Journalism, Satan and Sunday Opening

When the nice journalist from BBC Scotland rang, I thought she might be wanting to talk about wind farms. People do, you know. They’re quite the hot topic here in Lewis – like NATO or Arnish in their own day. People didn’t want these developments either, to begin with . . .
She wasn’t phoning about turbines, though. Do you remember those schlocky old horror films, when you think the Thing is finally vanquished, but it comes back and grabs you by the throat?
Exactly: she was phoning about Sunday opening of the sports centre.
I could have sunk to the floor in despair. My colleagues wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. This sort of stuff happens all the time. Mind you, it’s been a while. Not since I marked an essay which confidently proclaimed that the Picts saw the Vikings coming and ‘went into oblivion’ have I so felt the need to rock in a corner. Instead, I arranged to be plonked in front of a microphone and offer my opinion on why Sunday opening of public services is a non-starter (again).Also, it came in the middle of a slightly hectic week – a period Lady Bracknell would have disapprovingly described as ‘crowded with incident’. I was caught ever so slightly on the hop: halfway between the surreal spectacle of a Scottish Land Court sitting in our church hall, and a Christmas night out with the gents of Stornoway Trust. In case you were wondering, I won all the cracker pulls – and no, they weren’t just letting me in case I cried . . .

Yet, despite the distractions, part of me had been waiting for this call. Not two weeks before, I had been discussing how dangerous complacency is. Just because all is quiet, don’t make the mistake of reading that as lasting peace. Don’t take your eye off the wall because the enemy is likely just waiting to surge over it.

(For the sake of clarity, when I say ‘enemy’, I mean Satan. And, when I say ‘Satan’, yes, I really do mean him and nobody else).

That’s why the Lord said to Isaiah, ‘Go, set a watchman, let him declare what he sees’. We need to be ready and watchful – like the soldiers of Gideon who took the water with their hands, so that their eyes might freely scan for danger.

This latest attempt is neither here nor there. But the whole debate opening up again has reinforced for me the image problem that Christians have. Now, while it doesn’t actually matter what people think of us per se, if it’s damaging to our witness, then that certainly is an issue, and one that needs addressing.

For this reason, I found myself at pains in the interview to deny that I am a Sabbatarian in the sense that the word is usually applied. That would elevate the day itself to an importance greater than the purpose for which it was granted – and that would be very wrong. We have – somehow – to dispel the notion that we want to keep Sunday special out of a desire to impose a draconian will upon the community.

Parliament has recently acknowledged the Christian image problem by running a survey into the discrimination that they face in daily life. Although the necessity of such a thing is a little depressing, it is nonetheless a step forward that the presence of anti-Christian prejudice exists in the UK. Frequently, you will find that it is casual, it is thoughtless. And it goes unrecognised as the bigotry that it is.

Last week, for example, I saw someone on social media had written: ‘We don’t mind Jesus, it’s his friends we have the problem with’. Oh, really? Try separating them from Him, then, and see how far you get with that.

Or, if you’re feeling brave, why not take out the name of Jesus altogether, and replace it with Allah? Does it look a bit more like bigotry now?

There is a lot of anti-Christian prejudice out there. In completing the survey, I was able to truthfully say that I have been met by it repeatedly, right here in my own community in most cases. However, I feel it really is time to start addressing it, and calling it out every time we witness instances of such bigotry. We live in a country that, not so long ago, made racist jokes our staple form of humour. However, within a generation, people have managed to accept that this is wrong.

Surely it’s our duty as Christians, then, to take that same stand for our faith. If someone has grown up using the Lord’s name as a swear word, for example, don’t you think it’s our job to raise an objection so they will see how offensive they’re being?

The journalist who questioned me about opening the sports centre on Sundays also said that she had spoken to parents who were for the status quo, but feared going on the record to that effect. That is a statement that should shame us all. Have public debate in general, and issues relating to the Sabbath in particular, become so controversial that we cannot talk them over openly without fear of reprisal?

Every time this kind of question arises, perhaps we ought to look on it as an opportunity to re-educate people about what Christianity is. Instead of meeting their attacks with slings and arrows ourselves, we could take the moment to demonstrate love.

