jesus – God Bible Life

Forty Days And Forty Nights

The Baby Boy gazed up at the leaves being moved by the gentle breeze. He had no words or concepts of things like leaves, trees or sky; for him it was an overwhelming kaleidoscope of fragmented green, constantly shifting and moving, all possible shades and variations, with the steady deep and clear azure behind. He didn’t know, in any kind of cultivated adult sense, what beauty was either – and yet he knew that this was beauty, heartbreaking and unbearable loveliness, the dazzling light of the sun muted and torn to little translucent green forms, like fairy spirits moving, dancing and bowing before him. He scarcely had any concept of where his tiny limitations finished and the green, blue and golden beauty before him began.

He began to cry. His mother came over to him, with full, heavy and aching breasts. He drank, was quietened, and fell asleep.

The Dark Man was there too, almost invisible, blending in with the shadows under the trees. He watched them both for a while and then left.

Thirty years or so later and the Baby Boy was now a Grown Man, hungry, empty and weak, standing up on the hillside. The sky had grown dark, inky black clouds drawn across in a premature dusk. A ragged gash in the clouds, a couple of miles away, caused heraldic sunbeams to slant down onto the distant city, making it shine white amidst the gloom, like the celestial city, the city set on a hill.

It’s yours, said the Dark Man, who was there too, and was also regarding the city. Of course, it’s yours. I can’t do it, all that I touch turns dark, the touch of my fingers turns all to dust and decay in the end. Not you though – your reign is a rule of light, truth and beauty, of righteousness and peace. Take it, it’s yours, I can give it to you and all other cities like this one, from this time and all times to come. Bow to me, receive it from my hand and take up your rightful place. The old restraints and prohibitions are soon to be done away with, they have served their purpose. The ancient monogamy is no longer required, all you touch becomes clean, consecrated. They are waiting for you, the perfectly formed bodies under the flowing garments. Bow to me, and take up your kingdom.

The Grown Man saw all these thoughts and enticements but they did not enter into his heart and will, like ships declining to enter a harbour, like apples that refuse to fall to the ground in a bitter gale. He saw the shining city but did not look at it, fixing his gaze above and beyond it, just as he never looked at the Dark Man, but always off centre, looking past and over him, seeing him only ever with peripheral vision.

He turned, showing his back to both the Shining City and the Dark Man – get behind me Satan, for it is written, thou shalt worship the Lord thy God and him only shall you serve.

Four figures appeared, tall and shining, in the deepening gloom, standing, facing one another, in enclosed quadrant formation. They sang a song that rose and fell, but continued as a constant eternal flow. They regarded one another from time to time, casting the song back and forth between them but always at the very edge of forgetting their own being, so compelling the music they were making together, so devastatingly, beautifully irrefutable, the never ending hymn of praise which will – one day – burst through that thin membrane that separates their world from ours and sweep away all darkness before it.

The Grown Man stood and listened for a while and thus helped and strengthened, slowly made his way back to the town.

Mary and the Sword

The angel appeared to Mary with good news – a baby boy, he will be great, a king, his kingdom shall never end. All that joy and hope contained in that tiny human packet, a gift of love, nurtured by love and the grown man giving himself in love.

And yet, and yet….. What did the priest say to Mary and Joseph as they later held that little baby in their arms in the temple? A sword…. A sword shall pierce your heart… This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Is there then to be no love without the sword, piercing the heart? Is there no joy without suffering and loss? Why then do we choose to give ourselves in love? We all know it – the sword is waiting for us too, in various ways, revealing itself as the years turn into decades and the final moments of our lives come.

Would we turn away from love if we could see ahead and sense that sword penetrating our hearts, whilst still in the first flush of love?

And what about the thoughts of our hearts being revealed? Why those uncomfortable ideas of the baby Jesus actually being someone who reveals our hearts and can see into our inmost being? Perhaps Jesus seeing our hearts for what they are and what is contained in them, the good, the bad and the ugly, isn’t something scary or shameful, but simply the first step out of the gloom into light, truth, beauty and order.

But back to the sword – the final word has not yet been spoken… Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O grave, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?

And so, we love. We choose to give ourselves in love and to be loved by others. Come what may and despite the sorrow that comes to all those who love.

In the big scheme of things and in ways we cannot always see or understand, love always endures, love always wins. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love – greater also than the grave, greater than the sword.

The Weeping Man

It was the sound of weeping that woke him. Was he really awake, though? He certainly became aware of lying on his back, in a rather stiff and formal manner, but…. awake? He wasn’t sure yet. He had often had that strange experience of being asleep but dreaming of being awake, and decided that this was what was happening now.

