Who do people say I am? Mark 8. Matthew 16.

Who do you say I am?

The Apostle Paul, while he still went by his Jewish name of Saul, was sent by the temple authorities to Damascus to arrest those of the Way, as the followers of Jesus were known at that time. As he got close to the city, a brilliant light flashed around him and a voice called out saying, “Saul, Saul! Why are you persecuting me?” To which Saul replied, “who are you, Lord? To which the Lord replied, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”

It's a key question for anyone who encounters Jesus at the beginning of their life of faith in him. Who are you, Lord? Jesus has called you and you want to know who he is. In any relationship at its beginning, you want to know who the other person is. The same question came to my mind one evening when I was praying for a friend of mine. At one point during that time, I received what might be described as the classic Ah moment, eyes opened, ears tuned in, someone had spoken. In my quest to know more about the one who had spoken, I set about reading all I could about Jesus. I went round to my friend’s flat to tell her all about Jesus is Lord. But although she could see something had happened, what I was telling her largely went unrecognised.

The point is, the recognition of Jesus as Son of the Living God cannot be appropriated by human means. It is a supernatural gift given for the purpose of bringing you into a relationship with Jesus. This is made clear by Jesus himself.

In this morning’s reading from Mark’s gospel, and in its parallel in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus asks his disciples, who do people say I am? They answer, some say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, some say one of the prophets. In other words, the some-sayers don’t know. They can’t recognise Jesus for who he is, let alone give a committed answer to the question. And here is the reason why.

It’s personal: who do you say I am? The “you” is emphatic in the original Greek text. Peter declares, you are the Christ the Son of the Living God. And here’s the rub: Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven. In other words, the knowledge you have been given about who I am is not of human origin. It is a supernatural gift from God the Father so that no one can boast about it being their own achievement on their own merits.

You see, God is a god who wishes to make himself known. God is a god of self-disclosure. As the letter to the Hebrews says, God has spoken to us in many and various ways, but in these last days, he has spoken to us by a Son. Our God is a speaking god. That is how he reveals himself to us. And from that, two questions arise: who do you say Jesus is, and what do you want with him? Do you want relationship, or do you want religion? The reason you are asked those two questions is because Jesus died on a Roman cross to bring you into a relationship with him. He did not die for religion.

The great Billy Graham proclaimed a message of relationship with Christ, and hundreds went forward each time to receive Christ into their lives. There was nothing religious about it.

The difference between religion and relationship goes like this: two men went to church one Sunday. One was a lord of the manor, the other a poor homeless addict. The lord of the manor stood up front and prayed, I thank you God I’m not like that homeless addict. I’ve kept the rules, done the right thing, in church every Sunday, I’m a good person. So now I claim my reward of blessing from you. Whereas the homeless addict sat at the back, eyes cast down and cried, Lord have mercy on me, a sinner. He was the one who went home justified in the sight of God. The homeless addict wanted relationship with God; the lord of the manor wanted religion.

Christianity is not a religion. It might look like a religion and is often treated like one, but it is a relationship with the living God, who loves us so much that he was prepared to die for our sins through his Son, Jesus Christ, to bring us home to him.

All sorts of people came to Jesus for various reasons: a Canaanite woman who wanted her daughter healed; a rich young man who wanted eternal life on his own terms; a chief tax collector called Zacchaeus. Each one was tested with the same question amounting to, what do you want with me?

The Canaanite woman was challenged. In a nutshell, she was called a Gentile dog not fit for the children’s crumbs. But when she confessed, I’d rather eat the crumbs that fall from my master’s table, she demonstrated an intense desire for relationship with Jesus. And she prevailed. Her daughter was healed at that very moment. The rich young man was challenged to give up his material attachments and follow Jesus. He couldn’t do it. He wanted the religion of law keeping, not relationship. Zacchaeus wasn’t going to let anything obscure his desire for a relationship with Jesus. That’s why he climbed a tree to get a better view of his heart’s desire. And Jesus was welcomed into Zacchaeus’ house.

Compare that with the Pharisees who rounded on Jesus for being a law breaker. Their faith was in religion and it got them nowhere. Did not Jesus say when they asked him for a sign, why does this generation (meaning they, the Pharisees) ask for a sign? No sign will be given. In other words, if your faith is in religion and not in me, you will never see me for who I really am.

Now, there is another point about what it takes to enter into a relationship with Jesus. Jesus taught that whoever wants to be his disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross and follow him. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for the sake of the gospel, will save it.

When Jesus told his followers that their lives of being his followers meant they had to deny themselves, he was not giving them a piece of friendly advice. It was a command, as the original Greek text shows. If you want to be in a relationship as my disciple, you must put away your old life, your former slavery to sin, living for self and your old ways, and give yourself over to me.

Let me illustrate it this way. I watched the wedding of Mary Donaldson to Frederick of Denmark. I recall how Mary’s father led her up the isle and handed her over to her husband into a new life. She left behind her old life and entered a new life in covenant with her husband. She is now under his care and authority. And Frederick left behind his old life when he accepted Mary.

Life in Christ is a new life. We must accept Christ and hand ourselves over to him. We cannot enter our new life in Christ while still shackled to our old life, any more than Mary Donaldson could enter her new life of marriage with her husband if she remained under her father’s roof in her old life, or any more than Frederick could enter his new life of marriage if he couldn’t accept Mary.

There are just two things you take with you into eternity when your time on this earth is finished: your relationship with God, and how you have treated other people, who are also made in God’s image same as you are. Everything else counts for nothing. Money, power, rank, ambition, the idols of life, are worthless in the Kingdom of Heaven. Give them up, for you cannot serve two masters.

So, who do you say Jesus is, and what do you want with him? Relationship or religion? By faith we enter relationship; by works we perform religion.

As I invite you to consider your answer, I encourage you to keep in mind the story of the blind man who sat by the side of the road, and when he heard Jesus passing by, he cried, Son of David have mercy on me. Jesus asked him, what do you want me to do for you? What do you want with me? It’s an extraordinary generous open question from the master. The blind man chose relationship. Lord, I want to see. Go, said Jesus, your faith has healed you. Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.

In other words, the blind man, because he cried out for mercy, which is the first utterance of a desire for relationship with God, received not only his eye sight but also his insight. He recognised Jesus as Son of the Living God and followed him as a true disciple leaving behind his old way of life.