And, no, Christian love does not mean stepping aside, and letting people do what they want; it means pointing them towards the light by which they might see for themselves how wrong they’ve been. And prejudice IS wrong, however normalised it has become in our midst.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Learning From The Devil’s Example

There is at least one respect in which I differ from the devil. When I am frightened, I become paralysed and unable to do anything. Both times my husband underwent lifesaving surgery, I sat in the same spot on the sofa, cold and sick-feeling. My plans of cleaning the fridge, or tidying out the cupboards to distract myself . . . well, they didn’t happen. I couldn’t even move.

But Satan doesn’t let fear stop him in his tracks. Actually, it makes him busier than ever. Really up against it, he has nothing left to lose.

And even although his defeat has already been secured, he does not mean to go down without a fight – and to take as many of us with him as he can. He already has many hostages in his thrall. Here’s the clever bit, though: they don’t know that they’re captive; they believe that they’re free.

He isn’t called the father of lies for nothing. His artistry is such that the people who will follow him anywhere he leads are the very ones who would deny his existence. They don’t believe in him, except as a slightly comical character in fiction, a scorched, cloven-hoofed cartoon demon, jabbing at you with his trident.

But he does exist – and he would never be so unsubtle as to use his weapons in that way. He is as likely to croon as he is to jab.

If you don’t believe in his existence, then you do not believe in God either. This is why the devil does not push his ego, or insist that you acknowledge him. If you did, there is much more chance that his wiles would fail; that you would turn from his eternal ugliness to God’s eternal purity.

He doesn’t want that, though, so he lets you believe your infantile fiction – that all we are, all we have, came from nothing, is governed by nothing, and will return to nothing.

That is your experience as an atheist. Life is brief and, for some, filled with suffering. The nothing from which we came is neither moral nor immoral, and so looks on suffering and rejoicing unmoved. Yet, from some human hearts, sympathy comes. From themselves, for there is no guiding principle.

But there is still the convenience of having God to blame. When something goes wrong, you can spit at Christians, ‘where is your God now?’

What an unutterably sad state of affairs. This is the real God delusion. Atheists don’t disbelieve in Him – they hate Him. They say he’s a childish fantasy, but they blame Him for everything that is wrong.

They hate Him because they have remade Him in their own image. The object of their ridicule is not the Christian God. And Satan laughs as he looks on from the sidelines.

When that frenzy of God-hating is whipped up to its maximum, those who know He is there and love Him, they can become discouraged. It is easy to look around you at the degraded state of society and feel the power of darkness is about to overwhelm.

Yet we have this truth. The darkness cannot overpower the light. Always, the latter drives out the former.

Those who have been duped, of course, don’t think they’re dwelling in darkness because they haven’t yet seen the great light. They believe in their own triumvirate: gods of tolerance, reason and self-fulfilment.

These false idols are all that is available to a people who came from nothing, live for nothing, and will return to nothing.

I am more than aware of the challenge of telling people whose ears are stopped that there is something beyond what they are pleased to call reason. You can spend many hours faithfully telling them who Christ is, only to have your face slapped. They will tell you that they respect your beliefs, even as they spit on them.

This is the world that crucified our Lord, and would do it again. Not for anything He has done against them, because there is nothing. In truth, He has gone beyond anything they could dream of asking, and though they keep on rejecting Him, still He holds out those broken hands to beckon them to Himself.

They reject Him, they say, because they cannot believe such a fantastical tale. And Satan nods his agreement – much better to stick with him, the arch-liar. He knows they can’t see him and don’t believe he’s there.

And that they won’t know until it’s too late.

Unlike Satan, Christ does not dupe the unwary. His people in this world cannot do that either. Instead, we have to be relentless in holding out the truth. Those who seem unlikely to realise the danger are the ones we owe most to, because we were once just as blind as they. We need to tell them, and tell them, and tell them again. Though they beg us to be quiet, or put their hands over their ears, we need to go on with our witness.

So, I suppose that I have to try to be a bit more like the devil in that one respect. Instead of allowing myself to be rooted to the spot by fear, I have to get busy. The motivation is that incomparable truth: that Christ has already overcome the world, and vanquished its prince. Satan fights tirelessly, knowing he’s been beaten; we should do the same, confident of victory.

