Repentance is for Life

‘You won’t be allowed to visit’, my mother told me on Tuesday evening, with what I thought was unseemly glee. She hid her despair well when I reminded her that I am a lone householder and entitled to socialise with the rest of my bubble. Remembering that this meant herself and my brother, the telephone line was quiet for a moment. Still, she rallied her spirits tolerably well when I mentioned that Mr Roy was also part of the package.

Every cloud, you see.

It appears to have hit people harder this time. There is lockdown fatigue. We have no summer on the horizon to cheer us. And there seems to be a determination abroad in our land that we will not fall into the same trap as our wartime ancestors, proclaiming that it will ‘all be over by Christmas’. Instead, a gloom has settled, to the effect that nothing will ever be the same again.

Nor will it.

But that need not cause us any despair. I am familiar with the concept of things never being the same again, when unwanted life-altering 

events come and cut a swathe through your settled contentment. You do not ask for it; you do not want it – and yet, by God’s grace, you profit from it.

By God’s grace. In his providence. Not, as we seem to think, by our willing it. This is were we have to ignore all the cheerleading from politicians and community groups, who tell us that we will ‘get through this together’, and that we need to ‘be strong’.

No, no, no: everything in my experience of God screams in frustration at these well-meaning proclamations. In fact, friends, we need to be the very opposite of all the things that populism tells you is required. We need to be humbled by this providence, we need to be weakened by it, we need to be contrite. It is now we must turn to God with outstretched, empty hands and beg his forgiveness.

And the crucial word there is ‘we’. There are no exceptions, for there is none righteous among us; no, not one.

Christians like myself have wasted our God-given time, thinking we are witnessing, when all we are doing, really, is judging. There is no Christ in our condemnation of the broken people among us. I was at a meeting on Tuesday evening, where someone spoke movingly of how believers should witness to unbelievers. He said that we must go to them humbly, as saved sinners, and as broken people ourselves. So we must. Otherwise, how are we showing them Christ? Speak to unbelievers first of their sin and we make Pharisees of ourselves; speak to them first of Christ and we enact our true knowledge of his sufficiency.

As ever, I am speaking primarily to myself. I do not believe that Sunday opening, or Sunday golf will be the things that exclude people from, or admit people to, God’s eternal presence. Sometimes, in my love for the Saviour and his day, perhaps I have given that impression. Nor am I saying that I believe these conversations to be unimportant – just that we cannot approach witnessing by asking first for outward conformity.

That way, we create for ourselves a hollowed-out church, with no Christ at the centre.

The danger there, of course, is that a hollow church offers hollow worship and empty witness. Its words are ashes in the mouths of those who thirst; its succour colder than midwinter charity. Christ would never allow his church – his portion in the world – to become a dead thing walking. No, the Lord chastises those whom he loves.

What we are seeing now is chastisement. It is humbling, if we would only receive it as such. We ask over and over again for revival and receive, instead, plague. Our prayers are for exaltation: not of God, but of ourselves. Send us the numbers, we demand, so that the world of scorners will be silenced. So that we can be proved right, and placed on a pedestal.

Not so that God can be glorified.

Give us back our comfort, our routine. Let us smile and shake hands and return to our pews. Let us have normality.

And when I get my normality back – my warm winter coat and my expensive shoes, my nearly-new car in which to step out to Sunday worship – what of those others? Does everyone get their normality back? Me in my comfortable home or my centrally-heated church, and the homeless beggar on the street. Unbelievers back to opposing the need in their souls for salvation, and us answering it with harsh words and judgement.  

If our nation had not been permitted to move so far from God, they would know that the guilt of their suffering belongs in part to an unrepentant church. That they do not know, and that they believe human endeavour is the cure, shames me to my very core. Because of our negligence as a church, the people have forgotten God’s sovereignty.

Righteousness exalts a nation. Tell me, do you think we deserve to be exalted? Have we earned a return to what we had before? Or should we not, perhaps, give thanks to God that he has removed us from comfortable familiarity to a wilderness where we might draw near to himself, and turn our people back to a place of safety. 

The Power of Love . . . Or the Love of Power?

