Zacchaeus

In Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ last encounter with someone before Palm Sunday is with Zacchaeus. It is exactly the kind of provocative encounter that will lead Jesus to the cross in a few days time.

In Sarah’s children’s bible, the story about Zacchaeus is subtitled “The man who didn’t have any friends (none).” Zacchaeus was a tax-collector. He worked for the oppressive Roman government collecting taxes from the Jewish people. Moreover, he took more taxes than he was supposed to do and kept the money to make himself rich. I am not sure what the modern day equivalent is, especially in the midst of a pandemic: the young lad who stock-piles toilet roll and hand wash and then sells it door to door on an estate where many elderly folk live charging four times the price? The rich pub owner who refuses to pay his staff properly during lockdown despite his own massive profit?

You get the picture. Zacchaeus was hated by his own people. So when Jesus comes to town and Zacchaeus wants to catch a glimpse of him, it’s little wonder that he doesn’t try to push through the crowds. No one is going to give him a leg up. No one is going to make space. Shoulders will be pressed together more tightly. Faces will be turned away.

And so Zacchaeus decides to climb a tree ahead of the crowds. That way he will be able to see Jesus, but no one will be able to see him.

But Jesus does see him. Jesus waits until the moment when he is directly underneath hi and then looks up and calls him by his name, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today,”

You can imagine the outrage from the crowd. Does Jesus not know who this person is? Does Jesus not understand the ways in which Zacchaeus has betrayed the Jewish nation and stolen from his own people?

Of course, Jesus does know these things. If he knows Zacchaeus’ name, and his exact location hiding in the tree, he also knows who he is and what he has done. And it is not that those things don’t matter to Jesus. It’s not that Jesus doesn’t care that Zacchaeus has down some really bad things, and hurt people in really serious ways. Jesus isn’t about to offer him a congratulatory clap on the back. But he is able to see something in Zacchaeus that furious crowd is not able to see. Jesus sees that Zacchaeus too is “a son of Abraham”. However ugly Zacchaeus’ life has become, he is still God’s creation, still God’s child. And so he invites himself for tea.

And in doing so, he ushers in transformation. In treating Zacchaeus with love and dignity (even if we do not think he deserves it), Jesus bring about a radical change in Zacchaeus’ heart and behaviour. Zacchaeus gives up his wealth. He makes restitution for those he has scammed. He demonstrates extravagant generosity in place of his selfish money-making ways.

In our society today, we are seeing some pretty atrocious behaviour. Youths spitting at elderly men and women. Abuse of NHS staff. Selfishness in stockpiling whilst others go from shop to shop desperately searching for baby milk and nappies. Rich business tycoons hoarding their own wealth whilst their employees are thrown into dependence on benefits and food banks. 

But Jesus withholds judgement. He opts instead for love. It is uncomfortable for us to even think about it – to think that some of these men and women should be loved, or that they could change, but that is the uncomfortable message of Zacchaeus today. That change is possible. Jesus is indiscriminate in the way that he loves. He is a God of justice, and he promises that all will be held to account for their actions, but he also promises that he has come to seek and save the lost. He has come exactly for those that we deem unworthy of his love and forgiveness. He has come to bring salvation to unexpected houses, to restore unexpected people to his family. 

Which probably means that I should pray for Boris Johnson instead of badmouthing him. It probably means I should talk to the youths hanging around outside the shops instead of berating them for their unthinking behaviour. It probably means I shouldn't have got so cross at the dog-walker who tutted at me and my kids. It probably means I should seek to understand the fear, anxiety, peer-pressure and misinformation behind people's actions before judging them for those actions. Knowing that Jesus came to seek and save the lost. All the lost. Not just the ones I like and happen to agree with. But all the lost, and that includes Zacchaeus. And it includes me. 

Jesus stopped

One of my favourite stories about Jesus is recounted in Matthew’s gospel 20:29-34. It’s a small story, easily overlooked, but it paints the most beautiful picture of what God is like:

“As Jesus and his disciples were leaving Jericho, a large crowd followed him. Two blind men were sitting by the roadside, and when they heard that Jesus was passing by, they shouted, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!”
The crowd rebuked them and told them to be quiet, but they shouted out all the louder, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!”
Jesus stopped and called them, “What do you want me to do for you?” he asked.
“Lord,” they answered, “we want our sight,”

Jesus had compassion on them and touched their eyes. Immediately they received they sight and followed him.”

This incident happens just before Jesus enters Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. There must have many things on his mind. The weight of what he was about to do must have been heavy on his shoulders. As usual, there was a crowd following him. He was hemmed in by need and noise on all sides. And amidst the clamour of voices wanting his attention, two blind beggars cry out to him. They are immediately dismissed by the rest of the crowd, considered too unimportant to take up Jesus’ time. But the men are persistent, shouting all the louder, and Jesus stops for them.

Jesus is so interruptible.

