Take the Shame

No one enjoys having their enemies triumph over them. The psalms are full of exhortations that God not permit this to happen. I have been there many, many times and, whatever we say about being happy to suffer for our faith, it’s hard when ego is wounded.

The thing I have always found most useful in adjusting my thinking is to reflect on why I have enemies in the first place.

And when I do, I realise it’s got absolutely nothing to do with me. Yes, I might be objectionable in many ways, but it isn’t that which makes complete strangers take against me. They don’t loathe me for my own sake, but for Christ’s.

That’s a comfort in ways that nothing else can be, and especially on reading Luke 13:17, where we learn that all Jesus’ adversaries were put to shame. 

How were they? Did he exact cruel and unusual punishment upon them? Was he able to use his supreme power to humiliate them, to hurt them?

No, that’s not the way. It might be what we (well, I, anyway) wish for our own foes, but it is not what Jesus did – and, therefore, not what he would have us do either. 

He quite simply laid the truth before them. No need for anything else but to tell it as it is. We are not required to react to what they do, or what they say, but to hold fast to Christ, who IS truth.

If we humble ourselves with him, he will see to it that we are exalted with him. The truth transforms; it sets you free from hate and from shame of every kind.

No condemnation in Christ, remember – and his is the only verdict that matters.

Peace at any price?

There is an idea abroad in the world that Christians are meant to be men and women of peace. To a degree, of course, it is true: it would be quite wrong to go about, wilfully stirring up trouble and provoking fights.  But I don’t believe that we are called upon to foster peace at any price. 

And what does the world call ‘peace’ anyway?

I know people who will happily persecute their neighbour, yet when the heat is turned back upon themselves, cry out for peace. They do not attach the same meaning to it that we find, for example, in the words of the heavenly host, accompanying the Angel who appeared to Mary, who said, ‘peace among those with whom he is pleased’ (Luke 2:14). 

That’s a rather different kind of peace. It has nothing to do with your earthly circumstances and everything to do with your Heavenly Father.

In Luke 12, Jesus denies that he is a bringer of peace, saying that he will cause division. Of course, this doesn’t cancel out the words of the heavenly host because they are not talking about the same thing. Christ divides because there are those who see him as he is, and accept his Lordship; and there are those whose eyes will not be opened.

Some things are far too important to be glossed over for the sake of an appearance of peace. Christians should not seek to hurt or upset others, obviously, yet the truth of the Gospel will always offend. The world today seems populated with the most sensitive people who ever lived. They deny the existence of God, but manage to be hurt by the idea that they are hell-bound sinners. Should we keep the truth from them for the sake of peace? 

Silence is not peace. Turning a blind eye to injustice is not peace. Letting others defend what you purport to hold dear does not make you a peaceful person; it just means that you’ve misunderstood the definition.

God doesn’t call on us to be simpering, acquiescent robots; he calls on us to pick a side and be prepared to defend it even against those we love best.

Hiding the Key

There is some low-level grumbling about a recent decision by Comhairle nan Eilean on which teaching materials will be used for sex and relationship education. Secular parents (the tolerant, anti-Christian ones) would rather that God was kept out of things, and are less than happy that denominational (Roman Catholic) resources are to be used in place of the government-specified curriculum.

Videos and teaching packs which normalise abortion and even tell girls that it is safer than pregnancy and childbirth, they’re okay. It’s the mention of a loving God being in control, that’s when things become unacceptable. 

Reading the inevitable responses to the Comhairle’s decision, I felt a real sense of deja-vu. The same old arguments from unbelievers, protesting the ‘amount’ of religious teaching in island schools.

The usual argument for sex education in schools is that not every family will equip the child with the information s/he needs and so the state must supply the deficiency.

Alright, but then the same must hold true for the Gospel message. If some parents will not permit the children an opportunity to hear and be saved, it is only right they get the same chance as their peers from believing homes. 

So, let the state step in.

