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November 11, 2012 5:39 pm

Praying is testing God (sometimes)

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by    in Bible,Prayer

Being bold in prayer is tricky.

Don’t get me wrong: boldness in prayer and a faith to move the mountains are good things. There are also practical ways to increase boldness in prayer. But in all of that, there is a difficult balance to strike, between expecting our prayers to be answered and considering that as a right that we have come to acquire.

The danger is there, that we start demanding things from God, as though he were indebted to us, rather than the opposite. The Israelites did:

They tested God in their heart
by demanding the food they craved.
They spoke against God, saying,
“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Psalms 78:18-19 (ESV)

And God got angry at them for it.

I wouldn’t be quick to dismiss this as God being angry at some form of lack of faith on the part of the Israelites. Or to think that the Israelites wanted to make sure of God’s power before they went on and trusted Him. After all, they had all left Egypt on the basis of that faith, the power of God had just been shown them when they were thirsting for water.

Yes, their prayer was a test; but one that we can be led to put God to in our own prayer life, without noticing that we do. We test God in our prayers when we allow our faith to depend on the outcome of the prayer.

Expectant prayer becomes tricky, then: we want to both be  bold in the assurance that God will provide, but we need to not let our faith depend on it. Prayer, and our relationship with God, cannot become a utilitarian thing. How do we achieve that, though?

In remembering that our prayer comes from faith and relies entirely on that faith. Yes, answered prayers can feed a little into faith; and both may grow together. But we must not allow ourselves to turn to a system where faith relies on answered prayers.

The Lord’s prayer, rightly, starts with a statement of praise of God. This is not only a statement of what is the most important, but also a way of giving us the right state of mind for prayer: one that looks at God first, and  then allows us to respond and ask for our daily bread expectantly.

To conclude, though, let us remember that after being angered, God still provided the manna. He still answered the prayer, even when it did not rely on faith alone. Prayers born out of necessity, prayers born out of strife, or those where we doubt our own worth in God’s eye and therefore God’s answer – these are all acceptable. But let’s not make a habit of them ;-)

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October 21, 2012 5:03 pm

Judge, that you may be judged

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by    in Bible

The other week, I got assaulted on the street in France (from behind, of course). There was no discernible purpose behind the attack: nothing was stolen; I did not know the guy who did it, and was not doing anything particularly provocative. To this day, I am puzzled as to why the incident happened.

Once the shock had gone, my initial reaction was that I should forgive him. I found it quite difficult to do. There is a reason for that: forgiveness can only happen after judgement. Otherwise, the sin that we forgive is trivialised; and our behaviour becomes an open invitation for  repeated offences. And us Christians have grown, it seems, shy of judging others.

Photo: Colin Smith, reused under CC license

“Judge not, that you be not judged” has become a mantra that gets brought up whenever we are tempted to rebuke someone. Yes, it is Biblical. But when we do restrain ourselves using only that verse, we:

  • are still judging; we are simply refusing to voice that judgement.
  • are distancing ourselves from our neighbour, by adding that screen of hypocritical non-judgementalism between us. We, in a way, refuse to accept our neighbour holistically, that is, as their entire person.
  • are turning a blind eye on sin, which ultimately makes it easier to turn a blind eye on our own sin.
  • are making real forgiveness impossible. And yet, we should “forgive, that we may be forgiven.”

Far, far more importantly, if we aren’t judged and convicted of our sin, we cannot experience the liberating feeling of forgiveness, from which we can grow. That’s why in other parts of the Bible, we are instructed to rebuke.

From that perspective, and with the assurance of forgiveness, I do want to be judged. If I’m “doing it wrong”; or if I have some ink on my forehead (from someone stamping it…) and I haven’t noticed it is still there, I would like someone to tell me. I would like someone to judge me.

That’s why the use of finality (for Hellenists out there, the fact ἵνα μὴ is used rather than καὶ μὴ … καὶ μὴ, as in Luke) puzzles me. Why would I want to not be judged? And Luke’s distinction between judging and condemning indicates that it isn’t just about sentencing (which would preclude forgiveness). But that very distinction also suggests that the key to that verse may be in what we mean by “judge”.

The Greek used here is κρίνω. It is associated with notions of separating (e.g., the wheat from the chaff), of arranging and ordering. This form of judgement is one that divides, and one that is objective rather than interpersonal. When criticising others, we are placing ourselves above them, and indeed forgetting that we cannot throw the first stone. But there is a different form of judgement: a form of rebuking which stems from love. That form of judgement we should not shun, because only through it can we reach forgiveness.

