Here I am, walking along the rocky coast of the South Pacific, Copacabana, eastern Australia, to be precise. The surf beckons and draws as great waves roll in from the vast ocean and break against the giant boulders that have fallen and lie at the foot of parent cliffs. The morning light has crept along and up the distant horizon and the sun shines on the seething, turquoise-blue water. I’m transfixed, staring at this rare sight (for me) of breath-taking, oceanic beauty.
Muffin however, is only interested in one thing: smells. He’s a beagle (cum spaniel) and this morning he’s found a treasure in the local surf club. O dear, where is he? I run over the dunes calling for him and one of the attendants there points to their communal eating place and I find him with his nose in a discarded paper carton (a common occurence). Sorry, Muffin, it’s the lead from now on.
You see, we’re looking for different things. For me it’s the sounds, the sights, the colours, the panorama of clouds, the looks and smells of the Pacific, maybe a sighting of dolphins or perhaps even a shark. For Muffin, it’s the leftovers and anything tasty that’s been washed up on the tide.
Such is life. We’re all on this earth and we’re each looking for different things - and what we look for is often what we find.
People, people to use or to make money from, people to have sex with, people to entertain or be entertained by, people for company … people, people. Or wait, am I looking for people - to love - the Jesus way, that is. I’ll find them alright.
O dear, I’ve just found out. Muffins aren’t allowed here – not on this part of the beach. There’s a sign up and I just didn’t notice - probably because I was engrossed with the sheer magnificence of the rocky coastline before me. Anyway, no fine this time. I know what I’m looking for now; staring at this wide, wide ocean has got me thinking – not like Muffin. His beagle instincts have already told him. Muffins always know what they want!
If God is perfect and master of the universe, why does He allow human suffering? Many of us have been asked that question and often by people who have encountered great personal sorrow. Whatever answer we give, surely it cannot be a trite or an easy one and perhaps, with humility, we have to admit we can only offer a partial one.
But one thing I do know is that suffering, our own or others, draws either the best or the worse out of us.
My younger brother-in-law has recently died. A tragedy? Yes. He’s left a grieving wife, a twelve year old and two teenagers behind. What is that all about? I’ve asked the question myself.
But his death has resulted in a great outpouring of generosity from friends, family, work colleagues, neighbours and staff in the children’s schools. It’s brought out the best in many, as I said, a river of generosity and drawn people close together. It’s shown up a quality of friendship that is … well, worth its weight in gold.
I don’t understand the reasons for such suffering, the quick onrush of an aggressive and rare cancer no drugs or treatment could temper. But I do know much kindness followed, kindness that would not have shown itself in such a unique way if that tragedy had never occurred.
Perhaps the best way to answer that difficult question is not to try and explain why we think God allows such things but describe what we ourselves have experienced at such times. If one side of the coin is dark, dark, dark the other surely glints brightly, gold in the morning sunshine. What is in our hearts, whether good or bad, is drawn out, we are melted in our shared grief into oneness with our fellows and reminded of the things that really matter.
And perhaps, too, we can add the experience of the suffering God Himself: “The cross is God taking on flesh and blood and saying, "Me too” ― Rob Bell.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Revelation 21: 1.
Underland: this is a new experience. I mean, you step off the plane (I'm from the UK) and everything is, well, different, a new world. No, let’s rephrase that. You keep seeing things that are ‘like' something you’ve seen before but not like them.
You turn your head and point, ‘Hey, there’s some wagtails’ but they’re bigger than ours and have different markings; and here’s some kookaburras, they're rather like kingfishers but larger and quite another colour … different. The sky, the southern sky – it’s the same but different - above my head a massive canopy, dotted with stars I have never, ever seen before. And the sea, there’s the familiar, rolling waves and roaring drone but .. it’s different: turquoise-blue and clear. And those birds, the Galahs … they’ve got the head of a parrot and the body of a pigeon. Well, I’m blowed. It’s a different world, the same - but different.
You know, it’s going to be a little like this on the New Earth: the same but different – but markedly more so.
And yet, here, in Underland, there are things that are just as different as can be. I mean, I’ve never, ever seen anything similar to that lopping, jumping, comical creature, the kangaroo, who sits on its hind legs endlessly munching - grass, I suppose. They’re fascinating, absolutely. And, I reckon, on the New Earth there’ll be those strange, strange creatures and entities that are quite unlike anything we have ever seen. I mean, think of the living creatures in Revelation, covered with eyes, back and front and with six wings: “The first living creature was like a lion, the second was like an ox, the third had a face like a man, the fourth was like a flying eagle (Revelations 4:7). And what about the sea in front of the throne which looks like a sea of glass, clear as crystal (Revelations 4:6).
I enjoy the word ‘like.’ It doesn’t mean quite the same as ‘identical’. We could talk, too, about Ezekiel’s strange and wonderful, unearthly visions of those burning, celestial beings, the cherubim, with four faces each whose awesome task it to propel the throne of God (Ezekiel 1: 4-27).
The New Earth, that’s something to look forward to. I reckon it will be the same but different, but then we’ll encounter other things, totally unknown, unrecognisable, unheard of. I’m looking forward to it, I really am.
My mind is flicking back now about 2500 years to the days of the beautiful Jewish Queen Esther, super-glam of the ancient Persian Empire, surrounded by jostling and ambitious men, each vying for position, prestige and honour. Indeed, she had everything ... luxury, acclaim and clearly the King’s favour. But, she was not afraid to lose it all.
Perhaps I should rephrase that last comment. She probably was afraid but true courage outstrips fear and she certainly had some of that. See her now, risking life, risking everything for the sake of God’ s honour, God’s people. “If I perish, I perish” (Esther 4: 16 ) were her immortal words before she took the precarious step of entering the king’s presence uninvited in order to save her people from annihilation as the result of a monstrous ruling.
