fell on Babel, a time when he would come down again, in the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.
For as the disciples, empowered by the Spirit, boldly proclaimed the gospel, not only was the confusion of languages overturned, as ‘each heard the disciples speaking to them in their own language’, but so too did the dispersion start to be reversed, as the task of gathering a family of believers from all four corners of the earth began in earnest.
There has, over the years, been much debate about the phenomenon by which the disciples that day were able ‘to speak in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance’. But what we can be sure of is the fact that what the disciples said was more important than precisely how they said it.
Because what they shared was the gospel – the good news, not only that Jesus has died for our sins, bearing on the cross the punishment that we deserved, but also that, on the third day, he was raised from the dead, proving that God’s justice had been fully satisfied and we, having been declared ‘Not Guilty’ can now stand before God, no longer fearful of his righteous anger, but rather as those who have been lovingly adopted into his family.
All of which fits with what, some weeks previously, Jesus himself had said to the disciples when he described the Holy Spirit as the ‘Spirit of truth’, the one who would guide them, and indeed ourselves, into all truth whilst simultaneously convicting the world concerning sin and righteousness.
Far then from glorifying himself, the job of Holy Spirit is to glorify Christ and, having revealed to us our need of salvation, so enable us to see in the gospel how that salvation is brought about. Which is why, in churches in which the Holy Spirit is most active, you will hear far less about the Spirit himself, but a great deal more about Jesus and the forgiveness secured by Him through his substitutionary death on the cross. Little wonder then that on that first Pentecost Sunday, the apostle Peter was moved to stand up and preach a Christ-centred sermon, the upshot of which was that about three thousand people came to faith in Jesus.
And that’s why today, Pentecost Sunday, is considered by many as the church’s birthday. But whilst Pentecost is certainly of great significance, I prefer to think of it as the day when the church came of age, when it was, if you like, given the key to the door. Why? Well because the church itself dates back further than the special outpouring of the Holy Spirit that took place that day.
Much further back, in fact.
Further back than the Old Testament prophets, further back than King David, further back, even, than when God chose the nation of Israel to be his special people. Because, since the church is made up of those who put their faith in Christ, be that the Christ of history or the selfsame Christ of prophecy, it follows that Old Testament believers are every bit as much a part of the church as both believers in the New Testament and those who have come to faith over the subsequent 2000 years.
And so it was that Adam and Eve constituted the first Christian church when, back in the Garden of Eden, they believed God’s promise that a Saviour would one day be born.
From those earliest days the church has grown, and all the more so since the day of Pentecost. Today, with the a Bible being translated into ever more languages, and the gospel being taken to the very ends of the earth, the word of God continues to increase. And as it does so, the number of believers multiples greatly and the church grows ever larger. Oftentimes it has been through trials and persecution, but the gates of hell have not prevailed against her – and nor will they ever.
In his great hymn, Charles Wesley wrote these words:
‘O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise, the glories of my God and King, the triumphs of his grace!’
Most of us though, whilst we might long for more, have but a single language that we are able to speak fluently. Even so, we can use that one tongue to share the gospel with others.
And as we do, the church will continue to grow, until that time when Jesus returns and stands before a vast multitude of believers, made up of those from every tribe, every people group and every language.
But then, what was foreshadowed at Pentecost, will, I believe, have become a present reality and my inability to speak other languages will no longer matter. No more will I have to struggle to discern Urdu from Pashto, and no more will friends from one country speak the tongue of another, for then we will all, with one voice, be singing God’s praises together.
Because the big star may have disappeared – but the church never will!
Related blogs:
To read ‘An Advent Calendar – Twenty Five Reflections for Christmas’, 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 ‘The Resurrection – is it just rhubarb?’, click here
There’s something particularly satisfying about watching cricket sat on a park bench that is positioned on the long leg boundary – even if the white picket fence you’re sat behind is plastic rather than wooden.
From there you’ve a fine view of the scoreboard as it somewhat lackadaisically attempts to keep up with the score. But this is cricket, and the relaxed atmosphere engendered by the clear blue skies and warm sunshine means that it doesn’t much matter exactly what the score is, it’s enough to simply enjoy the runs being scored. And besides there’s a chap a few seats away keeping a tally of each dot ball and every firmly struck boundary and, if asked, he’ll happily tell you how many the pair in the middle have put on since the fall of the last wicket.
Eventually though the scoreboard catches up and receives sympathetic applause from the healthy crowd who have helped make Somerset the third best supported county in the country this season.
As play began this morning the bells of St James Church were ringing out, perhaps in celebration that Jack Leach was back in the Somerset team. But with Somerset batting first the Somerset faithful would have to wait a while before they could welcome him to the field of play.
Not everything in life is straightforward. Imagine, for example, having to decide between having your root canal filled or spending an hour listening to someone who thinks there’s too much county cricket. OK, bad example, even when undertaken by the most sadistic of dental practitioners, the former is considerably less painful.
Even so, if Daniel Bell-Drummond had asked me at 10.30 whether, having the won the toss, he should have been batted or bowled first, I would not have been able to advise him. But if the jury was still out at lunch when Somerset were 133-3, there’s little doubt that by tea, with the score now 265-4, that some would have considered the Kent skipper guilty of a tactical error.
Credit to the Kent team though, for bowling in such a way that the days allocated overs always looked likely to be completed more or less within the scheduled hours of play – which is something of a novelty these days. But if the over rate was healthy, so too was the run rate, with runs being consistently being scored at more than four an over.
Matt Renashaw, Tom Lammonby and Andy Umeed all made healthy contributions, but the highlight of the day has to be the fifth wicket partnership between the two wicket-keeper batsmen, Tom Banton and James Rew. Both hit sixes into the aforementioned area which continued to afford me a fine view of proceedings, Banton’s being struck, perhaps, in response to the one by Rew that had helped the youngster briefly pass his traditionally faster scoring partner – despite him having had a 36 run head start.
Banton, though, reached his hundred first, hitting his 150th ball back over the bowler’s head for four. 18 balls later he raced on such that he had made his highest score in first class cricket, passing his previous best of 126. The two hundred partnership soon followed, coming off just over 42 overs and then, with the very next delivery, Rew reached his hundred, made form just 128 deliveries.
All good things though come to an end. Banton was eventually out for 133 and Rew fell for 114 with just six and a half overs left in the day. Both were fine, fine innings, the like of which we’re all well away they’re capable of and which will hopefully serve to build their confidence.
Craig Overton was out in the penultimate over after scoring a brisk 23, after which Louis Gregory and Migael Pretorius saw out the eight remaining deliveries. At close of play, with still no sign of Jack Leach, and maximum batting points just 10 runs away, the score was a very healthy 440-7
And if a highly enjoyable day of cricket wasn’t enough in itself, there were, as is so often the case at county championship matches, opportunities to meet new people and talk cricket, including today, the elderly gentleman who pondered why left handers always seemed to have more time to play their shots than right handers, the venerable editor of a cricket magazine, who tirelessly campaigns for the survival of the county game, and a certain club cat who, not surprisingly, felt the day had been nothing short of purr-fect!
Brian – Somerset’s much loved club cat.
Other cricket related blogs:
To read ‘Is Cricket Amusing Itself to Death’, click here
To read ‘Safe and Sound at the County Ground, Taunton’, click here
In the preface to his book critiquing the effect of television on our culture, Neil Postman compares the concerns of George Orwell in ‘1984’ with those of Aldous Huxley in ‘Brave New World’. He writes:
‘What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture’
What is particularly astonishing is the fact that Postman’s book was written in 1985, long before the exponential rise in the number of TV channels and the dawn of Social Media which together have served to confirm Postman’s view that Huxley, not Orwell, was right. It is not religion, as Marx asserted in 1843, that has become the opium of the masses, but rather it is entertainment that numbs us to what is real and valuable.
It was then for good reason that Postman’s book was entitled, ‘Amusing ourselves to Death’.
Recently I heard a view being expressed that the changes being made to cricket seemed to be designed to appeal to those who had no interest in the game. Whether, as was being suggested, that is the expressed intent of those who are making the changes is up for debate, but one can’t help thinking that Postman would have recognised in the dumbing down of cricket for the benefit of a hitherto disinterested audience the same tendency towards trivialisation that he had documented so cogently in his book. Indeed, if Postman’s book was ever revised and updated, one can’t help wondering if room would be made for a chapter on how the proliferation of the shorter formats of the game will, left unchecked, ultimately reduce cricket to just one more meaningless pursuit, one barely distinguishable from the myriad others that seek to do nothing other than distract us from ever having an original thought ourselves.
Because, to be rendered ‘absent of thought’ is, after all, what ‘to be amused’ means.