Philip Starks
Published under Creative Commons Copyright Licence  

For my power is made perfect in your weakness. 2 Corinthians 12.

What we have in the bible as 2 Corinthians is more than likely to be 2 and 3 Corinthians. Textual criticism can uncover at least two distinct letters penned by St Paul. That means the Corinthians were the recipients of the largest corpus of Paul’s correspondence. Why? It was a church that had big problems. Corinth was a very tough nut to crack. It was pagan, materialistic, Hellenistic (that is steeped in Greek religion and culture), and of course riddled with corruption at the highest levels. The forces aligned against the new teaching that the Jewish Jesus of Nazareth was Lord and Christ were formidable.

The major problem was Greek cultic religion and culture, which focused on intellectual pride, distain for the physical world in favour of higher wisdom and knowledge of the spiritual, boasting and competition within the young church, cultural arrogance, and admiration of public power, style and polish. And on top of that, Paul’s apostolic authority was being challenged by those who didn’t like it. So it’s little wonder that Paul wrote two, three, and perhaps as many as four letters to the church at Corinth.

Paul’s pastoral concern for his church shines through in the determined way he writes. He doesn’t want to lose anyone and see them return to Greek cultic paganism. He writes passionately about what life in Christ is about and shows how different it is to what they have previously known. He covers issues such as being a new creation in Christ; how we are renewed daily through our walk with him by faith and not by sight; being treasure in clay jars, responding to the call of God and handing over to him our weaknesses; how we are recipients of much generosity from God and therefore are expected to respond in like manner through the work he gives us to do.

This morning, we take another look at our weaknesses, only this time about how Christ’s power is made perfect in those weaknesses.

Let’s begin 3000 years ago when Israel and the Philistines were at war, again. But instead of allowing a blood bath to happen, each side chose a champion. One man is to fight the other in a duel to the death, and whoever won, that side won. The Philistines chose a huge man, Goliath. Armour so heavy that no one else could wear it and a sword so heavy that no one else could lift it. In the Israelite camp, nobody wanted to go up against him. I don’t blame them. But, one young man put his hand up. A shepherd boy called David with a stone and sling. He wasn’t strong enough to wear full armour, let alone lift a broad sword. It was a foregone conclusion – or was it?

Goliath swore, mocked, ridiculed, and laughed. But what did David say in reply? You come against me with sword and javelin, in other words trusting in your own strength, but I come to you in the name of the Lord, who you have defied. And you all know the outcome of the story. David put a simple stone in his sling, swung it round and launched it with pin point accuracy against Goliath, and Goliath was killed instantly with a cracked skull.

Now let me ask you this question. Whose power was made perfect that day? David said, I come to you in the name of the Lord. God’s power was made perfect through David’s weakness. Goliath didn’t stand a chance. God’s grace was sufficient for David.

The David and Goliath story is of the defeat of self-reliance and the spurning of trust in God. It can also be the story of secular religion, which idolises human power and strength. And how so often do we see that? I can do it my way; my ego rules the day so follow me; narcissists; tin-pot dictators; self-made billionaires; self-serving politicians; gurus who will peddle every philosophy under the sun rather than acknowledge the God and Father of our Lord Jesus, who has the real power of life and death, resurrection, and justice. It is he who rules, it is he who reigns, and it is he whose power is made perfect in weakness. And then there’s the supreme example of God’s power made perfect in weakness: the cross. Who would think that a crucified man would amount to the establishment of an eternal kingdom? Did not Paul preach Christ crucified to be the power of God?

Now, let’s look briefly at this morning’s reading from 2 Corinthians where St Paul recounts Jesus’ answer to his prayer to take away a thorn in his side. We don’t know what the so-called thorn was. Paul doesn’t say. He just describes the problem as a thorn. But whatever it was, it caused Paul problems which he thought interfered with the way he conducted his ministry and therefore weakened it.

St Paul was, in every other way, a tower of strength. He was intellectual giant; a Pharisee; a student of Gamaliel, one of the most respected rabbis of the day; and his energy as being zealous for the law was second to none. But all that changed in a moment when he met the risen Jesus on the road to Damascus. It was extraordinary experience, and he writes of another that he describes as being caught up to the third heaven and hearing things which mortal man may not utter.

I can just imagine it. Paul the tele-evangelist lauding all these credentials. Viewers will flock; ratings will be sky high; money will flow. And then it is no longer the work of God, but the work of Paul. It becomes his ministry, his flock, his ratings, his cause. Jesus becomes the object of Paul’s cause, and Paul is in charge of it, self-elevated and self-made. So as a check to all this, Paul is given a problem with the explanation that, my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Change of scene, change of tune, as it were. Paul writes, Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weakness, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. It is all about Christ. I wonder how the questioning goes at ordination selection conferences. Do the candidates boast all the more gladly of their weaknesses so that the power of Christ may rest upon them?

Let’s now look briefly at this idea of human weakness in ministry and what can be done about it.

In John’s gospel, we are reminded of Jesus’ teaching that apart from him we can do nothing. In other words, all that we do in ministry must be rooted in Christ alone. Much afflicts us. We suffer from anxiety, confusion, tiredness, apathy, temptation, self-serving, and the list goes on. For example, you may be experiencing a spiritual winter of anxiety or confusion. Your prayer life may seem dry, but if you are faithful and persist, you will find that unseen roots sink deep into the ground, ready to produce the fruit of a new and exciting relationship with Jesus.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus taught us not to be anxious. The meaning of the Greek word for anxiety carries the idea of division: divided minds and hearts. Should I do this or that? Which way shall I proceed? My prayer life is riddled with anxious thoughts, and I don’t know what to focus on. I am torn between trusting my worldly instincts for survival in the worldly affairs of my time and circumstances, and trusting in God’s good provision for me in his time and circumstances. Don’t we all relate to that one?

Or are you a tired and exhausted Christian? You keep running on and on, climbing higher and higher, and you end up with burn out. Hitting the ground running, climbing every mountain, may seem like the strength of chasing achievement, which is how it goes in the world of secular religion, but in Christian ministry it’s a serious weakness. Why? Because there is little that delights the enemy, the devil, more than a burnt-out Christian. Satan will exploit ego, self-reliance, resistance, stubbornness, and temptation to the nth degree until he renders you useless.