And we need, above everything else, to keep the unbelievers in our prayers. That, I think, is the action Satan fears most of all.

 

 

Wee Free Fantasy (Here be no dragons)

It must be a drag, heading to the prayer meeting on a sunny evening. Imagine having your everyday life restricted by a list of don’ts as long as Psalm 119; a list that has as its heading, ‘don’t have fun’. And what about bookending your day with readings from the Bible, and conversations with an imaginary friend? What kind of fool submits to all that, and crowns it off by sacrificing their Sunday in order to sit on hard seats, listening to dry, dusty sermons from dry, dusty men?

At least, that’s what I used to think. Church was good in bursts, but then, for the least reason, I would excuse myself from going. A long lie was often more beguiling than the Gospel. Whenever I thought that perhaps I belonged with the people of God, another thought would follow on its heels, ‘live your life first’. And when I would see them going midweek to sit in church, on a lovely July evening, I would breathe relief that I was out in the fresh air, and free.

I’m glad that I can remember these thoughts, because it may help me understand church-avoiders a little better. You see, during these periods of church-going, I had no problem with what I was hearing, indeed I was frequently very much affected by it. The repeated, central message of salvation made complete sense to me.

But, sooner or later, the world would lure me back – I’d miss a service here and there, then a whole Sunday, then the next one. And, before I knew it, I was someone who wasn’t a churchgoer anymore.

People will say – I saw such a claim only this week on social media – ‘I don’t need to go to church to believe in Christ’. No, but it certainly helps. Perhaps not everyone is as weak-willed as me, or as prone to sin, but I think that there is a huge danger to anyone in staying away from corporate worship. We know that it is not a good sign in the Christian; but it can prove fatal in one who has not yet professed faith. Like the prodigal son, before he eventually ‘came to himself’, if you are away too long from your Father’s house, you are liable to forget what it can offer.

Nothing I say could make church an attractive proposition to those who feel as I once did about it. When you are not there, the world puts you under an enchantment until you forget that it has anything to offer. Instead, you listen to Satan telling you that you’re the wise one, using your own time as you see fit and not listening to what some narrow-minded miseries think you should do. Yes, you start to believe, they are enslaved, and I am utterly free. I can go to church if I want, you think . . . or not, if I prefer.

And then, you get drunk on your own wisdom – quickly, because it’s been spiked by the Devil with lies. All of that stuff about Jesus and salvation, that can wait. Live a decent life and deal with God later.

But, what if God chooses to deal with you now?

No, you can dismiss that kind of morbid thought from your mind. That’s just Christians with their doom and gloom, their scare-mongering. Really, most people don’t die young. It’s exasperating that people still feel that way. No wonder you don’t feel like going to church when they’re all so out of touch with reality.

A friend suggested this week, in a tongue-in-cheek manner, that a sermon series from our church could not compare with ‘Game of Thrones’ for boxset entertainment value. The television series is a mediaeval fantasy with swords and dragons. It seems that most people would choose to stay home and watch this of a Sunday evening, while the black-hatted drones obediently trot off to church.

One group is immersed in a realm of darkness; the other group is praying to get them out of it.

Many of those who prefer ‘real life’ to Christianity would tell you that they don’t want your prayers, that you are simply speaking to an invisible friend.

It would be easy to give up hope for them, and it’s heartbreaking to see Christians weeping over their children, worried that they are moving further from Christ all the time, not closer.

Well, to them I will quote Aslan, hero of another great fantasy series, ‘Courage, dear heart’. What unites these two groups, unbelievers and Christians alike, is that they each forget the power of the Holy Spirit.

I didn’t suddenly find the company of the Lord’s people appealing of my own accord. Left to myself, I would probably still be at home, watching implausible television, happy in the knowledge that these dragons aren’t real. Because of the intervention of the Holy Spirit, however, my eyes were opened.

Heading to the prayer meeting on a sunny evening is now one of life’s greatest pleasures. You see the Creator’s work at its best in weather like this, and then you are with His people, who are also your people. Best of all, you get to meet with Him.

This is no fantasy. There are two kingdoms, but only one monarch. Pick your side – but pick the right side. Choose the realm of darkness and you have no king, only a pretender; choose light and there you have a King whose throne is not subject to any game.