It is of interest to me as one who walks in ecclesiastical circles, that some churches have in recent years made the same mistake that cricket is making today. Indeed, Postman rightly criticised how the church in his day was already becoming obsessed with entertaining the congregation – or should that be audience – by prioritising ‘fun’ over faithfulness to its core message. Now don’t get me wrong, the motivation for such a change of emphasis may have been well intended, but the problem is, whilst it may have swelled numbers attending services for a time, such superficial treatment of what, for many, are considered matters of deep significance, not only failed to maintain the interest of those they were designed to attract, but also alienated those who had been churchgoers for years and who longed for something of substance on a Sunday morning.
Might not the trivialising nature of an excess of T20 games and, more recently ‘The Hundred’, have a similar effect on cricket?
But, you might be thinking, going to church and watching cricket are totally different pursuits. And I would, of course, agree with you. Even so there are perhaps some comparisons that might be usefully made.
As cricket races to find more ways to entertain the crowds it hopes to attract, how often do those methods provide evidence that those employing them have lost confidence in the game itself by suggesting that simply being a spectator is not a sufficiently enjoyable way to spend one’s leisure time. Because it now seems that not even reducing the number of deliveries in what was once called an over in a patronising attempt to make it easier for those who it’s presumably believed can’t count to six, is enough to guarantee that your target audience have a good time. For that, it would appear, it’s now necessary to have a merchandising T-shirt thrown in their face and the opportunity to gurn mindlessly in front of one of the TV cameras that are forever being pointed at them rather than the game itself.
Andy Warhol was wrong – it’s not that everyone will one day have their fifteen minutes of fame, now a mere fifteen seconds of infamy would appear to be enough.
It’s been said elsewhere that whatever it is that you use to draw your audience, you’ll need to continue to provide if you want that audience to remain. And so I believe that if cricket wants to survive it needs to captivate people with cricket – it needs to entice people in by displaying the games intrinsic beauty and not detracting from it glories with those superficial and ubiquitous fripperies that, whilst briefly amusing to some, will inevitably fail to ensure the game’s long term survival. And that’s the problem with ‘The Hundred’ – ‘It’s cricket Jim’, as Bones might say to a bemused Captain James T, Kirk, ‘but not as we know it’. As such it will never protect the future of the game we know and love.
Last year holidayed in the Yorkshire Dales. It’s a beautiful part of the world which is made even more so by the many village cricket grounds that dot the landscape. But whilst I’ve taken great pleasure from walking through countryside protected by the National Trust and visiting buildings preserved by English Heritage, I’m sure that both those organisation would say that their endeavours are not merely to maximise my enjoyment. More than that there is something inherently important about these places that needs to be held on to.
Wouldn’t it be great if there was an organisation that sought to similarly preserve cricket for the good of the nation because, whilst one would like to think that there was such a body in place already, some of those in positions of power seem to be behaving like whoever it was who thought it was a good idea to build a set of tacky entertainments at Land’s End. Such amusements may have their place, but it’s not where they detract from the splendour of such a wonderful part of the British coastline.
And it’s not at Lord’s or the Oval either. Still less at the County Ground in Taunton!
One afternoon whilst away, I found myself in the Wharfdale village of Hubberholm. There I took the opportunity to visit the church of St Michael’s and All Angels in the graveyard of which the ashes of J.P. Priestly were once scattered. I was reminded of some words he wrote about the Grand Canyon. He said
‘It is all Beethoven’s Nine Symphonies in stone and magic light. Even to remember it is still there lifts the heart’
For me something similar could be said about the game of cricket. Because come close of play, cricket isn’t just about being entertained. It’s far more than that. Because even when you’re not watching it yourself, and despite your team losing to your arch rival to the tune of 198 runs, it’s somehow reassuring to know that the game is still being played.
And if one day it’s not, if one day the game dies, I for one will not be in the least bit amused. Because I can cope with Somerset losing, but not with losing Somerset.
This week I was asked if I was giving up on county cricket. my answer was a resounding ‘No’ – but I am concerned. Because at the end of the day, those who are prepared to wait for pleasure are a dying breed in a world where gratification must increasingly be instant.
And as the Proclaimers once sang, ‘What do you do when minority means you?’
And whilst we ponder the answer to that question, like the foolish man who built his house on sand, the rock solid foundation of county championship cricket is being rejected in favour of the instant thrills and quick financial returns offered by the shorter formats of the game.
One day though, when it’s target audience inevitably becomes bored of an excess of one dimensional games and looks elsewhere instead for the immediate satisfaction that it craves, the whole thing will come crashing down
By which time, I fear county cricket will no longer be there to offer the antidote to the trivial superficiality that will have become our day to day existence.
This is an updated version of a blog first posted last year.
Other cricket related blogs:
To read ‘A Tale of Two Tons’, – blog contrasting two centuries, one in ‘The Hundred’, the other in a one Day cup game, click here
To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Emporium – 2023’, of how the One Day Cup has been devalued by a certain short format competition, click here
To read ‘Safe and Sound at the County Ground, Taunton’, click here
It may have been that I was still too excited by Somerset’s weekend win over Essex, but I didn’t notice much attention being given to the fact that the Monday just gone was the first anniversary of the coronation of King Charles III.
But be that as it may, today is another day when an even more significant event in the life of a King is likely to be similarly overlooked by many.
Because today is Ascension Day – the day when Christians traditionally remember how, forty days after his resurrection, Jesus ascended into heaven.
But it’s not just unbelievers who fail to notice that today is Ascension Day – frequently it passes unrecognised by Christians too.
It doesn’t help, of course, that it always falls on a Thursday, with no associated public holiday, but it is nonetheless odd that Ascension day is marked by so few. After all, Jesus himself said to the disciples who loved him so much, that his leaving them would be for their good, [John 16:7] – something which they seemingly understood given how, contrary to what might have been expected, his departure resulted in them returning to Jerusalem with ‘great joy’ [Luke 24:52]
So what is it about Jesus’ ascension that, today, should fill us with great joy too?
Well, simply this. Jesus’ ascension, as well as paving the way for way for the promised Holy Spirit, was not just to heaven. More than that it was to a throne – a throne on which Jesus still sits.
As such, no matter our current circumstances, we can be sure that the one who rules over us now is one who will do so, not only for all eternity [Isaiah 9:7] but with both ‘understanding and knowledge’ too. [Proverbs 28:2]. And he is one to whom we can gladly submit, confident that his rule is characterised by both justice and perfect righteousness.
And if that wasn’t enough to cheer us on our way, Jesus is also now kneeling before the Father, interceding for us as our great high priest. As such, as well as any prayers we may have offered up ourselves, if we are Christians, we can be sure that today Jesus is praying for us too.
Furthermore whilst we may not always know what to pray for, Jesus always does. And though our prayers are frequently weak his are always strong. For if the prayers of a righteous person have great power, [James 5:16], how much more power have the prayers of the perfectly righteous son of God.
In short, the prayers that Jesus prays for us are the most perfect prayers possible.
Therefore, because of Ascension Day, we have in heaven one who is both a King who wisely rules over us and a Priest who lovingly prays for us.
And that, to me at least, is something immensely reassuring and, therefore, something hugely worth remembering, and celebrating , too.
And that, to me at least, is something immensely reassuring and, therefore, something hugely worth remembering, and celebrating , too.
Even on a working Thursday!
Related posts/
To read ‘Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things? Rejoicing, though temporarily sorrowful, on Easter Day’, click here.
To read ‘Why do bad things happen to good people? Sorrowful yet always rejoicing on Good Friday’, click here
To read ‘What becomes of the broken hearted? Sorrowful yet always rejoicing on Palm Sunday’, click here
To read ‘An Advent Calendar – Complete’, click here
Back in my student days, I used to live in the St Paul’s area of Bristol, a part of the city that, back in the 1980’s at least, was not without its problems. Even so, despite living there for the best part of a year and frequently walking the streets close to City Road nor far from where I rented a flat, I was never, unlike my flatmate, offered any illegal substance. Now don’t get me wrong, I would, of course, have declined all kind offers made to me by any business partner of a South American drugs baron, but it would, I think, have been nice to have been asked!
Perhaps it’s because I had an innocent face that I was never considered as someone who was likely to make a habit of consuming poppy based relaxants. And maybe it’s because I still have a look of youthful innocence that my recent visits to the county ground in Taunton to watch championship cricket, have been occasions when those charged with checking my bag for unauthorised items have taken a very relaxed approach to match day security.
Or maybe it’s because there is a tacit acknowledgment that a polite enquiry as to whether ‘Sir’ has anything dodgy in his bag, is more than sufficient to root out ne’er do wells and thus ensure the safety of those already seated comfortably around the boundary edge.
Now whilst it would be nice to think I still have the appearance of one who in his early twenties, in truth I hope it is the latter explanation that is behind the cursory inquiry into what I carried into the ground today.