So what can we do? Well, we can begin by noting that St Paul’s thorn was not the hinderance he thought it was, but his ego was and that’s what had to be held in check, because that’s what Satan would have exploited. How should it be held in check? By submitting to Jesus’ authority in your life; by praying such things as, search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me and know my thoughts from psalm 139; and from psalm 90, let the favour of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands, yes establish the work of our hands. Note how that line is repeated for emphasis in psalm 90. It is God who establishes the work of our hands, not us.

Ladies and Gentlemen, what I am leading up to here is the formidable power of prayer. Dietrich Bonhoffer wrote that the richness of the Word of God ought to determine our prayers, not the poverty of our hearts. Prayer is the solution to the power of Christ being made perfect in our weakness. Submission to prayer changes us. Prayer is a privileged time and space where we can be at home with our Lord, being attentive to him. There we find depth, energy, guidance for choices, and space to be with God to consider and reflect. Prayer is our coordination of life. We need to understand prayer more as a relationship and less as something we simply do. Prayer makes us available to God.

Here's a well-known example of a life changed by a simple prayer. John Newton was an English slave trader in the eighteenth century. On one of his trips, aboard the Greyhound, he awoke to find the ship caught in a severe storm off the coast of Ireland. It was close to sinking, and Newton, in his obvious situation of weakness, prayed simply, Lord have mercy on me, after which the storm began to die down. After four weeks at sea the Greyhound made it to port and Newton was a changed man. His personal experience of deliverance from certain drowning became the hymn he wrote called Amazing Grace.

Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved wretch like me!

I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

John Newton went on to become a very effective Anglican priest and abolitionist (that is, one who worked to end the slave trade). His life and work are a testimony to the formidable power of prayer at an intense time of weakness and his ministry beyond it.

We’ve come a long way this morning, from David and Goliath three millennia ago, to John Newton two and half centuries ago. So what shall we say of us today? Perhaps we need to understand that the thorns and thistles of our ministries are not the hinderances we think they are. They could be there for a reason. Perhaps we should pray, Lord in my weakness, show me the way I should go, search me and know my anxious thoughts. His amazing grace is sufficient for us.

So, I encourage you to set aside your so-called strengths, confidences, and merits. Instead, why not begin to develop an appetite for authentic intimacy with God. Immerse yourself in his word and prayer, and explore the quiet but profound joy of loving God and being loved by God, of truly knowing him and being known by him. It is a foundation of fellowship; it is to drink from the water of life such that your soul thirsts for it. For that is when we discover that his power is indeed made perfect in our weakness.

Philip Starks
Published under Creative Commons Copyright Licence

Pentecost. Acts 2

In the power of the Holy Spirit

One evening after work, I was walking past St Patrick’s cathedral in East Melbourne. It was windy and I sat down for a few moments to rest. As I looked towards the cathedral grounds, I saw what looked like one of the shrubs on fire in the gardens, but it wasn’t burning up. It took me a few moments to gather myself and realize there was a spotlight shining through it from behind, and the blowing shrub was giving the illusion that the bush was on fire but not burning up. Of course, it reminded me of the story of Moses encountering the burning bush in Sinai. God’s presence was manifest in fire at that moment. And there are other instances when God’s presence was manifest in fire. The story of the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost is one of them. There looked like tongues of fire resting on each of the gathered disciples: God’s presence was with them in the power of the Holy Spirit.

Not so long before, the disciples were gathered together behind locked doors for fear of the Jewish authorities. Jesus had been crucified, the movement appeared crushed, and each one feared he would be next on the Sanhedrin’s hit list. Now, on the day of Pentecost, they were once again gathered together in one place. It may have been behind locked doors in fear again, we’re not told. Probably not, because by this time they had witnessed the risen Lord and his ascension. Nevertheless, they all knew the risks of coming out as Jesus’ followers, and no doubt they were experiencing the trepidation of carrying that out. But this time something different happened. What was it?

From verse 15 onwards, in Acts chapter 2, we have Peter’s sermon. Bold as brass, raising his voice to the crowd, proclaiming the gospel message straight down the line, and with such persuasion that the crowd were cut to the heart. What shall we do, they asked. Answer? Repent and believe, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins.

I find myself, in my imagination, one in the crowd. What is my reaction? What am I thinking? My reaction is wow, this guy is speaking with an authority that the local clergy don’t have, and with such power and persuasion, like he is in possession of a power that I haven’t seen before. My thoughts are, if what Peter says is true, I want it. I can see it for myself. These guys are not afraid of the Jewish and Roman authorities. They answer to a new authority, one in which I want to believe. And so I ask, what should I do? Answer is, repent and believe in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of my sins.

If it wasn’t for the coming of the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost, the young church would have died out in short time out of fear and being silenced. But it didn’t. It was driven out of Jerusalem with a new power. A power to transform lives from within and with boldness. A power to go and make disciples of all nations. The power of proclamation and persuasion, baptizing in the name of Jesus, and teaching them to obey all that he taught. That is, ALL nations. The prophets of long ago, and the psalmist, foresaw the message of salvation to be for all nations, not just Israel as it was then. All people shall stream to Mount Zion, for example in Isaiah. Today, believers of all nations are gathered around the new temple, which is Christ’s body and person. As he said, destroy this temple, and I will rebuild it in 3 days (John 2.19). Jesus was, of course, referring to his body as “this temple.” And it is the power and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit that makes it so.

Some weeks ago, my growth group was challenged by one of the questions in the study book on John’s gospel we are working through: “do you ever hesitate, perhaps out of fear of rejection or a sense of embarrassment, to share the good news of your personal relationship with Jesus? If so, what might be holding you back?” Perhaps these words of Jesus might help: do not worry about what you will say. The Holy Spirit will give you the words to say and will remind you of everything I have taught you.

One of my favourite psalms is 139. Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way of everlasting. Here, the psalmist is inviting the Holy Spirit, who of course is God, to search, sift, and test. It is a transformative searching, sifting, and testing. The psalmist is presenting himself as vulnerable to a time of preparation, renewal, healing, and personal strengthening. He has anxious thoughts; he longs for a clean heart and a clear conscience before God, and that there be no offensive way within him. This reminds me of St Paul’s letter to Timothy in which Paul encourages his young disciple that, the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love, and self-discipline.