I am not. I am a planner. I like to know what I’m doing and when I’m doing it. Covid19 has made waste to almost all of our plans. It has caused global interruption on an unprecedented scale. We have all needed to readjust.

I wonder what God is trying to teach us in the midst of that? There is something utterly compelling about the simplicity of Jesus’ actions here. He stops. He allows his attention to be completely redirected to those who need his help. He rearranges his priorities around the need that is directly in front of him.

Again, I find this difficult. I want to be useful in the midst of this crisis, but the need that is most obviously in front of me – and that certainly shouts louder than most others – is my children. I am sometimes too distracted by the sounds of the crowd to focus on them.

Heidi Baker, a missionary in Mozambique, once said this: “Jesus would go anywhere, talk to anyone. And wherever he went, he would stop for the one.”

I wonder who the one is in our lives today?

I wonder where God would have us focus our time and energy and attention?

And, of course, there is the flipside to this story. As we follow Jesus, we are called to be like him; we are called to be interruptible people who stop. But we are also the people who interrupt Jesus. And he is so happy to do interrupted by us. In this story, when Jesus hears the voices of the two blind men calling his name, not only does he stop, but he responds to them: “What do you want me to do for you?” I love this question. It seems like a totally crazy thing to ask two men who have lost their sight, but Jesus gives them so much dignity in making sure that he has got their need right, in listening to their prayer. He takes the time to incline his ear towards them.

And he would do the same for us today. His ear is inclined. He is ready to respond to us as we call out to him – whether in a whisper or a shout, in joy or sorrow or exasperation. He is ready and willing to help but it requires that we call on him. The two men in this story could have continued sitting by the roadside feeling whatever it was that they were feeling – anger, rejection, desperation – but instead they called out to the one who could save them from it.

I need to remember that this morning: that Jesus is waiting to hear my voice, waiting to hear my prayer, waiting to respond to my need just as he responded to theirs; to take courage this morning from the example of these two brave men who shouted all the louder as they called out to their God.

“Yet the Lord long to be gracious to you; 

Therefore he will rise up to show you compassion…

how gracious he will be when you cry for help! 

As soon as he hears, he will answer you.”

(Isaiah 30:18-19)

Jesus Wept

It is easy to forget that we are in the middle of Lent.

The idea of celebrating Easter – in just two weeks – seems totally disconnected from reality.

I have barely thought about it.

On Friday I had a conversation with a friend about Lent and then, at the weekend, listened to a podcast about Lent where the speaker said that, like it or not, Christian or not, the coronavirus pandemic has forced all of us into Lent. Lent is traditionally the time in the church calendar when we remember our own mortality. It begins with Ash Wednesday where Christians around the world recite words reminiscent of those that will be spoken over them at their own funeral: ““Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19)

Earth to earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

We are, all of us, at the moment, confronted with our own mortality.

And it is uncomfortable. It is frightening. We are not sure how to respond to it. I am mainly avoiding reading the news. I am avoiding looking at graphs that map out the progression of the coronavirus here in comparison to Italy. I am avoiding the death toll statistics.

I spent much of last week feeling fairly peaceful but this weekend has been difficult. My girls’ behaviour has been challenging at times. They know that something is wrong now. That something is wrong and that it isn’t going away. Perhaps that is what I have realised too: it is easy(ish) to cope with lockdown for a week. But what about two weeks? Twelve weeks? Six months?

I miss my parents. I miss my friends. I miss my church family. Zoom meetings and Whatsapp Video (however grateful I am for them) do not quite cut it.

We sat as a family last night around the dinner table and we tried to talk about how we are feeling (easier said than done with a two year old and a four year old). Hamish and I tried to be honest with our girls about what we are finding difficult. We tried to create a space for us to be vulnerable and angry and sad.

And I think this is going to be really important in the weeks to come. Much of what I read last week in Philippians was about rejoicing, but we do not rejoice as a means of simply coating over our grief. As a society, us British are very bad at grieving. We are very bad at allowing ourselves the time and space to be sad or, to use an old-fashioned word, to lament. And there is much to lament at the moment. Many of us are grieving. We are grieving the loss of our freedoms. We are grieving contact with our loves ones. We are grieving the insurmountable pressures being placed on our NHS and schools. In our own church family, we are grieving the death of two of our beloved brothers and sisters.

This year, Church Mission Society (CMS) produced a resource called “Lament for Lent” which I had been journeying through but forgot about it the midst of the pandemic. I picked it up again last night and read this, “God isn’t afraid of our grief. He doesn’t cower when we complain. And he does not take our lament lightly.”

This is such an encouraging thought: we believe in a God who is not frightened of our grief. In fact, we believe in a God who stands with us in it. Who knows what it is to lament. One of the prophecies made about Jesus in the Old Testament calls him “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” (Isaiah 53:3) The stories that we have of Jesus in the bible reveal a God who weeps with and for his people. A God who stands with Mary and Martha at the graveside and weeps with them over the death of their brother, Lazarus (John 11:35) A God who is “deeply moved in his spirit” (John 11:38) when confronted with his friends’ pain. A God who weeps over the city that rejects him. (Luke 19:41) A God who weeps at this world of suffering and pain and sin, and what he must do to redeem it (Luke 22:24)

Let us take courage from this today. Let us bring our lament before God because He is not afraid of our grief.