Because we need to believe that there at least some places where we can go without being concerned for our safety.
And surely there can be few places on earth less perilous to spend one’s day than a venue where four day cricket is being played – a place where the only thing threatened is a players batting average, the only thing that’s risky is running on a misfield, and the only one in danger is the poor soul forced to field at silly point.
T20 games are, however, a little different. Here, where the applause thunders, rather than ripples, around the ground, security is, of course, of paramount importance. And not only because of the, let’s call them scallywags, who sometimes enjoy, a little too enthusiastically the apple based intoxicant so beloved by many in this orchard rich part of the country.
Because then the far greater concern is the risk posed by the likes of my octogenarian mother who once had a small fruit knife confiscated from her as she made her way into the ground. Her protestations that her teeth, still her own but no longer as lethal as they were in former years, necessitated the use of the bladed utensil to help her devour the apple she had brought for her tea, fell on deaf ears. Which was probably just as well as I can personally vouch for the violence she was capable of inflicting with a pair of scissors on any of her sons that she deemed to be in need of a haircut.
But, be all that as it may, today was a day to enjoy the less hazardous surroundings of the CACG, the setting for the second day of Somerset’s game against Essex in the LV County Championship.
Less hazardous that is for all save the Essex batsmen who were all out for 138, the last four wickets falling with only a single run being added to the scoreboard. Some particularly fine bowling from Josh Davey and consistenty excellent wicket keeping from James Rew, resulting in Somerset being set just (?!) 167 runs to win.
To be honest, despite Winviz being 93% confident of a Somerset victory, I was a little anxious as the Somerset innings began, so much so that my blood pressure may have risen a tad, though not, ironically, as much as that which would have resulted from the somewhat irritating scoreboard announcement seeking to educate me about the dangers of undiagnosed hypertension.
But I needn’t have worried as Matt Renshaw and Sean Dixon put on 28 in the first seven overs, twice that of the game’s previous best opening partnership. And by tea the score stood at 45 without loss, the pair having shared the highest partnership of the match thus far.
Soon after tea, Sean Dickson, a player I so want to see do well, brought up the 50 partnership with a four through mid off and then, from the very next ball, hit an imperious six over mid on. Two more boundaries from the bat of Sean Dickson followed and, before you knew it, with the opening pair still at the crease, the runs required for a Somerset victory were less than a hundred.
Renshaw eventually fell, lbw for 35, but with the score now 75 and the in form Tom Lammonby walking to the crease, I remained sufficiently confident of a win such that, even when Dickson fell for a fine 42 from 40 deliveries, I still saw no need to seek out anti-hypertensive medication.
Progress slowed for a while with Lammonby, uncharacteristically out for a 24 ball duck, with the total now on 99, Andy Umeed having scored 16 at roughly a run a ball at the other end. Umeed, looking as comfortable as he had in the first innings, then took the Somerset total past 100 with a finely struck boundary and I was left wondering about the mathematical prowess of the Essex player who shouted ‘half way there lads’ when Somerset had, in fact, knocked of 65% of the required runs whilst losing only 30% of their wickets!
Umeed, comfortably the top scorer in the game, was eventually out for 34 but by now less than 50 runs were required. Miguel Pretorius joined Tom Banton in the middle, the latter, causing hearts to flutter with a mistimed attempt at a reverse sweep before reverting everyone to sinus rhythm once more with two rather more orthodox, and vastly more successful, shots for four.
Pretorius scored just two, and James Rew just six, but when Louis Gregory came out to join Banton, just 15 more runs were needed. If any nerves remained, they were soon calmed when the captain hit two deliveries back past the bowler for four leaving just four more needed when the days allocated overs were completed.
With a result in sight, additional overs were permitted, the first seeing Banton caught in the slips having contributed a crucial 29 runs. That left Craig Overton to join Gregory and hit the winning runs in a game which leaves Somerset, temporarily at least, second in the table.
And so a classic game of championship cricket was over – the Somerset win the icing on the cake of a day which, even without the victory, would still have been a thoroughly enjoyable one.
Such are days, the like of which, we all need more of, not less – which is, I hope, something that won’t go unnoticed by those with influence in the cricketing world.
Other cricket related blogs:
To read ‘Is Cricket Amusing Itself to Death’, click here
Whether you’ve arrived here, by bicycle or car, Whether you are local, or have travelled from afar, The fact remains the same, dear friend, you’ll end up in a pickle, If you don’t stop to chat awhile, and give my dog a tickle!
Now you may be a neighbour, or a postie with a letter, Either way, do as I say, it really would be better, And please take note, all ne’er do wells, with intentions not good, If you ignore his pleading eyes, he’ll wake the neighbourhood!
And if you are a GP, who is visiting the sick, Best bring some sanitiser, for your hands he’s sure to lick, But have no fear, though he’s enclosed, within a garden gated, He’ll not pass on canine disease, he’s fully vaccinated!
This week, MPs backed a plan to ban anyone born after 2009 from ever buying cigarettes, a move that effectively ensures that the proposal will one day become law. Whilst the bill passed comfortably, there were those who opposed it and it’s not hard to understand their motives for doing so.
Because there are, of course, two sides to every argument, and opinions can differ as to what is for the best.
The fact that smoking is both injurious to one’s health and highly addictive is not, however, in question. And equally certain is that there are less unhealthy ways to deal with personal stress than relying on the calming effects that some folk gain from the inhalation of nicotine. And so it is not a denial of the harmful effects of smoking that prompted those who opposed the bill to vote against it, but rather concerns regarding restrictions being placed on an individual’s freedom to act in whatever way they chose.
And this concern is, of course, one that is well worth considering – since it is in fact a concern that is shared by those on both sides of the debate.
Because those who opposed the bill will not unreasonably want to ask those in favour of it whether they would also support a ban on buying alcohol, participating in dangerous pastimes or spending too much time sat watching television when it would be far more healthy to be engaging in some form of exercise.
Similarly, those in favour of the bill will, equally reasonably, want to ask those who want to preserve one’s right to choose whether or not to smoke, if such individuals are equally liberal in wanting people to be free to snort cocaine, participate in satanic rituals involving human sacrifice, or promote methods of how to commit suicide to vulnerable individuals on social media platforms.
It seems then that we all have a line which divides the acceptable from the unacceptable, the only thing that we differ on is where that line should be drawn.
All of us know more or less where we would place it – and that, inevitably, will be where we think the line between right and wrong lies. The problem then becomes that what we consider to be right and wrong will, to a greater or lesser extent, differ from what is thought by each of the other eight billion people currently living on planet Earth.
Having then tacitly acknowledged the existence of right and wrong and, unless we are psychopaths, recognising the need to act accordingly, we need to decide who gets to be the final arbiter of what is and is not acceptable.
For the arrogant amongst us, the answer is that it should be they themselves, those who, confident that they are supreme judge of such matters, would happily enforce their will on others, and, given power to do so, would oppress others as the head of a military dictatorship.
At the other end of the spectrum are those who, unwilling to impose any restrictions on anyone, are effectively endorsing anarchy, with everyone free to do precisely what they want.
A balance then needs to be struck, which is, of course, what democracy seeks to do by way of consensus and thus making decisions on what should and should not be legislated. Which is all very well apart from the fact that, despite the no doubt largely good intentions of those who sit in parliament, they too are flawed. Inevitably then not all their decisions are good ones and the question then that The Proclaimers once sang about then arises, namely, ‘what do you do if minority means you’.
No wonder then that Winston Churchill once said that,
‘democracy is the worst form Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time’
But what if there was such a thing as a benevolent dictator, a leader who, rather than being one who acted solely for their own benefit, ruled instead for the benefit of their people? What if there was one who truly knew the difference between right and wrong and, fully appreciating what was best for those under their authority, legislated accordingly. What if we had a leader whose judgments could be trusted and who could be relied upon to always do what was right?
Well I believe there is such a one – namely the judge of the whole earth who only does what is just. [Genesis 18:25].
Because as well as being the one whose unchanging word is both life giving and strengthening, not to mention illuminating and inspiring, He is also the one whose statutes are trustworthy, a source of hope and ones in which we can take genuine delight [Psalm 119:89, 25,28, 130, 161, 42, 43, 16]. Because not only are his commands good, they are good for us to.
And in addition to all this, He is the one that, when we err, remains merciful and gracious, the one who does not treat us as our sins deserve [Psalm 103:8,10], the one who, because of Christ’s substitutionary death on the cross for us, forgives us for all our foolish law breaking.
And so it is the case that, for me at least, God is the one who, in contrast to both myself and politicians, I am content to put my trust. And in this year of worldwide elections He is the one who has my vote of confidence.
And irrespective of your politics, I would suggest that He warrants your vote of confidence as well.