What would have been the headline that day? Death or glory? Esther’s dance with death: subtitle: queen risks life to gain audience with king.
I admire people, always, who trembling, embrace courage, risking reputation, honour for something higher, more important than themselves. Superstar Esther, you really did become a superstar in my eyes that day. And there have been many, many more like you since - usually hidden, unrecorded – stars, superstars. Heaven will reveal them.
O for the courage that outstrips fear. Esther prevented a catastrophe on a vast scale. What can be achieved if we step out, push past our dreadful enemy, Fear, take Courage by the arm and embrace the words of a Lioness: “If I perish, I perish?”
Thoughts from the book of Esther, Old Testament.
There are many advantages of living in Christian community: one of them is this: we, as a community, can take in and assist people in a way that we just couldn’t on our own.
Sarah (not her real name) is an asylum seeker who is staying at our house. She comes from, indeed is fleeing from, a place where it is shameful for women to be seen on the streets or in shops on their own. And, here she is, in the UK, alone and with a small child. For people like her, our streets and public areas can seem very frightening places; things we think nothing of - a trip to the supermarket or a ride on the bus – can be a scary ordeal.
Sarah is staying for a few months with us before she goes to live in her own place. She is excited about that prospect but, as yet, unprepared - and that’s our job. One of us is teaching her how to do the washing (she comes from a privileged background where these things are often done for you). Another is taking her out on the bus to give her confidence to travel on her own. I am teaching her how to shop.
However, none of us can teach her how to cook chapattis. Today she is cooking for us – yum, something to look forward to when I get home!
This week she has reached two milestones: a lone bus trip (you should have seen the pleasure on her face when she returned) and a trip to the post office (where she went to the counter to have two parcels weighed and posted).
It’s a journey towards independence which she is making and she’s learning it in what may seem an unlikely place – Christian community.
Christian community is not about hanging onto people; it's about releasing people to be, well, their best, whatever that may be. Maybe, in a few months, we won’t see much of Sarah – she
will have moved on. But, we’ve seen her on her way and hopefully what she has learned will affect the rest of her life. It will all have
been worth it; we will have done something together, something actually very special, something that I could never had done on my own.
Has anyone written a book called ‘Christian Failures’?
I mean, I love reading about people who fail, first time, second time, third time and more. . people who come home from the mission field with no fruit at all or spend fifteen years making one disciple.
Why? I like reading about humans like me, people who battled, doubted, sunk and rose again (figuratively speaking), felt like giving up, did give up, let others down, forgave others, forgave themselves ... God’s work is often built on our mistakes, our failures, our repentance - and His grace.
Failure is probably the wrong word. ‘Failure’ is God’s training ground; it is often the time when actually we are bearing fruit, maybe not in terms of outward success but in terms of patience, faith, love, repentance etc.
When I visit Oxford I love to walk down Broad Street and, if there’s not too much traffic, stand on that humble black stone cross which lies unobtrusively amongst the cobbles on the road. Why? One of my heroes stood there – Cranmer, one time Archbishop of Canterbury (1489 – 1556).
True, he wrote some of the finest prayers ever written in the English language as well as having the wisdom to collect and translate from former traditions but he failed the first round BIG TIME in a time of persecution in Queen Mary 1's reign, denying the very things he had so believed in and written about. He was double-minded, cowardly, weak. His vacillations did not save him and see him now, the faggots are piled up, the fire is lit and he is about to be burned, on the wasteland outside the city walls as it was then.
But, the story goes on, written by an anonymous bystander that 'he stretched out his right hand, and thrust it into the flame, and held it there a good space, before the fire came to any other part of his body; where his hand was seen of every man sensibly burning, crying with a loud voice, 'This hand hath offended.'
His offending hand placed in the flames first, the hand that had written the denial of what he had believed in - before his body was consumed. I like this sort of thing. Something is answered deep inside my humanity; I am comforted and moved; I find hope.
Book of failures? Not in my eyes. Good for you, Cranmer!
2013: New year, new adventures - so we (5 of us) decided to begin a few hours early. Last night’s late hours and this morning’s early ones saw us venture out onto the Foleshill Road, in Coventry, down the dark back alleyway to the ‘Stag and Pheasant’ on Lockhurst Lane. We didn’t exactly creep in quietly by the back door; our pockets were stuffed with chocolate bars to give out and that we did as well as delivering sprinklings of prayers to those who said they wanted it. We then moved onto the ten pin bowling alley at Walsgrave. Some seemed rather taken aback as we sang to them, ‘we love you (their name) deep down in our hearts’ but there were smiles and ‘thank yous’ before we sped on to Spon Lane in central Coventry to snatch the last few minutes of 2012 and the first of 2013.
We went to the ‘Old Windmill’ pub and I don’t know how many kisses and ‘happy new years’ we got between us. The gig was in full swing and I spied an empty seat by two middle-aged women (I bet they wondered what I was doing there in my Jesus Army jacket) but we got chatting and found out one was a vicar! An unlikely meeting, I guess, but despite the thud, thudding of the electric guitars within a few feet of our ears, we managed to have a fragmented conversation about Christian community and Jesus Centres.
A good start to a new year, I would say; exciting, even exhilarating, hanging hard on God, enjoying the daring together and the team dynamics. May it be a year when we continue to run into and with God’s opportunities. Movements that are tame, attract, if any, the tame but adventure, adventure, adventurous living attracts the adventurous and how we more than need those in the church.
2013: end as you began! May we collect a crowd of God-mad, holy adventurers this year – and some, at least, from the most unlikely places.