“Trust in him at all times, you people;
Pour our your hearts before him,
For God is our refuge." (Psalm 62:8)

The secret of being content

"I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who strengthens me." (Philippians 4:11-13)

I've struggled to write something this morning because I contentment is something I really struggle with. I am so often restless, so often looking for the next thing, agitated by small things in life that go wrong, frustrated that my life is not exactly how I would have it be. But Paul's words strike hard at something deep within me: the longing to be content regardless of circumstances. 

For many of us in this moment, life is far from how we want it to be. I am thankful for the sunshine of recent days, but I cannot help thinking that when the weather turns (which it looks like it will do next week), the reality of lockdown will hit home again for us all.

For many of us, this is perhaps the first time in our lives when some of the daily provisions that we take for granted (well-stocked supermarket shelves, using public transport, the freedom to move about when and where we wish) are being taken away. And it feels quite uncomfortable. It is a jolt to the system to go shopping for something that you have always been able to get without any bother at all, and find that the nation's supplies have evaporated. 

Our situation pales in comparison to that of many countries around the world. I saw a meme on Facebook last week addressed to the world from various other nations highlighting our own complacency about our usual state of shelf-stocked-freedom:

Dear World, how is the separation from loves ones? - Syria

Dear World, how is the lockdown? - Palestine

Dear World, how is the fear? - Afghanistan 

Dear World, how is your food stockpiling? - Yemen

Dear World, how are border closures? - Asylum Seekers (Source: Europemustact.org)

The reality is that we in the UK do not really know suffering. Very few of us have experienced anything like this before, and what we are experiencing is incredibly minor disruption when compared to the rest of the globe. 

And so, we have a lesson to learn here from those who do know suffering. From those, like Paul, who have experienced circumstances so extreme and uncomfortable that it begs the question of how on earth is it even possible to claim to know "contentment" in the midst of it? In the midst of hunger and persecution and grief and desperate need?

In Hebrew there is a word called "shalom." It means something like "peace" and is often used as a greeting when saying hello or bidding goodbye. But it means much more than that. Shalom means wholeness, fullness, it is a kind of inward state of the soul that transcends situation, that is bigger than whatever happens to be going on at the time, that is not knocked or destabilised by the goings on of the world. 

In his prison cell, Paul has shalom. 

In the concentration camp with her sister Betsie, Corrie Ten Boom, learned shalom. 

Many of our brothers and sisters in the persecuted church around the world know shalom. 

Do we? 

I was reminded this morning of the hymn "It is well with my soul" and the story of when it was written. The hymn was written by Horatio G. Spafford after his four daughters died when the ship they were travelling on sank. The words of the song take on a whole new meaning when you think about who wrote them and in what state of mind Spafford must have been:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul.

I cannot imagine being able to pen these words when everything most dear to me had just been lost. And yet, somehow, Spafford writes them. Somehow he has shalom. He, like Paul, has learned the secret of contentment. His soul is well. 

How are our souls today?

Spafford's soul is well within him because he has peace with God. That is the reality of life as a follower of Jesus: our wellness has nothing to do with our circumstance. Our wellness has nothing even to do with our physical health. Our wellness is because we know God; our souls are restored to relationship with him through the death of Jesus on the cross. Wellness is something independent of what is going on around us. 

In this part of the letter, Paul says two really important things. The first is that this is a learning curve. Spafford too writes that God taught him this; he has not been able to do it automatically. And the second is that contentment, wellness, shalom, is imparted to us by God. We do not muster it up. We do not cover up our grief with plasters and pretend we are fine: "I can do all this through him with strengthens me" (4:13). Corrie Ten Boom did not thank God for the fleas out of her own strength. Horatio Spafford did not write that hymn purely out of his own resources. Shalom comes from the indwelling power of the Holy Spirit at work in us.

"I pray that out of his glorious riches he many strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, many have the power, together with all the Lord's holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep in the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you many be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." (Ephesians 2:12-19)

This is my prayer for this morning - to be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. To know the secret of being content in all circumstances. To have shalom. 

Renewed concern

I cannot help but wonder what the long time effect of Covid19 will be on our society. I recognise that there are some very serious negative consequences to all that is happening, but I want to remain hopeful that good will come of this too. 

In one of the most famous stories of the Old Testament, Joseph (aka Joseph and the Technicoloured Dream Coat) forgives his brothers for the wrong they have done to him. The story ends with this really beautiful moment of reconciliation where Joseph says to his brothers that what they meant for evil, God turned into good. (Genesis 50:20) 

I wonder what good God is working out in the midst of the coronavirus epidemic.