The first Baron Acton believed that power corrupts and that the tendency of absolute power is to corrupt absolutely. He was right, as we have almost daily proof. Our national politicians find themselves at the centre of scandals which would put a soap opera script editor to shame. It sometimes seems as though they consider themselves above the law – or at least immune to its effects.

I don’t fool myself that the local scene is any more decorous. It is simply that the stakes are lower and the local media is . . . not. Catch any  journalist off guard or in their cups and they might tell you things to make your hair stand on end (disclaimer: I said ‘might’). But you won’t catch any of them reporting it. Island politicians are not beyond reproach, but they are – largely – below the radar of public interest. Social media, of course, will do its thing of rumour, innuendo and downright lying, but what sane person believes the ramblings of a stranger on the internet anyway?

Power is, itself, a funny concept, especially when you link it to democracy. As an electorate, we basically play a game of chance in casting our votes, and let the cards fall where they may. Those selected by fickle voters are then left to simply get on with running things. Or they used to be. Nowadays, their every move is scrutinised by keyboard pundits and found wanting.

But they still have the last word.

From the other side of the ballot box, though, as one such elected person, what do I consider the nature of power to be? Bearing in mind I’m not exactly Chancellor of the Exchequer, that is. Well, I think living by the old adage that ‘knowledge is power’ may well be the only way to avoid fulfilling Baron Acton’s dark prediction. Power that is given, whether by divine right of succession or through the ballot box (rigged by the Wee Frees or otherwise) is something I have little interest in for my own part. The power to exercise positive change, however, through a proper understanding of your brief . . . well, now, that is something I can aspire to.

The worst thing any elected person can do is believe their own hype. Simply winning an election doesn’t necessarily mean you know what you’re doing – but it does mean you ought to find out sharpish.

This is true, I think, for anyone who puts themselves forward for election, but especially true for a disciple of Christ. Our defining trait is surely the daily realisation that we are nothing without him. If we seek to serve the Lord, then, by taking up office, we have to do all we can to avoid the corruption such power might bring. Now, before you get too excited, I’m not saying that the Stornoway Trust is a hotbed of intrigue and scandal. Corruption can assume many forms and, for a Christian trustee (or councillor, MSP or MP), the danger is that we become worldly, and start to rely on our own so-called ‘wisdom’ to make decisions.

That wisdom often consists of people basing their conclusions on feelings rather than facts. We are all guilty of it. You’re asked for your take on something and you have a gut reaction, so you go with that. Hunches are a lazy and destructive basis upon which to run anything, though. For Christians, we are back to that justified sinner thing again – we sometimes think that, because we are believers, all our actions will be righteous. And so they might well be, if only we trusted every one to God.

But, I hold up my hands here and confess that I have not done that nearly enough. It is probably painfully evident to those who scrutinise such things, anyway. Yes, I have tried to remember prayerfulness, and I have certainly attempted to learn the ropes of my role – but I have also relied on my own puny strength and my own inadequate wisdom too often. Those are all the times I have gone wrong; those are the days when my motivation is not what it ought to be.

I initially stood for the Stornoway Trust because I felt God was asking me to stand up for his cause, which was being shamefully set low in our community. He didn’t put me there, though – or any other Christian who holds an elected position – so that he could leave me to my own devices. His own know that is not how he works.

Why? Well, because he loves us, and he knows us. God doesn’t walk away from creatures so deluded that, despite Christ having to die for us, we can still be persuaded that there is something of worth in ourselves. He cannot trust us not to ruin things all over again – and so he goes with us.

Abraham Lincoln said that adversity was not a true test of a man’s character – his handling of power was. Sometimes, I have felt that, in my own small experience of (very limited) power, God is testing, not my character exactly, but my faith. Where I have taken my concerns to him, it has gone much better than when I have too much faith in myself.

Politically-acquired power is dangerous. It panders to our narcissism by telling us that we are popular, chosen. What every Christian must remember is this:

‘None is righteous; no, not one’.

It is a truth that those of us who believe in Christ need to remind ourselves of every day. If we wish to work for him in serving our communities, then the servant spirit must set self at naught.

Only, as Gandhi observed, when the power of love eclipses the love of power, will the world know peace. And that has to start with the people of God.