That cricket and wine have a lot in common is something that is not often appreciated.
But to me at least, the similarities are striking. Because whether we’re talking cricket balls or grapes on the vine, my preference is always for red over white, and both these two pleasures are, to my mind, ones that, rather than being rushed, ought instead to be savoured over time.
Furthermore, just as I know very little about what goes into producing a vintage of distinction and am liable therefore to rely on how much I’m taken by the label before selecting the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on which it is attached, so too my choice of cricket team tends to depend on whether or not the players’ shirts have emblazoned upon them, a maroon coloured dragon that identifies as a wyvern!
And, just as every bottle of wine need not be a Romanée-Conti 1945 in order for it to be relished, not every day at the cricket needs to include a sumptuous Tom Lammonby century, or a full bodied ‘fifer’ from Kasey Aldridge, before it can be a day that one can truly delight in.
But whilst it’s been a long, long time since I overindulged on the red stuff, it remains the case that I am not infrequently intoxicated by cricket!
It was Charles Baudelaire (1821 – 1867) who once wrote:
“You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it – it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk”
I know this because, some years ago, a particularly cultured patient of mine who played Jazz professionally and once performed with Acker Bilk, quoted the above to me in the original French! Which you have to admit is pretty cool!
Baudelaire’s poem goes on:
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”
I suspect many of us will know what it is to have woken this week, ‘in the mournful solitude’ that comes as a consequence of having had the cold water of world events thrown in our face once more.
Baudelaire suggests to us that to avoid being the ‘martyred slaves of time’ the only way is to be intoxicated by something good that consumes us.
And whilst it is not by a long way the most important thing in my life, comforted as I am by greater truths that continue to endure under even the darkest clouds, cricket is, for me, something with which I like to fill my metaphorical hip flask, before proceeding to sip from it regularly throughout the summer months.
And so it was that I arrived at the county ground in Taunton this morning, giddy with excitement at the prospect of what was my first day of live cricket this year.
In much the same way that a bottle of wine ought to be opened a while before one intends to drink it, I like to arrive at the ground early and walk a few times around the ground, just as one might swirl the contents of a glass before imbibing. And then, just as a connoisseur takes a little time to revel in the wine’s colour and aroma, delaying gratification until, at last taking that much anticipated initial sip, so too, as the players stroll on to the field, I try and take full advantage of those few precious moments before the game finally gets underway, to absorb the sights and sounds that surround me.
Here then is a taste of what I drank in today:
The opening delivery, served up, perhaps, at a temperature slightly below that which might be considered optimal. A satisfying dot ball.
Craig Overton’s removing the Nottinghamshire opening batsmen half way through the opening over. Can a batsmen be decanted back to the pavillion? If so, then that’s what happened to Haseed Hameed – clean bowled for nought.
The opening over at Taunton. Somerset v Nottinghamshire April 19th 2024
Fluffy white clouds, scudding across bright blue skies as they pass behind the tower of St James’ Church.
The background noise of conversation in the well populated James Hildreth Stand as acquaintances are renewed after the long and wet winter break.
Having been generously gifted a season’s membership when I left my previous job last November, the view from the seat that has been designated to me for the T20 games that will be played later in the season – a seat that, coincidentally enough, has the same number as the room in the Hall of Residence in which I spent my first year at university.
James Rew’s jubilant appeal having taken the catch to dismiss Ben Slater off the bowling of Louis Gregory. 49-2.
The enormous white sheet that, draped between the Lord Ian Botham Stand and the pavillion named after the less exalted Colin Atkinson, billows in the wind as it serves as a makeshift sight-screen
Louis G extending his back as the umpire’s finger gives Will Young out lbw. 52-3.
Sean Dickson with his characteristically upturned collar offering precious little protection from the stiff breeze at the ground today.
Craig O racing in from the Marcus Trescothick Pavilion end and, having completed a sharp piece of fielding off his own bowling, lying sprawled headlong between the wickets.
Black trousered and fedora hatted umpires walking slowly to their positions between overs, each in turn relieving the bowlers of their jumpers before reuniting one with the other once more.
The covers, strangely white this year, never once straying from their rightful place – comfortably beyond the boundary edge.
An opportunity to read Brian Carpenter’s excellent tribute to Derek Underwood*, the first, not so slow, left armer I recall watching on TV as a boy.
A black Labrador, not mine, being fussed over by Tom Banton during the lunch break, an encounter that took place only a few yards from Brian the club cat’s summer residence.
Somerset returning to the field after lunch
Shoaib Bashir bowling. He seems every bit as tall as everyone says and certainly too long in the trunk to find a shirt of sufficient length to tuck into his trousers! Even so, after being hit by him for six in his first over, Bash has the last laugh when, he takes the wicket of Clarke. Tom Banton takes the catch and it’s 118-4.
Tractor, back for another season, offering his customary vocal encouragement, alongside that of the players’ themselves.
Watching a few overs whilst standing at the square leg boundary, as Josh Davey and the umpire engage in good humoured conversation between deliveries.
A near faultless performance from a seemingly in form scoreboard!
Matt Renshaw who, judging by the smile on his face, is enjoying his cricket as much as ever. He also finds time to help the individual on the players bench who is struggling to complete a crossword. It seems he not only knows the capital of Egypt, but knows how to spell it too.
Three quick wickets falling, the first off the bowling of Josh Davey and then two more for Craig Overton – all three caught behind the stumps by Rew, Lammonby and Gregory as, with the dismissal of Haynes, Montgomery and Harrison, 139-4 becomes 153-7.
Enjoying the overs before tea from the vantage point of the elevated seating in the Marcus Trescothick Pavilion. It seems I don’t have acrophobia and there is no recurrence of those vertiginous symptoms with which I entered the ground.
The view from the not so giddy heights
Ironic applause at the announcement, just before tea, that all pies and pasties are now selling at half price! An offer which I choose not to take advantage of!
Migael Pretorius getting his first wicket for Somerset at the CACG. Lyndon James lbw for 18. 183-8
Committed fielding by Somerset throughout the day, which is amply rewarded when a direct hit by Lewis Goldsworthy sees Hutton run out for 20 and the score at 185-9.
Rew’s third catch behind the stumps as Pretorious claims Fletcher as his second wicket of the day. And Notts are all out for 193 as tea is taken.
Sean Dickson reaching double figures with a fine square cut that sees the ball speeding across the beautifully green outfield all the way to the boundary.
Successive boundaries from the bat of Matt Renshaw, the first a majestic straight drive, the second an equally impressive shot through the covers.
I linger at the boundary edge for a couple of deliveries hoping for a brace of boundaries to take us past 50 but circumstances dictate that I have to leave the ground with Somerset on a very satisfactory 43 without loss with a good few overs of the day yet to bowl. But it’s been a terrific opening two and a half sessions of my summer of watching Somerset.
The full day of work that awaits me in the morning has enabled me to attend the game today, but it means I’ll not be able to see any play tomorrow. But hopefully I’ll be back again on Sunday afternoon, perhaps with my own black Labrador in tow. And who knows, with a bit of luck Tom Banton will be on hand to give him a tickle!
Addendum:
The day ended with Somerset on 116-1 with Dickson on a particularly pleasing 70 not out. Enough to warm any Somerset supporter’s heart – just as any fine wine would!
*To read Brian Carpenter’s excellent piece, ‘On Derek Underwood’, by clicking here
‘Rather than having always to pick yourself up, it’s better to be carried by somebody strong’
Last week I watched the second series of the excellent BBC Drama, ‘Time’. Whereas the first series followed the inmates of a men’s prison, this second series moves the action to a woman’s prison and seeks to relate something of what it might be like to spend time in such an institution.
It is testimony to both the superb writing by Jimmy McGovern and Helen Black, and the brilliant acting of Jodie Whittaker, Tamara Lawrence and Bella Ramsey, that one is left feeling sympathy for those who find themselves imprisoned. And that sympathy is not confined to those whose crimes seem relatively minor. For as well as those for whom a custodial sentence seems a huge overreaction, you find yourself shedding tears for those who have committed truly awful crimes, crimes that you can’t help feeling that, were your circumstances the same as those who perpetrated them, you too may have found yourself facing a prolonged period of detention for having committed them too.
Furthermore, despite the harsh and sometimes brutal environment, the prison is also shown as a setting where genuine compassion is in evidence. And not only from the kindly prison chaplain and the understanding and supportive prison officer. Real care and concern is also shown by many of the prisoners themselves.
Which is, of course, not all that surprising, for aren’t we all a complex mix of the good and the bad? Aren’t we all capable of performing acts of genuine kindness one minute, only to behave appallingly towards one another the next?
I know I am.