It is a deeply solemn thing to reject the offer of salvation. In rejecting, you are also selecting: eternal death over eternal life. But what of those who are determined to stop the spiritual ears of their own innocent children as well?

In Luke 11:52, Jesus says this to the Pharisees:

‘For you have taken away the key of knowledge. You did not enter yourselves and you hindered those who were entering’.

It chills me to think what some people do with the privilege of parenthood. They mock and deride the upbringing that those like me received, and they lock the door to safety on themselves . .  . and their children. I would have to be very sure of being right before I could do such a thing to anyone.

I wonder how certain they really are.

Rejection is Hard

It’s hard to believe that our witnessing might have any good effect. Sometimes it can feel that we are shouting our message into the wind. Since I began to blog about my faith, more than three years ago, I have even had moments of doubt that it’s the right thing to do. You can’t win the heart of someone you’re annoying, and I was annoying so many people at times. Indeed, I’m not altogether sure the past tense is the right one here.

Well, maybe I’m just an irritating person (absolutely NO audience participation required, thank you). Some of us are, like a stone in your shoe, or a piece of grit in your eye.

When you are bringing Christ before people, though, and you do it, trusting in him, their rejection of you is no small thing. If they laugh at you, they laugh at him; if they hold you up for ridicule and slander, they do so to Jesus.

‘The one who rejects you, rejects me’, Jesus said, ‘and the one who rejects me, rejects the one who sent me’.

It’s a sobering thought. Before I had assurance, this kind of verse scared me a lot. I saw in it only my own inadequacy to represent the Lord. Surely, I thought in desperation, if they reject me because I’m a poor witness, they won’t be punished.

But I know now that’s not how it works. There is nothing in my words alone, or in those of the most eloquent witness even, that CAN represent Christ fully. I don’t believe there are words to express the magnitude of his free offer to unbelievers. It wasn’t words that won my heart; or persuaded you of your need.

Christ is the persuasion. He is the perfect answer to every question we do not even know how to ask. In my poor scribblings, in your stammered testimony, in the hesitant sermon from the unready student, he is there, revealing his beauty if only people had the eyes to see.

Some do, some don’t. While one may be softened by what they hear, others harden their hearts against the self-same thing.

It is not you or your witness that is being tested. Christ is present in our most meagre testimonies. He said it himself: the unbeliever doesn’t reject you or me – they reject him. In these moments, he doesn’t reproach his people with their failure because he doesn’t leave us to do even that small thing on our own.

Take heart. He is with you in your witnessing if you belong to him.

But he is there in what is presented to you if you do not yet belong to him. Find him in it. And when you see him, really see him. Then, I think, you cannot reject such a Saviour.

Who am I?

We live in a world and in a time when perception is everything. Reputations can be destroyed and lives ruined by a word. Rumour, gossip and hearsay are the enemies of truth. It is not enough to have integrity; you must wear it on your sleeve for all to see.

Sadly, the kind of integrity that the world values is not always the Biblical variety. People urge one another to ‘be kind’, but that really means that we should comply with the prevailing view. You are deemed unkind if you hold to principles which are unpalatable to even one other person.

How, then, can you please such a world? It’s impossible to do and say what will keep everyone happy, and still remain true to yourself. So, you must step back and measure your belief against the one true plumb-line: Christ.

In Luke 9, he asks Peter that well-known question, which he is also putting to you and to me.

Who do you say that I am?

If our answer is the same as the disciple’s, then we have to be prepared to take up our cross. That will, most likely, mean being hated for his sake, and being misunderstood. I have noticed that it is the first thing people point out in criticism of me: ‘what kind of Christian does ___?’ 

Never mind what they call you; forget what they say. Ignore their barbs. You have answered the Saviour’s question, and you store up in your heart all the promises that go with the name of Christ. 

Think of this, if you put the same question to him, what would he answer? Ask Jesus, ‘who do you say that I am?’ If your identity is in him, then his reply is the only one that matters.

Your Lord or Your Loved Ones?