But if we are passing that judgement, then we should allow the process to come to its complete end, with forgiveness; rather than stopping halfway through judgement in shyness because we “should not judge”.

Judgement without forgiveness is sterile.
Forgiveness without judgement is futile. 

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October 7, 2012 3:27 pm

Malicious witnesses

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by    in Bible

Mission, evangelism, outreach – three words which ultimately mean the same thing: going out and sharing the Gospel.
There are some differences, though: mission conveys the (literally apostolic!) idea of being sent, evangelism has a focus on the nature of what is being shared – the Bible – and outreach suggests the existence of a structure to go back to. The differences between these three leads to a major question: why are we doing this? What leads us to “do” mission? What do we share? And with whom?

Yes, the Great Commission instructs us to go and teach all the nations. And that’s very well. But if it is our sole motivator to go out and share the Gospel, then not only does evangelism become something we just do, but the message we share itself becomes stale. We end up needing to be right, and we end up needing to persuade others that we are.
We start to develop standard answers to deep and personal questions, for instance on creationism, eschatology, homosexuality, suffering, science, etc. – and these are answers we need to have ready, because we can’t be seen to “not have it sorted”.

Woe to us if we end up like that. If we end up reciting the same message to all, with just some tiny alterations in style. Because the fact is the Word is alive to all of us. It grows, it interacts with the people who hear it, and it changes us. The point is, it has interacted with us (and still does). It excites us, makes us passionate.

For instance, I find that I come truly alive when I share some passages that really resonate with me (for instance the story of Gideon. Or John 15.) But every time I do, it is because I explain what this meant to me. How that is relevant to me (and, I hope, it can be to those I share it with). I find that much harder to do when I’m talking to non-Christians.

I’m not sure why, but I think there are three main reasons:

  1. I feel the weight of responsibility. What if I say something wrong and shut that person off to the Gospel?
  2. I’m representing some organisation to an outsider – and personal beliefs shouldn’t come into that, surely.
  3. I need to be seen to have it all sorted. If not, my message is worthless.

And so, when I started taking part in evangelism events, it soon became an intellectual exercise – one that goes both ways, and which allows me to probe some questions myself too; but still, one that involves the mind when I’m talking, and the soul only afterward when I’m praying. I find myself pigeon holing people into categories, which stops me from truly engaging with them.

The Psalmist warns us:

Malicious witnesses rise up; they ask me of things that I do not know.

Psalm 35:11 (ESV)

Should we then stop going out to share the good news? Stop opening ourselves up to these malicious witnesses? Of course not. But we should be wary of these malicious witnesses; and of the focus they have on asking us things thatwe do not know. Rather than addressing the intellectual arguments as something we can get sorted for ourselves and explain on our own to others, and thus becoming falsely self-reliant and arrogant; we should focus on what we know.

What do we know? We know our story. We know how we got changed. We know how reading the Word excites us. How much Jesus matters to us. We know Jesus. What we do not know, is the apologetical arguments – not until we have made them our own. And even then, what we know is the story of how they became our own.
This is what we can share without risk of self-satisfaction and self-reliance. This, and this alone. The rest we must leave up to God.

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September 9, 2012 9:07 pm

The conundrum of seeking forgiveness

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by    in Bible,Prayer

Forgiveness is at the heart of much Christian practice. Communion liturgy mentions it, as the blood of Christ washes our sin away. Some widespread evangelism strategies give it a prominent place, going something like this*:

  1. We are all sinners and deserve the wrath of God.
  2. Jesus took on our sin on the cross and bore the penalty for our sins.
  3. We therefore stand justified and forgiven in the eyes of God.

The direct link between sin and justification makes it sound easy. It looks as though repentance automatically leads to forgiveness. And in a way, it does – because God’s nature is always to have mercy. But it makes it look silly too. On its own, it’s petty. Arrogant. Why would God want us to say sorry for our sins in order for them to be forgiven?

Photo: Roger Davies, reused under CC License

Behind this question, there is a double misconception: firstly, about the place of forgiveness in Christianity: we cannot think of sin or forgiveness without placing them in the context of God’s incredible love for us – lest we make that forgiveness a mechanical thing. Secondly, a misconception as to what being sorry actually means.

When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.