Ultimately then, perhaps more so than the equally excellent series that proceeded it, this second series of ‘Time’ portrays the penal system as not without some merit. And not only because, in a society that we all so long to be just, sometimes crimes really do need to be punished.
For whilst it is acknowledged that prison life can sometimes encourage individuals further into a life of crime, and that more creative ways to deal with bad behaviour than merely incarcerating those who act in such a way, need to be found, the drama also suggests that there is potential for time in prison to be genuinely redemptive, by which I mean that, appropriately supported, individuals can and sometimes do benefit from temporarily having their freedoms denied.
And perhaps it is similarly true for we who, whilst not doing time in jail, nonetheless find that difficult circumstances can sometimes be for our good too.
But what no amount of time in prison can deal with, and what no amount of suffering can resolve, is that all too real sense of guilt that we all inevitably sometimes feel.
And I don’t mean here those inappropriate feelings of guilt that we sometimes experience for things that really weren’t our fault – nor indeed that sense of failure that comes across us when we compare ourselves unfavourably with others who appear to be achieving so much more than we are. On the contrary, such pseudo guilt can generally be dealt with by a decent chat with someone who cares about us, or at the very most, a few sessions with a therapist who can help us think straight about what we are, and what we aren’t, responsible for.
No, what I’m talking about here is real guilt. Real guilt for real wrongdoing, such as was done by one of the characters in ‘Time’. At one point she was asked by the chaplain what she would ask for, were she to be granted a single wish. ‘I’d like to be able to grieve’, she answered, before adding, ‘but how do you grieve the death of a child when you’re the one responsible for it?’
How indeed?
Because grieving is more than simply feeling an appropriate intensity of sorrow, it’s a process one goes through by which one at least partially comes to terms with the cause of one’s tears. It’s a process that enables you to at last begin to make those first tentative steps that mark the beginning of you being able to carry on. And how can you possibly come to terms with what you have done, when what you have done, can never be come to terms with?
Likewise, how can you be forgiven for something that was, no matter the mitigating factors, wholly the result of something you did? And how can you be forgiven, when the one you have hurt is no longer alive to forgive you?
I remember being asked that question by a patient who once consulted me with a huge sense of guilt for her actions towards another. Actions that had irrevocably harmed the person in question such that they ultimately lost their life.
The patient had tried blaming others for what had taken place. She’d tried to rationalise what she’d done as something that, at the time, had been for the best. But neither of these two strategies had worked for her. And this was simply because she knew her actions were objectively wrong and that she was the one on whom the responsibility for her bad behaviour ultimately lay.
So what did I say to this individual who was genuinely guilty, this individual who longed for forgiveness but feared that it would never be hers to experience?
Well I’ll tell you what I didn’t say. I didn’t say that what she’d done wasn’t really all that bad. And I didn’t say that what she’d done was now like so much water under the bridge that it no longer mattered. And neither did I say that it was time now for her to simply forgive herself. Firstly because she knew that, however well-meant such foolish advice might be, the giving of it would fail to resolve the deep seated sense of guilt that she knew it was appropriate for her to feel. And secondly, how can one possibly forgive yourself when you are not the person injured by your actions?
So what than can be said to those whose guilt is real, to those whose guilt is not that whinny manifestation of something that is really no more than a dislike of how their guilt makes them feel? What can be said to those whose guilt is an honest recognition of the seriousness of their actions and which, rather than trying to rationalise it away, accepts the full responsibility for what it is that has been done?
Well there is hope for we who know how this all feels. But the solution is neither to punish ourselves by living a life of perpetual self-loathing. Nor is it to try to chalk up enough good works, in the forlorn hope that our good deeds will ultimately outweigh the wrong that we have done.
Instead then of looking within ourselves, we need to look outside of ourselves – specifically to a green hill far away on which a man was crucified.
For this man was one who willingly suffered and died in the place of guilty sinners. He took the responsibility for all that rightly causes them to feel guilty, bearing their punishment for them, the punishment that justice rightly demands.
And just as it’s better to be carried by somebody strong, than trying always to pick yourself up, it’s better to be forgiven by the one who has the authority to do so, than vainly attempting to forgive yourself.
For those who know what it is to feel guilty, this is good news – the best news possible. And so it is hard to understand why anyone would not want to hear it, especially as the circumstances of Jesus death and subsequent resurrection, far from being just a lovely story, are in fact rooted in history and confirmed as real events by the overwhelming evidence of the empty tomb, credible eyewitness testimony of those who saw Jesus after he was raised from the dead, and the authoritative word of the one who spoke the universe into existent.
Perhaps Christianity is unpopular because it acknowledges that there is such a thing as right and wrong and is offensive enough to say that our guilty feelings are therefore, wholly appropriate. But since guilt is something that, however much we might pretend otherwise, we all still experience, something that, despite our attempts to cover up, deny or make peace with, still leaves us feeling its reality, might not Christianity, with all it’s claims of an objective solution to our objective problem be something worth considering.
Recently I heard of somebody who had no idea that Easter had anything to do with Jesus. Which leaves me wondering if there is a generation or two out there that is made up of those who, if they have rejected Christianity at all, have done so without any real idea of what it is they have rejected.
Which as well as being a terrible indictment on folk like me who have failed to effectively communicate the gospel, is also a tragedy, since many are the guilty who have had to continue to live in shame without ever knowing the joy of having been forgiven.
For which of us wouldn’t want to know the good news that there really is an answer to that gnawing sense of failure, who wouldn’t want to know that even now, there is ‘no condemnation for those who are in Christ’ [Romans 8:1].
And whilst it is true that the effects of the wrong things we’ve done may continue, for ourselves as well as for those we’ve harmed, it remains the case that the one who can deal with our guilt has also promised to deal with the consequences of our misdeeds.
Because as well as promising us forgiveness, God has promised that a day is coming when every tear will be washed away and death will be no more [Revelation 21:4].
There is, therefore, hope – not only for us but also for those who we have hurt so badly.
Christianity claims to be objectively true. Surely then, everyone ought, at least once in their life, objectively consider its claims.
And for those imprisoned by guilt, for those who long to be free, perhaps the time for doing just that is right now!
[‘Time’ is available to view on the BBC iPlayer – and is very well worth a watch]
If, like me, you spent your teenage years listening to 80’s pop music, you may be familiar with these song lyrics.
‘A good heart these days is hard to find, True love, the lasting kind. A good heart these days is hard to find So please be gentle with this heart of mine’
So sang Fergal Sharkey, former lead vocalist of the Undertones in his 1985 solo hit ‘A good heart’. Though they aren’t likely to earn Sharkey the Nobel Prize for Literature, the words are none the less ones we can relate to as don’t we all desire to be loved with a perfect and everlasting love, all the while conscious of the frailties of our own heart? The only problem is, though, that a good heart, one able to love like that, is indeed hard to find.
The problem is not a new one, not one that is unique to ‘these days’. The Bible tells us in no uncertain terms that ‘the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately sick’ [Jeremiah 17:9] so anyone looking for a good heart is going to have their work cut out. And the problem that we face is all the greater for God. We may be fooled by our looking on the outward appearance but God looks on the heart [1 Samuel 16:7] – he sees us as we really are. He has searched us and known us, discerned our thoughts from afar and is aquatinted with all our ways [Psalm 139:1-3]. And his verdict is that ‘none is righteous, no not one’ [Romans 3:10].
A good heart then, really is hard to find.
The problem becomes all the more pressing when we consider Psalm 24. ‘Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord and who shall stand in his holy place?’ asks David, the writer of the Psalm. Who is the one worthy to be the ‘King of Glory’ – to be God’s chosen King. The psalmist answers his own question: ‘He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to what is false and does not swear deceitfully.’
And with these words King David rules himself out of the running for the job. He is not fit to be the King. His hands are not clean. He heart is not pure. Like everybody else, David’s heart was deceitful above all things and desperately sick. His was a heart capable of adultery and murder, something God was all too aware of even as He selected him to be King of Israel in 1 Samuel 16.
A better King than David is therefore needed. Who might that be? Who might God chose? The prophecy of Isaiah gives us a clue when in Chapter 42 we find the first of the so called Servant Songs in which Isaiah speaks of one who was yet to appear on the scene.
‘Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my Spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. He will not cry aloud or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice. He will not grow faint or be discouraged till he has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands wait for his law.’
Here then is somebody who is qualified for the role of King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Here is one in whom God truly delights.
Well we know who this is don’t we? This is Jesus, the light of the world, who gave sight to the blind and who set the captives free just as the first of Isaiah’s Servant Songs went on to prophecy. This is Jesus, of whom God spoke at his baptism ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased’
Only Jesus has a good heart – his is the only good heart we will ever find. But, we must ask, will he be gentle with these hearts of ours?
