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Saturday, 11 June 2016

1 John 2.22-23

Who is the liar? It is whoever denies that Jesus is the Christ. Such a person is the antichrist - denying the Father and the Son. No one who denies the Son has the Father; whoever acknowledges the Son has the Father also.

John does not mince his words. And I squirm uncomfortably as Peter surely did. Not me. Not I. I never will. (Matthew 26.31-35) You can count on me, Jesus. You can trust me, honest. I'm not like the others. I'm unmoveable, unshakeable, unswayable.

Only I find that I'm not.

I am all too easily persuaded that Jesus isn't really the one I thought he was. That he isn't really the long waited for one. That he can't possibly be the Messiah. That this humble, foot-washing, cross-carrying, spat-sneered-scorned and bloodied criminal cannot possibly be the king of all creation, redeemer of the world. Can he? That the dead cannot rise, the sick cannot be healed, the broken cannot be fixed, the lost cannot be found.

And yet that is who he is. He is Jesus. He is the Christ. To say anything less about him is to be a liar. To be worse than a liar. (Matthew 16.23) I say less about him all the time. Sometimes I don't say anything at all. I mumble along with Peter, I don't know what you're taking about, I do not know that man. (Matthew 26.70, 72, 74)

Oh! Come on, crumbled courage! Come on, weak resolve. Do not shrink back. Say all that can be said about this altogether lovely One, about this friend and shield and shelter and strong tower. About this lion of Judah, this slaughtered lamb. For then you will HAVE the Father. You will have the Father. You will have laid hold of God. You will hold in your hands and your heart and your head, in your very soul, the One who made you. And how I long for that! How my soul aches to find itself held and holding the One I was made for.

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