The final section of Paul's letter to the Philippians gives a little snapshot of the relationship between the imprisoned apostle and this little congregation in Philippi. He writes this: "I rejoiced greatly in the Lord that at last you renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you were concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it." (Philippians 4:11)

Paul's imprisonment affords the Philippians an opportunity to bless him. Part of Paul's reason for writing the letter is to thank the church for supporting him with his finances whilst he is under house arrest. The Roman prison system did not provide prisoners with meals and prisoners were dependent on family and friends to send them financial gifts otherwise they would go hungry. The Philippian church are responsible for meeting Paul's basic needs when he is unable to do so himself. The language that Paul uses is that of "concern." Apparently, it's quite a tricky word to translate from the Greek as it is often more about "thinking" rather than "caring", but one really helpful commentary said that it "essentially equates to personal opinion fleshing itself out in action." I love this. I love the idea of the Philippians thinking about Paul being stuck in prison without the things that he needs and, instead of just letting that thought remain a thought in their heads, fleshing it out into a concrete action: the provision of money and food. 

I have seen so much of this in recent weeks. In amongst fear and panic and anxiety and stockpiling there are so many people "fleshing out" their thinking into positive action; there are so many people who are demonstrating love and concern and care for others, even when it is costly for them. 

Just this week, whilst we have been self-isolating with the girls, we have had phone calls, messages, cakes delivered through the window, and craft activities and compost left on the doorstep. Concern for us has been abundant, and we are so very grateful. Grateful, like Paul, that others have not just thought of us but have practically done something to turn that thinking into a reality.

What if part of the good that God is working out in this present moment is in the way that we think of and treat one another? Is in neighbours who have never spoken doing shopping for one another? Is in grandchildren taking the time to paint pictures to send to their elderly relatives? Is in stopping to chat (whilst respecting social distancing!) with the people that we see whilst going about our busy lives instead of ignoring them? In appreciating our National Health Service instead of complaining about how long we had to wait at the doctors?

There is a challenge for us in these words from Paul today, a challenge to "renew" our concern, to get thinking, to get creative, to ask God who it is that needs our help and then to help them. The King James translation of this verse if beautiful: "now at the last your care of me hath flourished again." Here's to being members of a society where the care that we have for each other is flourishing at last.

Put it into practice

Since the onset of our corona-crisis I have as though life went into fast forward and slow motion all the same time: so many of the things that I used to do with my days have been replaced with a whole new set of different things. Half of life slowed right down, and the other half sped up.

In the midst of all this, of no one really knowing which way is up, Paul's advice to the church is this:

"Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me - put into practice. And the God of peace will be with you." (Philippians 4:9)

Paul taught and said and did a lot of things so, in some ways, this verse is an impossible feat to accomplish. But there is something so important in the simple instruction to "put into practice" what we are learning. 

As all of life is rearranged around social distancing and self isolation many of us (though not all of us - thinking especially of those on the front line in health and education) find that we have a unique opportunity to do life differently, to start up some new habits, to rethink our priorities. 

This is a moment unlike any other to re-assess what is really important.

In many of his letters to younger Christians, Paul uses the metaphor of physical exercise to explain what following Jesus is like. He compares being a disciple of Jesus to being in "training" for an athletic event. (1 Timothy 4:7-8) There are not many of us who could get up this morning and run a marathon. We would need to train. We would need to establish regular habits of exercise, and we would need to run each day, to make sure that when the day came we were ready to run the race. 

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I think this is what Paul means by trying to "put into practice" the advice he has already given. We cannot give up being anxious over night. We cannot always muster up joy and gratitude on demand. Often we forget to pray in the midst of a situation when prayer would really have helped us out. We do not always have the patience necessary to avoid shouting at our children. 

But Sarah told me that her teachers at school always say "practice makes perfect" and there is truth in that. In this strange, surreal season of everything we thought we knew changing, there is a moment to practice some new things: to write a daily list of things to be thankful for, to establish a regular time in the day to read the bible, to spend certain times of the day exclusively being family together without digital distraction, to commit to praying daily for those in worse positions that us. 

These are habits that we often intend to get into but we do not have the time. For many of us, now we do. It is not the time that we would have wished for and we are, all of us, trying to figure this out, but this is a moment that we can choose to make use of instead of simply waiting for it to pass. 

Paul ends with a promise: God is with us as we do these things. One of my favourite Christian thinkers is a guy called Dallas Willard. He once said that "grace is not opposed to effort, it is opposed to earning. Earning is an attitude. Effort is an action." Starting new practices is difficult. It requires effort on our part. It doesn't come automatically. That's why they are called "practices." 

In this uncharted territory for our nation and our communities, let us practice the things we always suspected were important but made a whole bunch of excuses for why we didn't do them. 

And the God of peace will be with us as we do.

Think about such things

I wonder how you felt when you woke up this morning.