So, how does this work? Well, let me ask you another question to start off. How would you feel about a relationship in which you are not heard or understood, dismissed, or otherwise not valued? You are diminished aren’t you. There is no power of love for you. There is no sense of belonging, of being at home in the relationship. Belonging is being somewhere you want to be, and others want you too, and they accept you for who you are - your authentic self. You feel understood, heard, and valued. In other words, you are validated. So, do you not think that when the Holy Spirit searches hearts and minds to know anxious thoughts, that it is the work of God understanding, hearing, and validating you? We do not need to be afraid. We have not been given a spirit of timidity. Be not anxious, Jesus taught. Where is our faith?

The Holy Spirit is in the business of personal transformation for a wonderful relationship with our God, who loves us so much. Did not the disciples, who were gathered together on the day of Pentecost, experience a direct and personal transformation in the power of the Holy Spirit? Were they anxious? Did they go out into the crowds with a spirit of timidity, afraid and trembling? No! From that point on, the work of God for them was whole-of-life-discipleship, and that meant living a life of faith and proclamation alongside others and encouraging them in their own faith journey.

Friends, I encourage you to adopt a whole-of-life-discipleship. Learn to stay aware of the presence of the Holy Spirit amidst everyday activities, in small moments, with thankfulness and pleas for help. For without him, we can do nothing. In the messiness of everyday life, allow his strength to be made perfect in your weakness. And remember, if you are open to him, the Holy Spirit will come looking for you. He will seek you out and bring you home. The lost sheep didn’t find its own way home; the good shepherd went searching for it. The Father loves; the Son saves; the Spirit searches, transforms and empowers. And when that happens, the Christian stands, not under the dictatorship of a legalistic ‘you ought, but in the captivating field of Christian freedom under the empowering of the ‘you may.’ 

Philip Starks
Published under Creative Commons Copyright Licence

It is God who serves. John 13

Maundy Thursday

Queen Elizabeth II spent a lifetime of service to her subjects. She was a servant yet a queen. How can a queen be a servant? Kings and queens are at the top; servants are down below. But what is the role of a king or queen? The role is to lead, and to lead you need to serve those whom you lead. A husband is head of his home. He leads his family, but unless he cares for them in loving service, they have no part of him, and he has no part of them.

In the story of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet, John gives us a word picture of an extraordinary god. The traditional picture of God is of lord and master; God rules and we serve; God decrees and we obey. And yes, God is lord and master. Yes, we do need to obey because he is God. But Jesus’ example, on the night before he died, towards those whom he has been leading, shows another side of what it means for God to be our lord and master.

It shows us the hospitality of God. In the Middle East, hosts would provide bowls of water to wash the feet of weary travellers. But the actual washing would be done by a lowly servant. The guest is welcomed, raised up and refreshed. What then was the example Jesus demonstrated to his disciples that night? Was it not the hospitality of God towards those whom he loves?

God the Father’s purpose is to lead us home to him, into a right relationship with him that we can enjoy forever, starting now. God the Son provided the way home for us by atoning for our sins so that we can enter into that blessed and right relationship with the Father. And that atonement was made at the cross. Without it we would never be free from the dark night of the solitary human soul crying out, I have no purpose, I have no value, I am alone for I have no share of God.

What happens when a solitary human soul reaches the point at which it cries out, I am alone for I have no share of God? It recognizes its need for God, and that recognition comes by the power of the Holy Spirit bearing witness to who Christ is and what he came into our world to do.

Now, what did Jesus mean when he said to Peter, unless I wash you, you have no share of me? Perhaps Jesus’ words could be put this way: unless I serve you, I cannot provide you with the way home to the Father. Unless I die for you, Peter, my greatest act of loving service towards you cannot be fulfilled, and therefore you can have no share with me.

You see, ladies and gentlemen, God is a god who serves. And he does so because he loves us, just like a husband serves the wife he loves, even though he is the head of his house. It’s extraordinary! Divine God serving us? You, Lord, washing my feet? But if we don’t let him serve us, we have no part of him.

Now, Christians will say, I’m serving God here or there or in such and such a role. And in one sense, yes, we are. God calls, we hear and respond in obedience. But think of it this way: wherever we go, what are we doing? Or more to the point, who’s work are we doing? Ours or God’s? Is it not God’s work? The work of God serving the people who need to be brought home to him.

It's mind boggling how divine God stooped to serve us to the ultimate end – his death in Christ on Good Friday so that we can come home to him. He really is the Servant King; a king, yet with the hospitality of service. As it is written in psalm 113, who is like the Lord our God, who has risen on high to his throne, yet stoops from the heights to look down upon heaven and earth? From the dust he lifts up the lowly. From the dung heap he raises the poor to set them in the company of princes. In other words, God is king on his throne, yet he stoops to lift the lowly from the dust, as a servant would.

And from the prophet Isaiah, see my servant shall act wisely; he shall be high and lifted up, and shall be exalted. We all know these words to be the opening of Isaiah’s foretelling of the servant king. He was pierced for our transgressions. By his wounds we are healed. The suffering servant king is Jesus Christ.

Now in a few moments there will be an opportunity for us to re-enact Jesus’ example of washing each other’s feet. And as we do it, I’d like us to remember that not only are we expressing service to each other, we are also demonstrating the hospitality of our servant king. It is God who serves because it is God who loves.

Philip Starks
Published under Creative Commons Copyright Licence

The year of the Lord's favour. Isaiah 61.

Peace with God in our time.

Acknowledgment. Some of my material for this sermon is drawn from the following published works:

Helmut Thielicke. Life can begin again : sermons on the Sermon on the Mount. James Clark, 1966.

Luigi Gioia. Touched by God : the way to contemplative prayer. Bloomsbury Continuum, 2018.

Neville Chamberlain, the British prime minister at the start of World War Two, thought he had achieved ‘peace in our time’, as he put it, by making a pact with the Nazis in Germany. It was soon found to be a fiction. There was to be no peace in his time. The same is true today in Gaza and Ukraine. Where is the peace in our time? Or for that matter, where has any peace been in time? Jesus warned us to expect wars, trials and tribulations before history is concluded. What, then, is the peace that the season of Advent proclaims? What is the message of today’s Old Testament reading from Isaiah 61 about?

Isaiah 61 was originally an oracle for Israel coming home after their exile to Babylon was over in 538 BCE. It was a proclamation of good news to the poor of the land. The captives were released. It was the year of the Lord’s favour, as foretold by the prophet.