There it was again – weeping. A grown man, weeping, very close by, immediately next to him, quiet, insistent, desolate and disconsolate, like someone who did a lot of weeping. Almost musical in tone, very nearly like singing, it went on in continuous rhythm and was clearly the voice of a man who knew all about sorrows and was acquainted with grief.

But why had he thought the sound was close at hand? It was now certainly further off, coming from outside. But outside of what? All he knew, in that vague and dreamy condition, was that he was inside somewhere and the weeping man was outside. This distinction between his inside and the weeping man’s outside seemed to be important and terribly significant, but it was just another unknown to him in his still dreaming condition. The weeping became louder, rising, step by step, to a tone of outrage and plain anger, reaching something like a terrible shout, a lamentation and even perhaps a war cry – the kind of sound a man would make if he were fighting and defeating an enraged lion or bear with his bare hands. And then…silence.

He continued lying there, closer now to true wakefulness, but still knowing himself to be asleep. Other than that, he didn’t know anything at all, just his dark and enclosed inside and the man who had been weeping outside. He had no idea who he was, what had gone before, no memories of anything at all.

Sound returned, in the vague murmur of other voices, going back and forth, talking in low insistent tones. He thought also that he could discern other wailing and weeping voices, further away, women’s voices perhaps? Then two or three male voices came much closer, until he could almost begin to pick out individual words. Sounds of exertion, grunting and heaving, followed by a brief stab of light which disappeared for a moment, only then to return, and become instantly dazzling, blinding him, despite the fact that he seemed to have some kind of arrangement of cloth over his face.

Then – his name…

The weeping man called out his name…

LAZARUS!

The first piece of returning memory… Lazarus, that’s me, that’s my name. He now felt very close indeed to breaking the surface of the lake of sleep he was still submerged in. The man’s voice continued in a commanding tone, forceful enough to flatten trees a hundred miles away and even knock planets out of their course, but aimed with absolute precision at him and him alone…

COME FORTH!

With that shout, the return of the memory of his own name and then that not to be resisted command COME FORTH! he knew – clearly and indisputably – that he was now fully awake, able, for the first time, to flex muscle and move limbs.

Now that he was properly awake, the knowledge and sensation of being inside in that enclosed space and there being a very clear outside became rather oppressive. COME FORTH, the voice had commanded, so – of course – he obeyed. And that was still all he knew, the entirety of any knowledge he could muster. His name, the sensation of being in that enclosed space and now the command to COME FORTH.. Slowly and carefully he sat up, then stood and began to walk, in slow shuffling gait, towards the light, which he was very clearly aware of, even though he was still effectively blindfolded. There was something outrageous, something that felt as though it should Not Really Be Allowed, something impossible about this action of standing and walking – he didn’t know why that should be. It simply shouldn’t be happening, rather like following the command to walk over a cliff edge, with the assurance from somebody or other that there was an invisible surface to walk on. He was also very dimly aware of a dull and confused racket, perhaps hordes of squealing, hideous voices, a long distance off, gibbering in rage and dismay, very faint but sufficient to frighten him a little, so he advanced his steps towards that light and warmth, and then – he was no longer inside – but outside, out into what he would soon remember to be sunlight and fresh air. For now though, like a baby that had been accidentally born with an adult body, he stood there still knowing and remembering nothing.

Footsteps and voices approached, he became aware of hands, gentle and hesitant, plucking and pulling at the pieces of cloth that had been encumbering his movement. And how they stank! A sweet but sickly smell arose, dark and repulsive, as those filthy rags fell away and his limbs became free to move again, face free and open, eyes still screwed tight shut against that blinding and dazzling light and warmth.

Those same hands gently guided him forwards, into another space that was also inside – but not an oppressive feeling this time, a good, safe and welcoming inside. They stripped him of his garments, and helped him with cleansing and washing. The sickly sweet death smell (as he later realised it was) faded away, and – piece by piece – memory and recognition of his friends, family and events returned, with wonderment, relief, smiles, joy, then eventually shouts and laughter..

The friendly helpers washed themselves too. They felt themselves to be in something of a quandary; had they touched a dead body or not? It felt as though they had, and yet, technically, hadn’t. However, if there was ever a time to not be standing on ceremony, it was clearly now…

Later, after all the spontaneous festivities, singing, laughter, as well as earnest conversation and reflection, were over, he lay down again, and – without fear or apprehension – let himself sink back under the surface. Not the deep and dark waters this time but the caressing, shallow, mild and sunlit waters of God-given sleep and rest.