Last night was the first time since the beginning of the coronavirus crisis that I actually, really, gave in to feeling frightened and despairing. I didn’t have the greatest day trying to entertain my two children and the prospect of having to do that on repeat for three months is mildly terrifying. When Boris Johnson made his announcement – even though, perhaps, we all knew it was coming – my stomach lurched and my head started burring and whirring at a million miles an hour. Mostly with selfish and unhelpful thoughts. Was my amazon order going to come? What qualifies as essential shopping? How do I choose between going for a run myself and taking the girls for some exercise? How hard is it going to be to not hug my mum for three months?

And then, this morning, this from St Paul: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.” Philippians 4:8

How we experience these next few months is going to depend almost entirely on what we allow ourselves to think about. 

Trying to get a handle on our own thoughts processes is no easy feat. I am struggling. My mind is half in the bible and half on my Tesco order. But Paul’s advice here is so practical. Pick some stuff that is helpful to think about and let that so occupy your mind that other thoughts are driven out. I listened to a brilliant podcast earlier in the week from Bridgetown Church about what it means to “take captive every thought” (2 Corinthians 10:4). We are not at the mercy of our minds. It’s going to take a little practice but we can focus our attention on what is going to help us to flourish rather than what is going to depress us and make us anxious. How else do you think Paul was able to claim – whilst chained up to a prison wall – that he had learned the secret of contentment?  (Philippians 4:11)

And so, what’s the list? What are we meant to think about in these uncertain and frightening times?

Whatever is true… for those of us who are following Jesus, we need to remind ourselves today of what is ultimately true. That God is good and loving and present in the midst of a crisis. That we are not abandoned and isolated but we carry the gift of the Holy Spirit. That we have been set free by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ even as we feel trapped in our homes. That every single moment of this day is an opportunity to commune with the living God and celebrate the life that we have in Him. 

Whatever is noble… There is a lot of nobility on display in our world right now. There are many dedicated members of our NHS and community who are sacrificing time, energy and even their own health for the sake of the rest of us. Let us focus on them today. Let us pray for them and for all that they are doing. Let us pray for every single doctor, nurse, carer and frontline worker to know the peace and presence of God. 

Right… If you are anything like me, the compulsion in this moment is to think about all the people who are not doing the right thing and get increasingly wound up by it. I have seen so many Facebook statuses berating others for their failure to adhere to social distancing. So many angry and exasperated posts focusing on what others are doing wrong. This is not helpful. We cannot control the actions of others. We can only control our own actions and response to what we have been asked to do. There is no point fixating on all those who will not do the right thing at the moment. Focus instead on the bravery and beauty of every person who is trying to do what is right: who is home-schooling even though they don’t know what they are doing; who is working from home whilst entertaining a toddler; who is refusing to stock-pile even though they feel scared; who is trying hard to stay connected with friends, family and neighbours in new and creative ways.

Pure…There is no one more pure than Jesus. He alone is altogether lovely. He alone is without a negative thought. Without an ulterior motive. Use this time to look to him. Read your bible. We’re heading towards Easter. We won’t be able to celebrate it as we are accustomed, but we can still celebrate the incredible truth of Jesus dying in our place. We can still celebrate that his blood has washed us clean. That by his wounds we are healed from all sin and shame. That he who had no sin became sin for us so that we might become the righteousness of God, that we might become pure. 

Lovely… Look outside your window. Look into the face of your children. Look at the pictures your grandchildren sent you in the post. Look at the buds blooming in the garden, the flowers pushing up through the soil, the birds making their nests in the trees. Get yourself off Facebook for a while. Take a break from the news and social media. Fill your mind up with everything you love. Distract yourself with beauty. Watch videos of Yellowstone Park or the San Diego Zoo or Blue Planet instead of videos of panic buying in Asda at 6am. There is so much loveliness around. The sun is even shining for us. Enjoy it.

I could go on… Paul does…admirable…excellent…praiseworthy...

Now is the moment, when we have to choose how we are going to respond. We have to get a handle on our minds and what our thought processes are doing to us. I’m an English graduate so I keep thinking about John Milton’s line from Paradise Lost, “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” 

These are hellish times. It certainly feels like we are living in some kind of strange, surreal, apocalyptic sci-fi film that we used to watch for entertainment. So let us fix our eyes on Jesus today. Let us fix our minds on him. Let us think about what is helpful to us and to others. And let us remember that this is going to pass. As a friend of mine posted to Facebook this morning, there will be a day a beautiful June day in a few months’ time when there have been no new cases of Covid19 for 3 weeks and we can breathe again. “All shall be well, and all shall we well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich)

Think about such things today. 