Now jump forward some 570 years to Jesus’ time. You will recall that Jesus applied this prophecy to himself when he was invited to preach in the synagogue at Nazareth. It’s known as the Nazareth Manifesto. The question to ask is, who are the poor, the broken hearted, the captives held in darkness, those who mourn? And why is Jesus’ arrival the year of the Lord’s favour?

In Jesus’ day, as in our own century, there is no shortage of the miserable, the lonely, the careworn, and those who are hagridden by anxiety. Then one day, they gathered about on the side of a mountain to hear Jesus preach what we know as the Sermon on the Mount. What did they expect to hear? Religious dogma? Or that they were victims of their own miserable conditions?

At any rate, they all thought he will be calling on them to repent, as John the Baptist did not so long before. So they are gathered on the mountainside knowing, or they think they know, what is going come out Jesus’ mouth: God’s declaration of war against man, denunciation of sin, and painful scrutinizing exposure of their innermost thoughts. But that was not Jesus’ message on that day. The message that day was, the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, bind up the brokenhearted, proclaim freedom for the captives, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.

So when Jesus began to speak on the mountainside, something completely unexpected happened, something that drove the people to astonishment. Jesus said to the crowd who were harried by suffering, misery, guilt and loneliness, blessed are you who are poor, blessed are you who mourn, blessed are you who hunger and thirst for righteousness, and blessed are you who are persecuted.

When Jesus preached repentance, he preached it from the heart with tears. He wept over Jerusalem, which even then failed to recognize the things that made for peace with God in their time. Jesus wept not only because the people of Jerusalem, his own people, were lurching so awfully towards an abyss. Jesus wept because he knew the power of the Seducer, the menacing mystery of the devil who seizes even the upright, the respectable and morally intact by the throat, and grips them in such a way that at first they have no premonition of the dreadful slopes to which they are being edged by a consummate cunning. These are ones who are held captive, who Jesus has come to set free.

And what about the poor and miserable, those who are persecuted? Why are they called blessed? Because it is as if Jesus might answer the question himself this way:

“The reason why you who are miserable and afraid are called blessed is simply that I am with you in all of it. You complain because you must suffer. Look, I myself found my calling in extreme suffering, and I learned obedience through it. You complain that in all your sufferings the face of God has vanished, that you cannot feel his presence, and you are left so dreadfully alone. Look, I too had that feeling of god-forsakenness which found its vent in the cry of dereliction of loneliness.

“Don’t you understand my brothers and sisters? You are blessed because I am in the midst of you, and that because you are suffering my sorrows, I will also lead you to my fulfillments and my blessings.”

How can we be sure of all this? Well, we have a signature, sealed with blood and sanctified by our Lord’s own sufferings and his resurrection. A signature certifying that in everything God works for good with those who love him. This, then, is why the Nazareth Manifesto commissions Jesus as the anointed one to bring good news to the poor, bind up the brokenhearted, proclaim freedom for the captives, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.

Now, there are two points to how the brokenhearted are restored, to how the poor receive the gospel as good news, and to how freedom is proclaimed to those who are captive to sin. The first, as I’ve already looked at, is because we have a Lord and Saviour who knows what human suffering is better than any of us could ever know. The second point is that those who are afflicted in these ways are allowed the freedom to mourn and to weep.

They are not mourning and weeping out of the shame associated with betraying our holy and loving God the way the story of sin’s entry into human history is told in Genesis chapter three. That’s not freedom; that’s captivity to shame, wallowing and self-pity. But in Christ there is no shame, and life can begin again. So what is this freedom to mourn and to weep on hearing good news that the broken hearted are restored?

It is the freedom to hand yourself over to God in absolute trust, knowing that he will set you free from your fears and anxieties. Whatever your past has been, you have a spotless future. Life can begin again. But how does mourning and weeping give effect to handing our broken selves over to God? It is because God has given us the gift of emotional expression, with tears. So let them flow. It brings relief. It expresses godly sorrow. It hands over to our loved ones how we feel about ourselves. And is not God our loved one?

Did not a weeping nameless woman anoint Jesus’ feet with oil and wipe them with her hair? Jesus became her loved one, and he commended her. She found peace with God in her time. She might have been nameless then, but she has been remembered for two thousand years for her expression of love for Jesus. And did not Peter weep bitterly after he denied Jesus three times? Jesus did not condemn him. He knows what being human is. Jesus loved Peter, and Peter was restored and re-commissioned after he declared to the risen Lord, you know I love you.

A close friend of mine wrote a verse for me about this point at a time when I was feeling very lost:

God said to me, "Be of good cheer, Little Soul. Something is going so right if only you could see what I see in your life. So don't be in a hurry to toss aside your scars, your troubles, your panics, and your tears. They are only what you see with your worldly mind. But all your mournful complaints are as precious rubies to me, if only you would trust me, sight unseen with faith seeking understanding.”

“Go into the recesses of your heart where your truth nestles. Look at the sorrows of your life and all the hard knocks and betrayals, all those loves-gone-cold, and see my love at work in you. This is where your treasure is hidden. It is not in the stars but in your scars.”

A second reason why lamenting brings freedom to our souls is that our God is a listening god. When God listens generously to those who mourn, he creates a sanctuary for the homeless parts within us. His is a ministry of presence and of a safe place. To be listened to, attentively and sensitively, is one of the most therapeutic experiences we can have, because it taps into our deep need to be taken seriously, and to be acknowledged, validated, and valued for who we are. God excels in empathy listening because he knows what it is to be human through his Son, Jesus Christ, and because his love for us is paramount.

And herein lies the antidote to loneliness. The very essence of loneliness is the lack of a sense of being heard, validated, attended to, and acknowledged. Who can I trust with my innermost thoughts, fears, hopes, doubts, and anxieties? Who will listen? If there is no one to listen, then the homeless parts within us remain homeless. But when God listens, we return home and cry out, thanks be to God someone has heard me. Someone knows what it is like to be me.

Here, then, is why Jesus chose the words from the prophet Isaiah to inaugurate his ministry of proclaiming good news to the poor, comforting those who mourn and lifting up the broken hearted.

These words from Sirach 2 are apt:

Consider the ancient generations and see.