The prophecy of Isaiah tells us that he will since it assures us that ‘a bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench’. Our frail hearts are indeed safe in Jesus’ hands. Our hearts are not good but God loves us nonetheless. He loves us, not because we are lovely, but because he is loving.
‘In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins’ [1 John 4:10];
‘…but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ [Romans 5:8]
God does not save us because of our good hearts – he saves us so that our hearts might become good.
So what should our hearts be like now? Growing in goodness certainly. Justification, our once and for all being declared righteous by God on account of our sin being dealt with by Christ’s substitutionary death on the cross, together with Christ’s righteousness being counted as ours, is only the beginning. Because what begins with justification continues with sanctification, the gradual and ongoing transformation of our character such that we are transformed into the likeness of Christ, a transformation that will only fully be realised on the day of Jesus’ return.
But there is at least one characteristic that our hearts should display now. In Psalm 51, all too conscious of his adultery with Bathsheba and his having her husband Uriah killed, David asks of God,
‘Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.’ [Psalm 51:2-3].
David acknowledges his sin and expresses repentance and then, in verse 17, he asserts
‘The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.’
Contrition. Perhaps that is what God saw in David when he identified him as the one Samuel should anoint. Perhaps that is what singled David out as a man after God’s own heart. One who humbly acknowledged his weakness and was prepared to plead, ‘Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me’ [Psalm 51:10] for ‘God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.’ [James 4:6].
Here then is comfort for the contrite heart. Contrition is the quality that God is looking for our hearts to possess. It is the contrite heart to which salvation comes.
‘For thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: “I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite.’ [Isaiah 57:15]
This is a truth echoed by Jesus in the sermon on the mount
‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’ [Matthew 5:3-4].
A good heart these days is hard to find, but whilst we do not find one in ourselves, we do find one in Jesus. His is a true love of the lasting kind. A good heart these days is hard to find, but Jesus, King Jesus, is one who will be gentle with these contrite hearts of ours.
Recently I have begun watching the new Netflix series ‘One Day’. I’ve not finished it yet but, having read the book on which it is based, I kind of know what happens. It’s receiving good reviews and proving hugely popular, not least, I suspect, amongst those of my own age who, having left university at around the same time as the principal protagonists, can relate particularly well to some of what they experienced back then when mobile phones were a novelty.
The drama revolves around Emma Moreley and Dexter Matthew, their lives being recounted through the events that take place on a single day, July 15th, of each successive year. There is some bad language and some other less than wholesome scenes but despite these I am enjoying it and can easily see why ‘One Day’ is currently among the most watched television shows in the U.K.
It begins in 1988 when the two first meet on their graduation day, a time when their lives are relatively straightforward and their futures seem full of hope and opportunity, a time which those watching can’t help but remember fondly themselves, recalling how their own lives once seemingly stretched out in front of them, similarly full of promise and opportunity.
Furthermore, Em and Dex are hugely likeable and, because of the quality of both the writing and the acting, this remain the case even when their behaviour, perhaps also like our own, is often unpleasant and sometimes obnoxious. Over the years, their lives, like all of ours, become more complex, complicated by circumstances and their own, in some cases, catastrophic mistakes.
But despite all this you’re still left wanting the very best for them, hoping that one day they’ll be as genuinely happy as they hoped they would be when first they met.
Whether the series stays true to the book, for me at least, remains to be seen, but suffice to say that, given the honesty with which the characters are portrayed, it is far from guaranteed that eventually they will live happily ever after.
Because, as Abraham Lincoln once wrote
‘In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it.’
These may not have been the former US President’s cheeriest words, but I do think that there is some truth in them. Few of us get very far in our lives before problems bring with them a degree of unhappiness.
Even so, our inherent desire for a happy ending remains. And this longing for those we care about to experience joy is not just confined to characters in a fictional TV drama, it extends to those we love in real life too, and, indeed, to we ourselves.
But, as is the case for Em and Dex, real life isn’t always like that. When I worked as a GP, I was all too well aware of the struggles experienced by many of my patients, the sadness felt by those who, in some cases, had suffered for years. And now, working for a missionary organisation, I continue to hear of folk in far off countries whose stories are nothing short of heartbreaking. And just as was the case when I was a doctor, my best efforts now still seem wholly inadequate, unable to ease the very real pain of those who, though I may never actually meet them, are nonetheless people I find myself caring about, people for whom I also want a happy ending.
The problem of suffering, seems then to be ubiquitous. Even so, there is, I believe, a solution.
C.S.Lewis, the one time Oxbridge academic and author of ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’, once wrote of how our longing for something, implies its reality, that though we may not experience it in this life, it remains the case that such a thing must, necessarily, still exist. He said…
‘If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.’
And so I will keep hoping for that other, better, world, one that I consider I have good cause to believe in. Because if good can come out of a man suffering and dying on a cross, then the suffering I see around me, and sometimes, in some small measure, experience myself, is not necessarily without meaning.
And so I believe that the words written by the apostle Paul some 2000 years ago remain true today, that the sufferings of this present time are light and momentary in comparison to the weight of glory that is being produced for us and will will one day be revealed. As such our suffering isn’t meaningless, on the contrary it’s doing something for us as we look, not to the things that are seen but to things that are unseen. [Romans 8:18, 2 Corinthians 4:17-18]
All of which explains why those dear folk I alluded to earlier, those living thousands of miles away in Ukraine and Far East Russia, are such an inspiration to me. For theirs is a genuine faith, one that does not deny the current darkness but keeps on trusting God despite the ongoing difficulties. Confident that the light one one day dawn, they know that all is well, even when it isn’t, they know that despite their unimaginable hardship, the God of love is no less for them, and whilst, for the time being at least, he may choose not to remove all that currently causes them such distress, they know that one day he will make everything as it should be because that is what he has promised to do.
Because that man who suffered and died on a cross, didn’t stay dead. Three days after dying in our place and atoning for our own catastrophic mistakes, he rose from the grave and thus defeated death. ‘Swallowed up in victory’, death has therefore lost its sting. [1 Corinthians 15:54-55].
And so, though the tears may yet flow, we have a sure and certain hope that the God who raises the dead [2 Corinthians 1:9] will one day resurrect us, a hope that sustains us through even our greatest pain and deepest sorrow as we draw comfort from the promise of Revelation 21:4 that:
One day – there will be no more mourning, no more crying and no more pain. One day – all our tears will be wiped away and One day – death will be no more.
And so we need not fear the future but can look forward instead to living happily ever after, together with God.
With so much that is so wrong with the world, many are understandably wondering how it will all end. As for me, despite all the genuine horror of the war in Ukraine, the terror currently being inflicted in the Middle East and the violence that increasingly exists on our own streets, I remain convinced that, in the end, all will be well.
And considering the future to be that certain, there is, I believe, a sense in which it can be said that all is well now.
Have a read of 2 Kings 4:18-27 – a reading from the Old Testament that tells of a woman whose son has died. I’ve suggested, surprisingly perhaps, to stop reading at verse 27, at a point when the women’s distress remains unresolved. But I do so quite deliberately, because that is where we sometimes find ourselves – with our distress unresolved.
So what can we learn from this passage?
Well a boy has died. Without telling anyone why, his mother sets off to visit Elisha, the man of God. As she does so she tells her puzzled husband, who hasn’t yet learned that his son’s headache has had fatal consequences, that ‘all is well’. [2 Kings 4: 23].
Later when she reaches the home of the man of God and is asked if all is well, asked specifically even, if all is well her son, the woman insists that it is. ‘All is well’, she says [2 Kings 4:26]
What is going on here? How can she say that ‘all is well’ when it so self evidently is not? In her distress has the dead child’s mother lost her mind?
Far from it. In her distress she has done the most rational thing possible. She has turned in faith to God and has continued to believe that the Judge of the whole earth will do what is just. [Genesis 18:25]
Where God is sovereign, all is well, because all is well where God is sovereign.
Or at least it will be.
Weeping may tarry for the night time but joy comes with the morning. [Psalm 30:5] The current distress is real but the prospect of a bright tomorrow is so certain that, no matter how dark the night is, or how far off the day may still seem, we can still say that all is well. With God in control, we can be sure that the sun will eventually rise.
Because God has promised a day when all our tears will be wiped away, a day when death will be no more [Revelation 21:4], there is a sense in which ‘all is well‘ even as our tears continue to flow and daily we are surrounded by death and disease.
When the woman reached the man of God she took hold of his feet. The man of God’s servant tried to push her away, but the man of God was content to let her come to him in her distress. [2 Kings 4:27].
And so it will be for us. No matter the difficulties we currently face, no matter the sadness that daily fills our lives, we can be sure, that God is in control. As the psalmist reminds us, God has promised that if we call upon him in the day of trouble, he will deliver us. [Psalm 50:15].
It’s as certain as that!