The peace of God

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:7)

Jesus spends a lot of time speaking with his disciples about peace. Before he dies, in a long conversation with his friends that in John chapter 14 (check it out if you’ve got a moment), Jesus reassures them that he will not leave them alone as orphans. He is going away, yes; he is about to walk the road towards the cross, yes; but he is not about to abandon his followers. His promise is that he will give them the precious gift of his Holy Spirit who will come and make his home in their hearts, who will come and bring them peace: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Do not be afraid.” (John 14:27)

The peace that Jesus offers is not the same as the peace of the world. At the moment, the entire internet is full of strategies for coping with this strange and frightening moment, but many of them provide only momentary distraction rather than lasting peace. A really good watch on Netflix (presumably the only business in the world that is actually going to make a profit from Coronavirus!) is a source of distraction from facing what is happening, but escapism doesn’t last. It is just a temporary measure.

And Jesus says that what he offers is not like that. It isn’t a quick fix patch up, but an altogether different kind of peace – he does not give as the world gives.

Yesterday, our family tried to use “zoom” to have a three-way family church service with some friends in the morning. We read the story of Jesus sleeping in the boat in the middle of the storm. (Luke 8:22-25) Jesus immediately curls up in the stern of the boat and falls asleep. A storm soon starts over the lake and the little boat carrying him and his friends is in danger of being swamped by the waves. Jesus’ friends run to him, shake him, shout at him and wake him up. Jesus gets up rebukes the wind and the waves and restores the lake to calm. Jesus is entirely peaceful right in the middle of the storm.

 This is, I think, what Paul means when he talks about the “peace of God which transcends all understanding.” It is unthinkable that anyone could be calm when their life is in danger. It is unthinkable that Jesus should fall asleep – and stay asleep – while the boat is being tossed by stormy waves. But he does. Jesus carries the peace of God with him. He is a non-anxious presence in a moment of extreme anxiety.

And this same peace is available to us. Paul’s strategy, again, is simple. Peace follows prayer. Peace follows the handing of our anxiety over to God, and the entrusting of him with it.

I love the image of the final part of this verse: the peace of God is not some passive, ethereal thing, a transitory feeling, but something strong and protective. The peace of God guards our hearts and minds. Like a watchman standing at the door of a fortress, the peace of God will not permit unhelpful thoughts and feelings to enter. The peace of God guards us against ourselves and our own tendency to think the worst and dwell on it.

I pray that you would know the peace of God today. I pray that God’s transcendent peace would settle on hospitals and doctors surgeries, on the homes of those who are lonely and isolated, in the hearts and minds of parents about to start home-schooling and feeling apprehensive, that our lives would confess the beauty of God’s peace. Amen.

Your voice has stilled the raging storms

The wind and waves bow down before

Your still small voice brings hope to all

Who wait on You, we'll wait for You

To lead us to the place where You'll restore our souls

And all our earthly strivings come to cease

Take from our souls the strain and stress

And let our ordered lives confess

The beauty of Your peace

The beauty of Your peace

Bright skies will soon be overhead

We'll enter in to Heaven's rest

There'll be no death, there'll be no pain

The things of old will pass away

You'll lead us to the place where You'll restore our souls

And all our earthly strivings come to cease

(Tim Hughes, The Beauty of Your Peace)

Do not be anxious about anything

"Do not be anxious about anything" sounds like one of the most useless pieces of advice ever written. It also sounds like a throw away lyric from a Bob Marley song: "Don't worry; be happy..." In times like these, anxiety is unavoidable and telling ourselves to not be anxious is like telling ourselves to not think about an elephant. Almost as soon as you try to stop worrying, you start thinking about all the things you're worried about and then you worry about the fact you're worrying and you're in a worse position than when you started. 

But Paul is not Bob Marley. He is not telling the church to stop being anxious; he is telling them what they should do with their anxiety: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, and with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." (Philippians 4:6) Prayer is an act of surrender. It is a confession that we are not in control. And, in light of the global coronavirus pandemic, it seems fairly obvious that we are not. But, as with rejoicing (which again Paul mentions here), we do have control over some things. We cannot control the feeling of anxiety, but we can control what we do with it. 

The invitation in this verse is the invitation to come to our loving, heavenly Father - the one who loves us and wants what's best for us, who hurts when we hurt, and cries when we cries - and say, Dad, I'm feeling pretty stressed out right now. 

My lovely 4 year old, Sarah, has just learned to lie, and we're been having lots of conversations about what lying is and why we don't do it. Part of it, I've tried to explain to her, is about trust. I want her to trust me. I want her to know that no matter what has happened, what she has done or not done, she can come and talk to me. I want Sarah to know that she can come to me with whatever worry she's got, whatever mistake she's made, and hand it over to me so that we can work our way through it together. 

God is like that: "present your requests" to him. Hand them over. Give them to him as gifts. Lay them down at his feet and leave them there so that you can work through them together instead of trying to carry them on your own.