Who ever trusted in the Lord and was put to shame? Or who ever persevered in the fear of the Lord and was forsaken? Or who ever called upon him and was overlooked?

For the Lord is compassionate and merciful; he forgives sins and saves in time of affliction.

In other words, because the Father has anointed the Son to bring good news to the poor, comfort those who mourn and lift up those who are broken hearted, they will never be forsaken or overlooked or put to shame whenever they cry out and call upon his name. They are the ones who have peace with God in their time, the great Advent message.

Philip Starks
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Be joyful, not anxious: God is to be found. Philippians 4.

At my previous parish, two of my friends became ill with cancer. We, their church family, prayed often enough, but in the end the two friends weren’t healed, and they both died. The question is, why? Why didn’t healing happen? Why weren’t their lives spared?

In my quiet times about this, I am reminded from the pages of the gospels that Jesus healed all who encountered him. He never refused anyone, even when they didn’t belong to his own people, Israel. So why hadn’t prayer been answered? It’s an age-old question, and one that came up at Alpha the other week.

It's a natural and perfectly understandable human response to trauma to ask of God, why? The unfairness, the injustice, the suffering needs to be resolved, and the Christian turns to God. Who else is there to turn to? Friends, family, loved ones are available, but they can’t answer the question of why. So I’ve stopped asking why. It’s a pointless question because there is no answer. I am reminded of God’s words through the prophet Isaiah, my ways are not your ways, and my thoughts are higher than yours. What then, is the right question to ask?

The question to ask is, where. Where are you God in this situation or in that matter? There’s turn of phrase in Greek that Paul uses in verse 6 of this morning’s passage from Philippians that literally means, towards God. It’s also used by John in the opening verses of his Gospel, often translated as, the Word was with God. It’s an expression of relationship. In other words, how are you and God together? How do you stand with him? Where are you and he in relation to each other?

To illustrate: let’s suppose there is some issue between a husband and wife. And I use the illustration of marriage because it’s a metaphor that our Lord often used to describe the Christian’s relationship with God our Father, meaning there is a covenant relationship between our Father God and ourselves as human beings. God is there for us, and we are there for him, for his delight and his care.

Now let’s suppose the issue between the husband and wife has no quick fix. It’s no good asking why, because why leads to blame and wanting to hold someone to account, which in turn is destructive. A relationship like that becomes one of head-to-head and goes nowhere. What matters more is where the two are in relationship with each other. When an issue is looked at using that platform, there is opportunity for growth, maturing in the relationship, and strengthening of the bonds of marriage. Or if the issue is between you and God, it is the maturing and strengthening of your relationship with him.

So it is more productive, of more value in trauma situations, to ask where am I in relation to those around me, than it is to ask why the situation happened, or why God allowed it, in the first place.

Let’s now turn to what St Paul says his letter to the Philippians about checking in with God and ourselves in times of trauma, anxiety or any other kind of trouble, and I’m particularly interested in verses 4-7 of his chapter 4.

The first thing to note is that Paul stresses God’s nearness. He writes that the Lord is near, close at hand. God is not remote, inaccessible, or otherwise out of reach. This answers the question where, and again it’s the relational question that is point. And because God is close by, accessible, and has created you in his image – which is why we are relational with God – it makes sense that we can bring all our concerns, problems and anxieties to him in prayer.

Paul says that we should not be anxious about any thing, and it is expressed strongly in the Greek. But in every thing, make your requests to God by prayer with thanksgiving, with the result that the peace of God will guard you hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. And that little word “in” is important. We are commanded to remain in Jesus, that all important mysterious point that John makes in his gospel about being in Christ. Then you will get your answer to the question about where God is with you in your particular situation. So how does all this work out in practice?

Stressed and anxious people need to establish a sense of safety, someone with whom they can lament their suffering, to interpret their experiences and acknowledge their memory, so as to not be overwhelmed by them. That person needs to establish confidence in God’s character and care for him. The Apostle Philip asked Jesus, show us the Father, and Jesus’ reply was that if you’ve seen me you’ve seen the Father. In other words, if you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus.

The visible presence of God in Jesus appearing in human history was an historical event that demonstrated the value and dignity the God places on us his images. This reaffirmation of dignity and value is crucial for people who have experienced suffering. Your heavenly Father knows what being a human being is like because Jesus Christ was a human being. God knows pain and death and suffering and betrayal and relational difficulties. You only have to read the story of Jesus life and ministry. Do I know what it is like to go hungry for 40 days and then be severely tested by Satan? Do I know what it is like to have no place to lay my head? Do I know what it is like to be crucified and die in agony? Do I know what it is like to be betrayed to the point of death by a loved one? No, I don’t. But my saviour and my God does. And that is why God is my rock of safety to whom I can go to lament my anxieties and traumas.

It is why I have confidence that God has full empathy for me. He has been through far more than I ever will. Psalm 23 is classic: though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are [where?] with me restoring my soul beside still waters. It’s hugely relational. Why, doesn’t matter; but where does matter.

Now someone will no doubt point out to me Jesus’ cry from the cross, my God my God why have you forsaken me? It sounds like a why question, doesn’t it. But it’s more likely a where question. Father, where are you in my agony, in my death pains? Answer? The Father is in the Son’s resurrection, an historical event verified by those who saw him alive after his crucifixion. The Father could have stepped in and prevented Jesus from experiencing such a horrible death. But then where would we be in relation to God? The outcome of Jesus’ death is his, and ultimately our, resurrection to eternity. That’s where God is. Life can begin again.

When we take up Paul’s invitation to not be anxious about anything but present our requests to God, we will experience a profound transformation that leaves behind some of the enduring impacts of suffering. New meaningful attachments arise, a new self-understanding, relating to others in creative ways. Life can begin again.

An issue in my own life happened some time ago, and after a while I became exhausted asking why. There was no answer and it became a pointless exercise. So I started asking where God was in this. And the answer was clear. He was in my family; he was in this parish’s care of me in those early days; he was in my quiet times of prayer and retreat at St Marks Camperdown. And he is there as the Holy Spirit who comforts and strengthens me in my spirit, and in my experience of his love for me.

God is also in the pages of scripture. St Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 1.3-4: Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our afflictions, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

Life may be ordinary, but it is by no means meaningless. The prophet Jeremiah wrote of God saying, call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known. And the psalmist wrote, Search me and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there is any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way of everlasting.