Because of the cross our sins are atoned for. Because of the cross we are reconciled to God. Because of the cross nothing can separate us from the love of Christ.
And when I say nothing, like the apostle Paul, I mean nothing. Not tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword. [Romans 8:35]. Furthermore we can be sure that, for those who love God, and are called according to his purpose, all things work together for good. [Romans 8:28]
Because the Son has risen, we can be sure that God is for us. And if God is for us then ‘all is well’.
Even when it isn’t.
But perhaps you can’t see it.
It is sometimes said that seeing is believing, but for a Christian, this isn’t true. Because for a Christian, it is hearing that is believing. Faith, we are tolad, comes by hearing and hearing by the word of Christ. [Romans 10:17] Faith then is seeing what’s there, when what’s there, isn’t there to be seen, As the writer to the Hebrews says, faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. [Hebrews 11:1].
It takes great faith, therefore, to see the things that are most hidden.
His is often held up as an example of a simple faith but surely the faith of the penitent second thief is a remarkable one.
Here is a man who is about to die the most painful of deaths, somebody who is totally undeserving of salvation. But not only does he still ask to be remembered by Jesus, he does so whilst the one he is asking is hanging on a cross and about to die too. He says:
‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom’ [Luke 23:42].
Unlike the religious rulers, the Roman soldiers and the other thief who was being crucified that day, the second thief didn’t see Jesus’ death as a sign of defeat. He continued to speak of Jesus as one who was coming into his kingdom. For him, Jesus’ death didn’t mean an end to all the kingdom and salvation talk. In stark contrast to those who mocked Jesus, those who were looking to Jesus for a salvation FROM death, the second thief saw that the salvation Jesus was bringing about was one that was brought about THROUGH death.
He saw that Jesus’ death was not the end of Christ’s kingdom, but rather its beginning.
This is a profound truth – one that we would do well to try and grasp.
Far then from simple, the second thief’s faith was one that was truly remarkable. And we should not be surprised therefore when, as a result, Jesus responds to his request with the words:
‘Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise’ [Luke 23:43].
Jesus saw in the second thief somebody who got it! Somebody who trusted the power of God despite seeing what, to unspiritual eyes, was nothing but weakness. Somebody who saw victory where most saw only defeat. Somebody who understood the paradox of Good Friday.
That suffering is not irredeemable, That sorrow is not incompatible with joy and That even the darkest night can be followed by the brightest day.
Oh that we would all be granted a faith like that of the penitent thief who was assured of things hoped for and convinced of things not seen. [Hebrews 11.1] Oh that in the sadness of the nighttime we would all be able to look forward to the joy that comes with the morning. [Psalm 30:5] And oh that we would all believe that, irrespective of how things currently seem, God is doing all things well [Mark 7:37] and will surely see to it that the day eventually comes when everything is as it should be.
Because one day, all really will be well,
Related blogs:
To read ‘T.S. Eliot, Jesus and the Paradox of the Christian Life’, click here
To read “Luther and the global pandemic – on becoming a theologian of the cross”, click here
When we talk of love, more often than not we tend to focus our thinking on the one who is being loved rather than on the one who is doing the loving. That is, when we say that somebody is well loved, we tend to be making a comment about how wonderful that person is perceived to be, rather than how wonderful it is that such an individual is shown love in the way that they are by another.
This is largely because we live in a world where love and acceptance have to be earned and, as a result, too many of us feel burdened with a need to promote ourselves in an attempt to be constantly admired by all. Furthermore, feeling that we must be loved by everyone, too many of us find it hard when such universal admiration is not forthcoming, a state of affairs that, as anyone who has seen the excellent film ‘Judy’ will know, can have tragic consequences.
The truth is that, in a world where there are far too many who do not know what it is to be genuinely loved at all, none of us need to be universally adored. Neither are we happier, or healthier, by constantly having to strive for the love of those we need to constantly persuade that we are worthy of receiving it.
We, or at least I, need to learn that, rather than being admired by strangers on account of my striving to be somebody I’m not, it is better to be loved by somebody who knows who I really am and who continues to love me just the same. Though the former may have some temporary appeal, the constant demand to perform beyond my capabilities will eventually be my downfall.
This is in contrast to those who, knowing what it is to be loved unconditionally, experience the security out of which they can grow to become a little better than they might otherwise have been.
For me at least, getting this wrong and continuing along the road of expressive individualism, portraying myself as more important than I actually am, gets in the way of anything that is genuinely worthy. In particular it gets in the way of the unconditional love that I suspect I am not alone in longing for.
Contrary then to how the world sees things, to truly be loved speaks more about the merits of the one who loves, rather than the merits of the one who is loved. Expending too much energy on trying to make ourselves worthy of love results in us, not only being left with the burden of constantly striving to remain loveable, but also deprives us of the joy of knowing true love and acceptance because a love that is conditional on performance is not real love at all.
For us to be truly loved, therefore, we need someone who is truly loving, one who will enable us to become more lovely as a result of their love for us.
We do not improve by being constantly criticised for what we fail to achieve, and having acceptance denied until we perform better is not the basis of a good relationship. On the contrary, ultimately we are paralysed by such pressure to be perfect , crushed under a fear of failure. Genuine progress comes only as a result of the motivation that flows out of being accepted – only then are we free to flourish, only then can we truly grow into the human beings we all so long to be.
We, and those with whom we live alongside, need to be kinder to one another, acknowledging our humanness. We need to stop insisting that we must be more than we actually are. In short, we all need to be a lot more loving, if we are all going to be a lot more loved.
But whilst we can all strive to be more loving, it is, of course, easier said than done since, just as it is hard for others to love us when we sometimes let them down, so too is it hard for us to love those who sometimes let us down. I’m not sure that any of us are up to the task of giving unconditional love – I know for sure, that I am not.
If then we can not find such a love in ourselves, where might we find it? 1 Corinthians 13, a passage frequently read at weddings, gives us some pointers:
‘Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.’ [1 Corinthians 13:4-7]
True love, then, is patient towards those whose behaviour requires patience to be shown and is kind towards those who do not deserve kindness. Love bears what is uncomfortable to carry, hopes for what is not currently present, and endures what has to be endured.
It even endures the cross. [Hebrews 12:2]
As somebody who is far from perfect, this is the kind of love I need. I believe that God loves me, not because I am lovely but rather because he is loving. I believe the glorious truth that, in Christ, I am accepted by God and, as a result of the indwelling Holy Spirit, consider that there is hope that I might yet become the person that I am called to be, someone who is a lot more like Jesus than I currently am. Only then will I be fully able to love as God loves.
Because, whilst it is true that we all, created as we are in the image of God, have some capacity to love as God does, I, on account of my fallen nature, am not able to love as fully as I ought. My selfishness and pride invariably creep in and spoil anything of merit that I may achieve. I am grateful, therefore, to be married to a wife who graciously puts up with me the way she does.
I believe that, just as a good Father is pleased with his child’s efforts to please him, so God also delights in my efforts to try to please him. Furthermore, as that good father I consider him to be, I believe he withholds none of his love when my efforts fall short of the mark.
Even so, I also believe that I ought to be more loving than I am.
But if I am to have a perfect love for anyone else, a love that is not in the least dependent on the merits of the one I show love towards, a love that bears, hopes and endures as God has had to bear, hope and endure with me, then it will require that love to originate from outside of myself. It will need to originate from the source of all love, from God, for it is God himself who is love. [1 John 4:16].
Because, as the scriptures remind us, ‘In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.’ [1 John 4:10-11]. That is, Christ died for me, not because of my merits but because of my need, not because of his obligation but because of his kindness. Only by understanding this and realising my dependence on the one who was perfect for me, and who died in my place for my imperfections, can I hope to show genuine love towards others.
Even so, I ought to love, because, as the scriptures go on to say, ‘beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another’. [1 John 4:10-11]. Not in order that I might be loved, but rather on account of my being loved already. This is, of course, something that I sadly still fail to do the way I should but, even so the promise remains, there in Philippians 1:6, ‘that he who began a good work in [me] will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ’.
How then can we love others more? By first resting in the love that God has shown to us. Just as those who realise how much God has forgiven them, know what it is to love him more, [Luke 7:47], so too those who begin to realise the depths to which God has loved them, can begin to know what it is to love others, not on account of their merits, but on account of their need, a need we all share, for unconditional love.
So I am grateful therefore that God’s love is patient and kind, that his love does not envy or boast. I am thankful that his love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
And above all, I am thankful that God’s love never ends. [1 Corinthians 13:8].