I am a stress-head. Most people probably know this about me. Not being anxious is pretty much at the top of my list of things I am really really bad at. But this verse in an invitation from God to trust him - to place into his hands everything that makes me feel anxious: my Nan's health, whether or not the shops have any pasta (and what on earth my fussy children will live off if we can't eat pasta), whether the NHS can cope with the current level of need, the families in our community who will be forced further down into poverty, how to create some kind of structure and routine to get me through the next few weeks with my kids, those that I know who are sick, those who are know that are struggling financially because they have been laid off and their income has disappeared over night...

The list is endless. But God is bigger than our fears. He has an endless capacity for carrying our anxieties. So let us hand them over this morning as an act of trust and an act of surrender. 

The Lord is near

The Lord is near.

Another beautiful simple reminder from Paul this morning: “The Lord is near.” (Philippians 4:5)

At this present moment in time, we may feel – and actually be - quite far away from people. Covid19 has forced many of us into self-isolation. Our usual patterns of seeing people have been severely disrupted. Daily contact with friends, family, neighbour – previously so often taken for granted – is now limited. Church cannot meet at it usually does on a Sunday. Birthday parties and celebrations are being postponed. Plans are put on hold.

Thankfully, God isn’t in the habit of social distancing.

In fact, he does exactly the opposite: the story of the Christian faith is the story of the God who comes close. So close, in fact, that he enters into the world of broken and hurting humanity as a tiny little baby. He becomes one of us. God does not wait for us to come close to Him; in Jesus he comes close to us. In Jesus he brings us back to himself. We who were once far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ. (Ephesians 2:13)

As I ran through the park this morning (trying to avoid old ladies walking their dogs!), I was reminded of two things. The lyrics to an old Rend Collective song and a section of the Anglican liturgy usually said during communion:

“No one really knows

What it is to be alone

Since You've never left our side

Omnipresence means

That You're never far away

You're always within reach

Always within reach

Hallelujah God is near

Hallelujah Christ is close

Hallelujah God is near

Hallelujah .” (Rend Collective, God is Near)

“When we turned away

you did not reject us,

but came to meet us in your Son.

All   You embraced us as your children

and welcomed us to sit and eat with you.” (Eucharistic Prayer)

I pray that we would each know the truth of God’s near-ness today. That no one – no matter how self-isolated or socially distanced they are – would feel alone. That we would each know the God who came to meet us in his Son.

Amen.

Gentleness

The next piece Paul's "survival in a crisis" strategy is simple: "Let your gentleness be evident to all." (Philippians 4:3)

I honesty cannot think of anything that is more needed right now than gentleness, and a gentleness that extends to every single social interaction and area of society.

At the shops earlier in the week, I looked in the tired eyes of a shop assistant brimming with tears (after having been shouted at for most of the day it seems) and asked her if she was alright. We are in desperate need of gentleness. We simply cannot afford to be horrible to each other right now. We cannot afford to be selfish and angry and resentful and out only for ourselves. We need to be gentle.

And the challenge of Paul's words is that this gentleness should be evident to all and, I would suggest, in the way we talk about all. This is difficult. On my shopping trip earlier in the week, I encountered two very different reactions to our situation: the first a couple of terrified shoppers wearing face masks in an attempt to protect themselves; the second, a group of shoppers mocking them relentlessly even as they stock-piled their own items of food.

There was very little gentleness on display.

It is so easy to start taking chunks out of each other - to see someone'e else's behaviour and start judging and criticising. To blame Boris Johnson, to blame those stock-piling, to blame schools. I have done much of that this week - out of my own fear, I have tried to find explanations for what is going on, and identify who is most to blame for the situation. But in another letter, Paul says this, "The entire law is fulfilled by the command: 'Love your neighbour as yourself.' If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other." (Galatians 5:15)

We need to be gentle.

Perhaps we struggle with gentleness because we think of it as a kind of weakness. We're happy to be gentle with children (and puppies) but we prefer sarcasm to kindness. Showing compassion and sympathy might end up putting us in a worse position. We don't want to be labelled as a mug.

But Jesus is gentle. In fact, it is one of the very few words that he uses to describe himself: "Take my yoke upon you," he says, "for I am gentle and humble in heart." (Matthew 11:29) Jesus stops for the one. He locks eyes with the frightened. He takes time over those that the rest of society has written off. And - if we claim to be following him - then we need to behave like him. And that means guarding our words and our actions, monitoring what we put on Facebook and thinking about the impact it will have on others, loving our neighbours as ourselves.

But, and this is the truly beautiful part, we do it knowing that Jesus' gentleness is for us too. In amongst all of the emotions that we are experiencing right now, Jesus promises that he is gentle. That he is tender. We are to come to him in our weariness and anxiety and exchange what we are carrying for his easy yoke. (Matthew 11:30)

In our fragility and fear, he will be gentle. That is who he is:

"Here is my servant whom I uphold,
my chosen one in whom I delight;
I will put my spirit on him,
and he will bring justice to the nations.
He will not shout or cry out,
or raise his voice in the streets.
A bruised reed he will not break,
and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out." (Isaiah 42:1-3)

Let us be like Jesus today. Let us remember one another's bruises and brokenness, and be gentle.