There was man who went for a walk on a beach one day, his heart full of sorrow and his head bowed down. He noticed a lonely, single line of footprints in the sand and said to God, where are you? I’m all alone in this. And the answer came, yes there is only one set of footprints, and those were the times when I carried you.

So ask not of God, why, but where?

Philip Starks

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Joseph is reconciled with his brothers. Genesis 45

In my reading of the Joseph story, I see it being a story not just about the Jacob family, but about God’s family with God as our father, we as his children, and therefore each other as brothers and sisters. It is as if whoever gathered that story and included it in their writing of Genesis, did so with the aim of making the point that, just as Joseph desired reconciliation with his brothers, so God desires reconciliation with us. And furthermore, the way Joseph went about that is not dissimilar to the way God goes about it with us. Why? Because just as Joseph’s brothers were estranged from him through their sinful actions toward him and their father Jacob, so we, in our unredeemed state, are estranged from our heavenly brother Jesus and our Father God.

So how does it work?

Before I go any further, let me make it clear that the only way the penalty of our sins before God is removed, is through the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ at Calvery. His death is sufficient and acceptable to God the Father, once and for all, so that we do not have to suffer eternal separation from him. And there is nothing we can do about that of our own making. God does it for us. Just as there was nothing the brothers could do to remove the penalty of their sin against Joseph. He had to do it for them.

Joseph had every right to cut them down. His power over them as prime minister of Egypt was absolute. But he didn’t. He loved his brothers and forgave them the moment he set eyes on them. Now while Joseph had already forgiven his brothers, they still had to learn who he was, and the art of re-conciliation and re-communion, if they were all to enjoy that close brotherly fellowship that once was. It is the same with us. True that the penalty of our sins is removed once and for all at Calvery, but we still need to learn the art of re-communion with our heavenly brother and our father God. And that is a process; it does not come naturally to us.

So how does it work?

 First of all, the initiative was Joseph’s. The brothers did not recognize him, and he purposefully kept it that way. Their primary interest, to begin with, was material need of food. Joseph’s primary interest was different. In Genesis 43.27, we read how Joseph asks after his brothers’ shalom, a Jewish word that means a person’s state of wellbeing, prosperity, relations with family and neighbour, and is the outcome of a wise and thoughtful life as God designed it. Shalom is the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. Joseph loves his brothers and seeks that quality of relationship that shalom brings. But to get there with him, they must endure testing to see what is really in their hearts and minds. Are they truly and earnestly repentant? Do they desire shalom with their long-lost brother?

Joseph’s actions, his testing of his brothers, his desire for shalom with them, eventually unlocked their own love for him, which for so long had been incarcerated by jealously and envy. They had to be transformed before their brother could show himself fully for who he was. That is why Joseph did not disclose to them who he was until they were ready. It is the same with ourselves and God. We must be transformed by the metamorphosis of our minds, souls, and hearts before we can be completely restored to God’s shalom. Yes, the penalty of our sins is taken away once and for all by the atoning death of Jesus and his resurrection, but we are not there yet. And if that means we must endure a time of trial, a time of going through the refiner’s fire – as it were – then so be it. God will permit that, even though at the time we doubt it being his will. We must pray about it, submit, and persevere.

It is a bit like two people getting married. Yes, the once and for all ceremony declares them married, but that is just the beginning, isn’t it. The journey towards marital shalom begins and continues until husband and wife are able to stand fully and selflessly disclosed in the peace of each other’s presence.

The psalms, such as 17 and 139, contain invitations for God to search hearts and see if there is any wickedness there. The psalmist is willing to become vulnerable to God’s scrutiny and the time of testing that often goes with that. God knows us better than we know ourselves, and he will bring us exactly to where he wants us, though we may not recognize what is happening during the process.

Joseph severely tests his brothers, not out of revenge or malice, but out of love for them. They had to confront their past and deal with it before their hearts could be transformed. Joseph is proceeding along the principle that real connectedness between people lies not in the mind, but in the felt experience of the heart. Psalm 139 is seminal here, and I encourage you to read it slowly and carefully. So Joseph searches and tests his brothers by examining their reaction to a situation in which he places them, not dissimilar to the one in which they placed him all those years ago, only this time they are in his power. They are forced to confront the question of what they are about. Are they truly repentant about what they did to Joseph? How transformed have they become over the years? And do they truly honour their father Jacob, whereas before they lied to him and covered up their sin?

It is the same with us and God. Sin alienates us from God, and we cannot enjoy full fellowship with him because of it. And even though the atoning death of Jesus removes its penalty and declares us forgiven, there is still work to do before our heavenly brother steps out into his wonderful light that fully illuminates our lives. Until then, he might remain hidden or even silent. This is God’s loving way to bring us about, to bring us back into fellowship with him. And Jesus used it a number of times during his ministry on earth.

For example, the Syrian woman who cried after Jesus and yet he remained silent, at first, until she came round with that wonderful surrendering statement, yes Lord yet even this little dog is happy with your crumbs. Only then was he fully disclosed to her and her daughter’s illness. And again, on the road to Emmaus with two disciples. Jesus’s identity remained hidden until after they were at table fellowship with him and he broke bread with them. Only then were their eyes opened and they recognized him.

And so Joseph, after searching his brothers’ hearts to see if there was any remining evil towards him or their father Jacob, and how they were with each other, finally discerns the moment to disclose himself to them. I am Joseph whom you sold into slavery. These are not words of comeuppance, but words bathed in the heart of brotherly love. The estranged men once again become Joseph’s brothers. Their shalom with him is restored. Then he kissed all his brothers and wept over them. And afterward his brothers talked with him.

What then did the brothers leave behind?

The brothers leave behind the enduring impact and consequences of their trauma of having sold Joseph into slavery and then lying to their father about it. Now, new meaningful attachments arise. Life can begin again. But that meaning can only be realized by the brothers participating in the whole story. It cannot have happened if they had simply returned to Jacob after their first encounter with Joseph in Egypt and not gone back with Benjamin. Then their sin of abandoning a brother to fate would have been repeated by them leaving Simeon behind in an Egyptian jail.

That is why the grace of Joseph shown towards his brothers (and of God shown towards us sinners) is a transforming power that shines most brightly in the context of restored relationship, and one that can deal with brokenness and sinfulness. And it is transformative love that achieves this; Joseph’s love for his brothers and God’s love for us.