Jesus didn’t go by the adage, ‘he travels fastest who travels alone’. He was almost always to be found at the centre of a group, whether just his own 12 disciples or, as in Luke 8, a more extended company.

For me, one of the interesting features is not the number, but the composition – ‘many women’. At least one of these was a married woman. She was only obeying Jesus’ own command to leave her family behind to follow him. It is what he asks of all who wish to throw their lot in with his; it is what he asks of us. Our loved ones are to move into second place,  behind our Lord.

When my father died, we discovered a letter he had written to us, the family. In it, he expressed his love for us, something a Lewisman of his generation would never verbalise. I don’t for one minute believe, however, that he thought we doubted his feelings for us. That was not the purpose of the letter.

He told us what we already knew, that we had been so happy together that two lifetimes would still not be enough time. 

Yet, he added that he was content to go to be with Christ, which is far better.

In one sense, this is an example of a father putting Christ before his family. But, in another, it is an illustration of that great Christlikeness which is the fruit of faith. He was using his love for us in the service of a greater love: he was saying, ‘you know how we feel about one another; well, here is something far more to be desired’.

He used this last communication to us as a witness for his Lord.

Leaving your family to be with Christ is not the cold sacrifice that it may sound. In fact, it can be a far greater act of love than remaining in the place where they are.

Is this He?

We can’t really know why John the Baptist sent his messengers to Jesus, to ask whether he was indeed the Messiah. In the solitude of his prison cell, was he really starting to doubt – the same John who recognised Jesus in the womb?

It would be wrong to utterly dismiss that as a possibility. I am sure that all believers doubt at times – their faith guttering like a candle in a draught. Mine wavers. There have been dark moments when I truly questioned where God was. The trick, though, is to try keeping so close to him that you never have to wonder.

John the Baptist, I’m certain, was much better at that than the likes of me.

I favour a different explanation. It is possible that he sent his men to ask Jesus, not because he doubted, but because he feared that they might.

Jesus, of course, doesn’t always answer the question put to him. Nonetheless, we can be sure of receiving the response we need to hear. In this case, Jesus pointed to the best evidence he had of his status as Messiah: his own works, done in his own power and on his own authority. Who else but the true Son of God could accomplish this?

This morning, I am grateful that this is the Messiah. Here is authority; here is might; here is glory.

But, oh my word, here too is compassion.

Not only is the Lord walking among the very lowliest in society, and healing those shunned by others, but see how he deals with them. Jesus is astonished by the faith of the centurion; Jesus takes pity on the weeping widow.

Jesus does. The Son of God. 

Imagine your faith astonishing, or your tears moving, the heart of the second person of the godhead?

Stop imagining. It is so. This is our Saviour; we need look for no other.

Sabbath Fury

We have had a lot to say about the Sabbath here in Lewis – so much so that Luke 6 actually makes uncomfortable reading. 

Jesus is rebuked for permitting his disciples to pluck grain to assuage their hunger. Later in the passage he offends the Pharisees again by healing a man with a withered hand who is in the synagogue on the Sabbath.

Many thought the Sabbath twice broken by Jesus because he permitted the hungry to be fed and caused a disabled man to be healed. Jesus himself, of course, saw things differently.  As a man in this world, he didn’t concern himself with outward conformity; and as our intercessor in heaven, he is just the same.

The Lord sees us in ways we cannot see each other. He knows our hearts and our needs – and he knows our motives.

Was it love for Jesus that moved the Pharisees to keep the Sabbath?  Perhaps. But ask another question: was it love for Jesus that made them enforce it so rigidly on behalf of others?

We have our answer at verse 11, ‘But they were filled with fury and discussed with one another what they might do to Jesus’.

Nothing that fills us with fury is good. It edges out the love that ought to dwell in the hearts of all Christians. Sabbath-keeping, to my mind, is one outward sign of love for the Lord: we keep it because we are glad to do so. But it is not, in itself, loving him. In fact, this chapter shows us that it is possible to adhere to the outward so rigidly that we can remove Jesus from the throne of our hearts.