(Luke 7:37-38 NIV)

Is that the attitude we take when we pray for forgiveness? When I realise my sin, I sometimes say “oops! Sorry God”. The assurance of forgiveness makes me treat the grave matter of forgiveness and repentance very lightly. It is actually very rare for me to have that broken and contrite heart. But where that happens – when I do feel contrite, it feels too big to bring to God. Too big to be forgiven. This is the true conundrum of seeking Jesus’s forgiveness: either the guarantee of forgiveness makes it so I don’t come forward with a contrite spirit, or my contrite spirit stops me from coming forward. This is why the sinner in Luke 7 is weeping. This is why the prodigal son goes back to his father’s as a hired servant. This is why the tax collector cries out in the temple: because they have all grasped the grave matter of their sin, and seek forgiveness without thinking they will get it. The reaction is overwhelming. The relief is great. From that relief, comes the joy of dwelling in Christ and true repentance.

I’m not arguing that we should make a show of being contrite. I don’t think we have to weep to show true anguish or sorrow. I don’t even think we should feel much anguish or sorrow. But we should not trivialise sin by making it commonplace (yes, we all do sin, in word thought or deed, but should we lump all our sin together?). In the same way that God is not a vending machine when it comes to petitionary prayer, He is not a vending machine when it comes to asking for forgiveness. Approach asking for forgiveness with humility and with a contrite heart, but also with the wisdom of the Psalmist who said

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

(Psalm 51:17 ESV)

How do we do that? To be honest, I don’t really know, and would be grateful for any pointers. All I can do is to turn to Jesus (rather than, as I often do, my own mind) as the convictor of my sin, and pray that the Holy Spirit create in me a contrite heart. Not for the sake of being sad – that would be stupid – but for the joy of being truly forgiven.

How do you seek God’s forgiveness?

—

* It’s easy to criticise any evangelism strategy; but that is not the point of this post. It would, after all, be too easy if I didn’t offer anything to replace this approach (which I may attempt in a future post). The main purpose of this post is to reflect on forgiveness of sins – and even then, I only scratch the surface. What about our commission to forgive sins? What about sinning against the Holy Spirit? Sin and forgiveness are vast subjects which could (and do) fill up books! If you’ve got some to recommend, please let me know!

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August 5, 2012 7:54 pm

The nature of (my) calling

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by    in Bible,Calling,Personal posts

A calling is a hard thing to articulate. It’s extremely personal, hard to describe, hard to explain – but harder still to dismiss.

Photo: floeschie, reused under CC license

And yet it is crucial to be able to do so; because if your calling is to the ministry, you will find people coming to you with a drive to test their own calling. Because you will want to explain to friends what you’re living. Because it will puzzle others. Because, ultimately, it is an awesome thing to share.

But the truth of it is, there appears to be no formula for callings; there is no constant in there. Which makes it incredibly hard to know in our minds as well as in our hearts that we are called; because there is no pattern to test our calling against.

Some callings are of an extraordinary, precise and unmistakable nature. S/Paul, on the road to Damascus, had a great and life-changing experience. Gideon was called out of a quiet life by an angel.
Some are more subtle. Samuel got called three times before recognising the Lord and his calling. Some, but not all, are made through people – Saul, Elisha are examples; and to an extent Gideon’s calling.
A lot of callings lead to massive changes in the lives of the called (both Sauls, Gideon, Elisha, etc.) but some happen to people who are already in the temple (Samuel).

The only constant is that once the nature of the calling was established and accepted, there was no doubting it. There was a strong resolve to do whatever needed doing to serve.

This is encouraging and daunting at the same time. Encouraging, because it means that if I commit to the ministry for life, it will be a deeply satisfying decision. Daunting, because it feels like there’s no getting out. A relief too, because there’s nothing I can do about it.

My calling wasn’t spectacular. It started out as a feeling last September – a series of tiny nudges in the direction of ministry; combined with a series of advertised opportunities to grow in that direction. When I reached the stage where I took it seriously, and prayed about it, that feeling was fed and grew. When I started going for the opportunities given to me, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. My prayer turned from “Is this real?” to something akin to Samuel’s “speak, Lord, for your servant is listening”. And I’ve taken things one at a time since. I’ve shared this with close friends, and with my own Elis. At this stage, I’m serene and trusting that, if this is God’s calling for me, it will lead to the ministry. Like many, however, I still sometimes momentarily doubt whether I’ve not just made a massive mistake; but quickly realise that these are just insecurities about my own abilities, and am quickly brought back to the confidence in my calling.

If you’re in ministry or planning to go into the ministry, what was your calling like?

What would your advice for people who are feeling called (including me) be?

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