To read, ‘Professor Ian Aird – a time to die?’ and the possible tragic consequences of a constant need to achieve, click here
To read some reflections on the film ‘Judy’ on the dangers of constantly staving for love, click here
Last weekend I became a granddad for a second time. I won’t pretend there weren’t anxious moments on the way and yes, sleep was lost as we waited for the news to finally come through. Even so, the wait was most certainly worth it – Eliza Ann is a beautiful baby girl. Born weighing a healthy 8lbs and 11oz, she has already enjoyed a good night sleep in the crib that five generations of my family have slept in before her. As well as my grandmother and mother, the 26 others who have slept in that crib includes my own children, my other grandchild, and, indeed, myself.
In the coming months though my granddaughter will grow bigger and soon she will have to leave the crib to the next member of the family who, even now, is being knitted together in her mother’s womb. [Psalm 139:13]. But still, Eliza will need to sleep. My hope for her is that she will always know what it is to sleep well, but of course there are likely to be times when life for her will make that difficult. And when it does, I pray that she might find Psalm 3 as helpful as her Grandad does. It goes like this.
O LORD, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me; many are saying of my soul, “There is no salvation for him in God.” But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. I cried aloud to the LORD, and he answered me from his holy hill. I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the LORD sustained me. I will not be afraid of many thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around. Arise, O LORD! Save me, O my God! For you strike all my enemies on the cheek; you break the teeth of the wicked. Salvation belongs to the LORD; your blessing be on your people!
It’s common for those who are anxious, or under stress to find it difficult to get a good night’s sleep, so it’s no surprise that some of us find it sometimes difficult to awake refreshed after a full eight hours. After all, life is sometimes difficult, there are times when we all are unsettled by things that are changing around us, and we are uncertain of what the future might hold. And there are those who tonight will even fear for their lives as missiles threaten to take their life before morning comes. For some the nights have indeed been long.
In Psalm 3, David is under stress. His son Absalom has led an uprising against him and has even plotted to have him killed. David has had to flee and, as he has done so, he has had to listen to the taunts of those who oppose him, taunts which suggest that God is no longer for him. David however knows better. He knows God is his shield, the lifter of his head. Knowing that God will protect him and knowing he will not be put to shame, David therefore cries out to God.
And God answers.
And as a result, despite all his difficulties, David can sleep – knowing that it is God who sustains him as he does so.
Because of the protection he is confident God will give, David will not fear his enemies. He doesn’t doubt that God will deal with them, that he will both shame them and disarm them. As such, David knows salvation belongs to the Lord.
And so it is with us. Daily we face difficulties. We may feel overwhelmed by them and struggle as others look on and question how we can still trust in a God who, from their point of view, seems to have abandoned us. But we know different. Because, as we too cry out to God, he answers us in the promises he has made, the promises we find in the Bible. And so, with the shield of faith, we can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one [Ephesians 6:16].
Because the truth is that, no matter what our circumstances might be, God is for us. And ‘if God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also, with him, graciously give us all things?’ [Romans 8:31-32]
So then, we can be absolutely confident ‘that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Romans 8:38-39]
Knowing these things will help us, like David, to sleep at night. Like him, we can be sure that God will sustain us too.
But whilst Psalm 3 is a ‘Psalm of David’, written ‘when he fled from Absalom his son’, it is, at the same time, a psalm about another, greater, king.
Like David, King Jesus was rejected by his own people and was taunted by those who saw him as one who was beyond salvation. As Jesus hung on the cross, he was derided by those who passed by ‘wagging their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” [Mark 15:29-30].
Unlike David however, Jesus was not spared death – even so, death could not hold him. Though he laid down and died, God did not let his ‘holy one see corruption’ [Psalm 16:10]. God sustained Jesus too – even in death. And on the third day he rose again.
And the same will be true for us.
Because whilst we will all one day die, as the verses above remind us, it remains the case that not even death can separate us from the love of God. On occasions in the New Testament Jesus describes those who are dead as merely sleeping. And no wonder. For when we do die, we can be confident that it will be no more difficult for Jesus to raise us as it would be for him to wake us from sleep. And so, just as he did with the dead daughter of the ruler in Matthew 9, he will take our hand or, perhaps, just as he did with the four days dead Lazarus of John 11, he will call our name. And when he does, we too will be raised.
God will sustain us, even in death.
And so, just as he did with David’s enemy, God has shamed and disarmed our enemies – the last enemy needing to be destroyed being death itself. [1 Corinthians 15:26]. And because of the cross, ‘death has been swallowed up in victory’ [1 Corinthians 15:54]. We who were dead in our sin, God has made alive. He has forgiven us all our trespasses, cancelling the record of debt that stood against us, setting it aside by nailing it to the cross.
Jesus’s death paid the penalty for our sins and, in so doing, God disarmed the rulers and authorities, triumphing over them and putting them to open shame, [Colossians 2:13-15]. With sin dealt with, death then has lost its sting. It has been disarmed and rendered utterly powerless. Now and forever.
This is good news indeed.
For reasons I won’t go into, we did not hear of the birth of our new grandchild for several hours after she was actually born. Though she was delivered just before midnight on Saturday evening, we did not know of her arrival until a little after six on the Sunday morning. And I was reminded once again that good news is only truly good once it is told, that what is true can only be rejoiced over, once it’s been made known.
Which is why I sometimes write as I do. Because the good news of Jesus’ victory over sin and death needs to be spoken about if others are to know the joy that comes from receiving it.
For those who do, they is every reason to sleep soundly at night – irrespective of their circumstances. Because the God who keeps them safe is one who neither slumbers nor sleeps [Psalm 121:2-3]. And when at last their time comes to die, they will be able to ‘rest in peace’ as those who ‘rely, not on [themselves], but on the God who raises the dead’. [2 Corinthians 1:9].
Because salvation really does belong to the LORD, and his blessing really is on his people.
And so I hope that it’s not just little Eliza that will sleep like a baby tonight. Rather it is my earnest hope that all who read this might know what it is to sleep well too.
Sweet dreams!
To read ‘We went to the animal fair – the diary of a novice grandparent’, click here
This week I’ve been watching ‘Mr Bates vs The Post Office’.
I don’t suppose there are many reading this who are unaware of what this superb ITV drama is all about but, for those who have not seen it, or the headlines that it has created, it charts the story of hundreds of honest sub-postmasters and mistresses who, due to errors in a computer system, were accused by the Post Office of false accounting and theft. Many were financially ruined, some received criminal convictions and others, despite their complete innocence, were served custodial sentences and thus spent time in prison.
Furthermore, they were all lied to by the Post Office who repeatedly told them that nobody else was reporting any difficulties with the computerised system that had, in fact, been the cause of all their problems. Each and every one was told, ‘You’re the only one.’
It is an account of a catastrophic miscarriage of justice made all the more tragic by the fact that some of those who were so publicly humiliated took their own lives.
As well as a being a reminder of the dangers of our being over reliant on technology, several other themes emerge over the four part series. Given that we live in a country where even the most trustworthy people can be falsely convicted, the first is simply that sometimes there really is smoke without fire. A second is that the truth is the truth, however many lies are told by those who seek to conceal it. And a third is that justice is important, and worth fighting for, irrespective of long the battle for it to be won might be.
But perhaps the most important thing that we need to recognise having watched this important television drama, is that irrespective of how impossible life might be for us, we are never the only one who is finding it difficult.
Even when, we very much feel that we are.
Because when we feel we’re totally inadequate, when we feel overwhelmingly sad, and when we feel that life is all too much – it helps to know that we’re not the only one.
Of course, recognising that there are others who are struggling just as we are won’t, in and of itself, make our problems disappear. But knowing that there are others like us, it might help us to stop imagining that all our problems are down to we ourselves having some unique inability to cope. And if we do, we might then be able to stop blaming ourselves for being unable to bear the unbearable.
Because, no matter how often you’ve been told the opposite, the truth is that none of us are awesome. And the reason you don’t currently feel that you are awesome, is simply because we’re all more average than some people like to insist that we are.
Furthermore, we all of us need an Alan Bates in our life, someone who can come to our rescue, not only by being awesome for us, but by bringing us quietly ordinary folk together in order that, together, we can be quietly, and contentedly, ordinary.
The problem of course is that for this to have any chance of actually happening, more of us are going to have to stop pretending that we are anything other than ordinary ourselves. Which in a world that encourages us to boast of all that we can do, will not be easy. Living contrary to cultural norms never is.
Even so, it will be worth it.
Firstly we will we be able to at last lay down the burden of always having to be awesome, one that is far too heavy for any of us to bear. And secondly, rather than having to always go it alone, we will know the joy that comes from not being too proud to receive the help of someone else.
And who knows, by acknowledging our weakness, we may find ourselves strong enough to expose the lies of those who, imagining themselves to be strong, cannot see just how weak they really are. Furthermore, in so doing, we might even help them to joyfully accept their own inherent weakness too.
Related posts:
To read ‘Machines – enough to drive you berserk’, click here
Some musings 