I will say it again: rejoice!

I will say it again: rejoice! (Philippians 4:4)

I love this verse. It is one of the very few verses in the bible that gets its own exclamation mark at the end. And although God often repeats the same instruction to his people in his word it is pretty unusual for the same thing to be said twice right next to each other. It must be important.

It must also be quite difficult. Many many years ago, I heard someone older and wiser than me preach on Psalm 42. This song / poem is written by someone in quite extreme pain and distress. In today’s language, we would probably say that they were suffering from depression and anxiety. But, amazingly, 5 verses in, the writer says this, “Why my soul are you so downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God.” The older wiser person preaching on the psalm pointed out at this point that the most helpful thing we can do sometimes is talk to ourselves instead of listen to ourselves. When everything inside our heads and hearts, and thoughts and feelings, is signalling panic stations, doom, gloom and disaster, perhaps the most helpful we can do is to shut ourselves up and, instead, deliberately practice an act of gratitude.

Imagine if Facebook was full of people’s individual lists of things they wanted to say thank you for? Imagine if our newsfeeds were overflowing with small expressions of thanks? If we started talking to ourselves, instead of listening to the echo chamber of social media and the news?

Let’s give it a go today. Pick up a pen. Make some swipes on your screen. Tap something different on your phone.

I will say it again: rejoice!

Here’s my starter for 10 after fifteen minutes with a cup of coffee before my children woke up today…

Thank you for… hot coffee. The sound of birdsong. The radiators in my house. My dressing gown. My children sleeping well enough so that I could have a few minutes of peace. The way that so many people are trying so hard to be kind and generous and selfless right now. Being able to dig over my vegetable patch yesterday. Doing puzzles in the living room with my youngest daughter. Eating cake with my Mum on Monday to celebrate her birthday. A kind conversation with a neighbour yesterday morning. Having neighbours that look out for me. The response of the church in wanting to bless and serve the local community. More phone calls than normal this week because it’s hard to see people face to face.

Rejoice

Facebook is quite an unhappy place to be at the moment. So is the BBC news website. And so is the local Aldi at 9:30pm on a Monday evening.  So, in an attempt, as much for my own sanity as anyone else’s, I’m going to try and post a little thought / encouragement on my (not much used) blog each day from the bible…

I’m going to start in the book of Philippians because Paul, the writer, is pretty much a master of encouragement – especially in times that are dark and uncertain like ours. I’ve seen several people on Facebook post a meme with the conversation between Gandalf and Frodo from Lord of the Rings. Frodo says that he wishes that all the terrible things that were happening had not happened during in his time. And Gandalf responds, “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

It is hard to remember, in times like these, that we can decide. That we can choose to respond to things instead of react to them. That we do have a choice in what to do with the time that is given to us. The letter to the Philippians (a small group of people in a church in a place called Philippi) is written by Paul whilst he is chained up in prison. Things are really not going well for him. And yet, somehow, he claims that he has learned the secret of being content – even whilst he’s chained up to a prison wall. I’d like to get me some of that!

The last bit of Paul’s letter to his friends is where he unpacks some of this ‘contentment in a crisis’ strategy so I’m just going to head straight there. You can check it out yourself in his letter to the Philippians in the New Testament (second half of the bible), Chapter 4 starting at verse 4. If you have a bible with subheadings this but is often called “Final Exhortations.” In other words, the bit that Paul really wants his readers to remember.

And here is it. First thing to remember:

“Rejoice in the Lord always.”

Rejoice. Not because some nice, warm fuzzy feeling is swelling up inside of you (that’s hard to muster when you’re stuck in an endless queue for nappies and the person in front of you is shouting abuse at the helpless cashier) but because you can make a choice to find something to be thankful for: the fact that it’s actually stopped raining long enough this week for the daffodils to come out, the phone conversation you had with your Nan, a hot cup of coffee, a house in which to self-isolate into, watching your daughter complete a jigsaw puzzle by herself for the first time (after having done it with her several thousand times first!) some extra time to read the novel that’s been sat on your bedside table for several months.

And, remember, Paul isn’t saying this as some kind of nice, friendly way to end his letter; he’s saying it because it’s part of his strategy. Because it’s good for your soul. Because sometimes when everything is really hard and you’re feeling scared and anxious and overwhelmed by life, saying thank you is the only thing that’s going to stop you from going under.

But, it’s hard isn’t it? This is a moment in time when it’s really quite difficult to think of things to say thank you for and to rejoice in. Especially in that Aldi queue. But that’s why Paul kind of qualifies it a bit. Not just “rejoice” but “rejoice in the Lord.” Don’t just try and make up something to make you happy: remember the God who loves you and who is with you in the middle of the crisis. Remember the God who is the same all the time – pandemic or not. The God who is always good. Always kind. Always loving. Always present.

We do not rejoice because of the difficult things that are happening, we can rejoice because God is with us in the midst of them.