Philip Starks
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A time to die and a time to live, Romans 6

One of the strongest human needs is that we should belong to someone. Our little Noah is at the stage now where he’s looking around as if to ask, who do I belong to? Who’s my mum? Where’s dad? And if he’s not picked up and held, he cries of insecurity because his basic needs of security and belonging are not being met. In the same way, God desires relationship with us, that we should belong to him, that our security and significance should be found in him. That’s why we are made in the image of God, as it says in Genesis 1.

Human marriage is an earthly reflection, albeit imperfect because of the frailty of human nature, of our covenant relationship with God in eternity. That’s why Jesus used the imagery of marriage, bridegroom, wedding feast, in the stories he told about what the Kingdom of God is like. The intention of earthly marriage is that man and woman belong to each other, just as they each belong to God in relationship. And that is why a relationship with Jesus Christ satisfies the human quest for meaning and a sense of belonging like nothing else can.

Now, the big question is, how? What makes it happen? And this is where this morning’s reading from Romans chapter 6 gives some insights.

Paul writes at length about dying to sin and being raised to a new life, of an old self being let go of in favour of a new self, of being united with Christ in his death so that we can be united with him in his resurrection. What does this mean and where does it take us?

Well, let’s start with a story. One day, a young man full of ambition and desire for self-fulfillment left home with his share of his father’s property. Off he went and lived the good life. After some time it was gone. He was unemployed, homeless, and destitute. Then he came to his senses and realized he was utterly alone in this situation. His longing turned to his father’s house of rest and plenty. So he set off for home. Waiting for him, long before he appeared on the horizon, was his father with welcoming open arms. A new life awaited the young man, no longer lost, homeless, and destitute. Life could begin again.

There are many points to this story, it’s the prodigal son of course, but one of them is that the young man had to turn away from his life of self-living on his own terms before he could return to his father’s house, before he could enjoy the fruits and blessings of where he really belonged. The high life of spending and self-living, in the end, brought him no peace, no security at all, and he didn’t belong to it. It’s a story that Jesus told to highlight the absolute need for those who would be his disciples to turn completely away from their old self-interest and self-living. In fact, they must die to it, as it were, as St Paul puts it.

There is a lot at stake here. The life of Christian discipleship is radical, life-changing and a hard call. How often are we led to believe that Jesus wants to enrich our lives by adding religion to them, some extra spirituality and ethical living perhaps? How often are we led to believe that we can live the Christian life on our own terms? Discipleship would then be an easy matter.

But I ask you, did all the people in the New Testament who came under the power of Jesus Christ look even remotely as if they had merely been enriched by religious experience add-ons? No! They were people for whom the door of their past lives had been slammed shut, and who then saw that they had been set down in a totally new life, different from what they had before. What they had, and what we all experience in Jesus Christ, is no mere extension or addition to our settled and undisturbed lives, but rather a new life before which the old life fades away and is cancelled out.

And so it is when a person comes before the Lord with empty hands, or maybe with a sorrowful heart, or even a sense of being lost and just trying to fit in with everyone else but not really having a true sense of belonging to anyone else. That person stands before Jesus alone. All predispositions, ego traits, and diet of self-living are exposed for what they are in the presence of a holy and loving God. And it takes courage to allow these dark recesses of our former lives to be illuminated by the bright light of the Son of God. Jesus waits, calls, and invites us to come. Taste and see that the Lord is good, that the Lord is slow to anger and full of compassion, that he is like a father waiting for his wayward children to return.

Now, someone is bound to put their hand up and challenge these points about dying to self, setting aside the old life so that the new can come. Does that mean we have to somehow deconstruct our familiar old selves, or to despise how God has made us? Is it not also written that we should love our neighbours as we love ourselves? How might this square up?

Well, yes, we should love ourselves as God intended us to be, so that we can love our neighbours. And that’s the key point: it is as God intended us to be, as God intended us to belong to him, and not to the unbelieving, unregenerate world that stands in opposition to God through sin, through refusing him, and merely fitting in to its own schemes on its own terms. But when a person belongs, that requires vulnerability and commitment to whom you belong, forsaking all others. And here again the language of marriage is apt. For the person who belongs to Christ, the power of sin is broken; slavery to old ways of self-serving is no more, and that person is free to be who they are as God intended them to be.

Perhaps another illustration would help. Young person, let’s call him Greg, gets caught in the drug or alcohol scene. Greg can’t help himself; he lives for it and it rules his life. He becomes a slave to the unredeemed world of drink and drugs. Then one day Greg wakes up under the local railway bridge, cries out that he’s had enough of it, and turns away from an awful life of self-indulgence and self-pity.

In rehab, Greg is offered the opportunity of transformation by the renewing of his mind, body and soul. No longer is he lost and enslaved to his old life. Greg leaves rehab born again, as it were. Life can begin again, and it’s a quality of life far superior to his old one. Greg has a family to belong to, rather than just trying to fit in to the old crowd who never really cared about him anyway.

And so it is with those who turn to Christ and die to their old ways of living for self. Life can begin again, and it’s a quality of life far superior to the old. With God at your side anything is possible. You are free to be who the good Lord above intended you to be. And by the power of the Holy Spirit, you will be transformed into one who loves God, neighbour, and yourself.

So, the invitation this morning, for those who may be visitors listening in, is to come, taste and see that the Lord is indeed good, and be willing to allow his light to shine in the shadows of your life so that they too can be transformed into his likeness. Listen to these words from psalm 94: The righteous will flourish like a palm tree planted in the house of the Lord. They will flourish in the courts of our God. They will bear fruit in old age. They will stay fresh and green, proclaiming the Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him. There is indeed a time to die and a time to live.

For us who are Christian believers, dying to self, dying to sin, and living for Christ is a command. We must put aside whatever comes between us and our relationship with God, forsaking all others, and we have to do it daily. Why? Because our enemy prowls around looking for a way to drag us back into a life of self-serving, wallowing in the world. And it is all too easy. He will turn the screws, as it were, a little bit at a time, and then a little bit at a time. At first not noticeable, but then one day we realize what’s been happening, and we cry out, save me Lord. And that’s why we Christian believers need to spend daily time with God in prayer, confession and vigilance.

There is indeed a time to die and a time to live. Life can begin again.

Philip Starks
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