Spoiler alert: at no point in the following 18 chapters will Jesus demonstrate his care of the people through Sabbath-keeping. That is a desire that comes from a changed heart: it comes from within; it is not imposed from without.

We have to be so careful as Christians because we cannot see others as our Lord does, from the inside out. It is a challenge, then, not to punish the unchanged hearts for lack of conformity and lose the privilege of truly witnessing in the process.

Let us find where Jesus harangues the lost for breaking the Sabbath, and then we can emulate his example.

The Nets Were Breaking

Have you ever felt like you might be crushed under the sheer weight of the world, of your own failings and disappointments? It’s a rare person who has not. We have all been in situations where it feels as though, no matter how hard we try, no matter how justified our actions, our efforts are doomed not to bear fruit.

If we are Christians, that sense of inadequacy comes with a side-order of guilt, because we are well aware that our failing is often a result of cutting God out of the picture. And yet – if you are anything like me – in situations like that, we still persist in doing it our own way.

We know, but we somehow don’t believe, that God will do it better.

When we trust in him, though, he does amazing things. I can’t count the number of times I have put myself through agonies – what should I do, should I speak up about this, is it up to me to act, have I been wrong, is my anger justified – and why? All because I do not carry everything to God in prayer. And finally, when I am broken by my own complete inadequacy, and I go to him, arms out like a hurt child, what happens?

He astonishes me all over again.  

If only I would remember that, then, and not repeat the mistake of thinking I’m doing this alone. Luke 5 spoke to me so boldly this morning about the difference between my puny efforts, compared to those that are done in the strength and wisdom of my Saviour. 

We have to ask ourselves, when the going is tough, is the Lord withholding his blessings from us, or are we keeping ourselves aloof from him? Is our profession of faith truly bound to the way we live? Are we saying we trust in Jesus, but keeping our own hands on the steering wheel?

I know I am very guilty of this. Here, though, in Luke 5, is the reminder I need.

By myself, I am fishing with no bait; leaning on Jesus, the nets are straining to hold all that he bestows.

An Opportune Time

The devil never quite goes away, does he?  I know that I’m not alone in feeling that he seems to be, if not a resident, then definitely a very frequent visitor to my home. He is an expert in my badness, and my weakness. This knowledge is then used to tempt me away from God, to make me act rashly, to speak unkindly, to doubt my salvation, to steal my peace.

Whenever I find myself in a situation where there is strife and difficulty, I will invariably start to doubt whether I really am saved. ‘No Christian should . . .’ says that insidious inner voice.

But in this, as in all things, I can look to Christ. We often hear quoted that he was ‘tempted in all points like as we are, yet without sin’. The second clause could easily discourage you because such perfection is beyond any human being. Concentrate on the first, though, and see what it’s saying: your Saviour understands what you are suffering; he has been here first.

It would be easy to see the temptation in the wilderness as an isolated incident. The devil comes to Jesus, not when he is low, but at a spiritual high point, after his baptism. Jesus relies on the truth of scripture and defeats his foe, going off in the power of the Spirit to begin his public ministry.

So, that’s that. Jesus in his perfection has kicked the devil into touch and commences his work in peace. End of Jesus’ experience of temptation.

Hardly. 

Note what Luke 4:13 says about the devil’s departure ‘until an opportune time’. I take comfort in that because it is the pattern of my own life: spiritual highs followed immediately by spiritual attack; the sense of the devil being defeated, only for him to return and redouble his efforts when I least expect.

But that is when I need to forget my own strength, or my own guile and cleave to the Lord. Satan did not tempt him once and give up, anymore than he does with me or you: he merely waited until an opportune time.

The loneliness of Jesus at the end of his life made that just such a time, and the devil doesn’t waste chances. Our Lord dealt perfectly with him, though, surrendering his own will to the Father and relying upon that strength against the tempter’s power.

With me, with you, he is just the same. His retreats are temporary, always until an opportune time. But our protection is the same as that which surrounded Christ in the desert and at Calvary.