Jesus hates Religion

Well, you know, I hate religion… and you know what? Jesus hates religion too…

I’ve been hearing Christians say things like this from time to time for about 40 years now and it’s something that seems to have been cropping up more often in recent times. The vehemence has increased as well. I recently read a post on the internet from a large charismatic movement that shall remain nameless, talking in prophetic language about a new generation of Christians that will sweep through the land, ushering in revival, healing the sick and raising the dead even. The words religion and religious were used quite often in the post and in the comments underneath, and exclusively as very negative and pejorative expressions, such as the old religion will be swept away…. Stench of religion…. Oh, and they hate religion…. etc….

I’ve felt increasingly unsettled by this kind of talk and tried to analyse the reasons for it. I’d like to describe just three reasons why I think that this is at least not as straightforward as some might think and suggest that we should try to be clear about our language and what we really mean with it. So, here are three reasons (there may well be more, but three is probably enough for the time being) why I personally have moved clearly away from using the word religion or religious in a negative sense. I’ve listed the three in reverse order of importance:

Words have useful meanings – don’t confuse matters by making up your own definitions

This reason is – I admit – the one that perhaps most opens me to charges of being pedantic, arguing about meanings and definitions. But I’ll press on anyway because I think it’s actually rather important. Here are some reliable sources which give the meaning of the word “religion”

First, from the Cambridge Dictionary:

The belief in and worship of a god or gods, or any such system of belief and worship.

A second and less formal meaning is:

An activity that someone is extremely enthusiastic about and does regularly: For example: He goes for his walk around the block religiously every morning.

And from Merriam Webster:

The service and worship of God or the supernatural

Or: commitment or devotion to religious faith or observance

Or: a personal set or institutionalized system of religious attitudes, beliefs, and practices

A look at many other dictionary definitions give the same definitions, just using slightly different language: belief in a deity or deities, and a system of activity and worship centred around that belief.

Do you believe in God and attend church? Do you engage in charitable work, fired by your belief in God and the urge to help others? Do you donate money to a church? Do you stand in a room with other people and sing songs of worship to God? Just a few examples, but if you do any of these things, sorry, you might not like it, but yes – according to all the accepted definitions – you are clearly religious… But it’s OK! Christianity is definitely a religion, but has relationship at its heart (or should have, at least)

A family member suggested to me that this is perhaps an example of a word changing its meaning over time, and if that were the case, then it would be a bit Canute-like of me to try and hold back the tide of common and accepted parlance, but in this case I really don’t think this is what is happening. I believe it’s only an unlikely alliance of atheists and charismatic Christians who are insisting on this misuse of the word.

Again, this may seem pedantic, but I actually believe that it’s important to name things by their proper name. If you hate legalism, i.e. the idea that slavish adherence to a set of precisely defined rules of moral behaviour, going into the minutiae of everyday life, even what is considered decent dress codes, abstinence from certain kinds of food, or alcohol etc…. Then, yes – attack legalism, and you would have my full support.

If you hate hypocrisy, i.e. putting on a show of being a really good Christian, whilst clearly and deliberately living a dark kind of lifestyle when people aren’t watching, well, yes, that’s also a legitimate target and I’d be with you.

But let’s not go making up new definitions for words that simply don’t carry that meaning. Interestingly, my non christian friends use the word religious in its proper sense, when they say to me – completely respectfully – You’re a religious kind of person, aren’t you? To which I reply with a simple Yes, I am – because I know exactly what they mean, that I believe in God, that belief is a really important thing in my life and I attend church regularly.

Don’t put words into Jesus’ mouth that he never said…. It’s true that Jesus speaks out his harshest words for at least some of the religious leaders of his day. From Matthew 23:

Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.

It’s worth reading the whole of the chapter, it’s pretty much a lengthy rant against the religious leaders of the day – not for being religious but for not caring about the people they were supposed to be guiding, (verse 4) for putting on a big show of righteousness to try and impress everybody, (verse 5) for hindering, rather than helping people enter the Kingdom of God (verse 13) confusion about what really matters ( 16 – 22) and trust in outer appearance but neglect of the true inner life of the heart ( 17 – 32)

However, as regards actual religious practice, Jesus tells his disciples not to neglect this… In verse 2 he says:

The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.

In other words: It’s not the observance of the law of Moses that’s the problem but the abuse of positions of power and influence and using the law as a stick to beat people with rather than a help to stay on track.

Who are we to say what’s “religious”

I’m afraid to say that I have – in the past – dismissed certain expressions of Christianity, as “empty religion” but not really because I truly sensed that it was so. I was born and brought up in the brethren assemblies, or the “Open Brethren” – my memories of this time is that they were very gentle and kind folk with a very deep commitment to a life with God. We were, however, a bit snooty and superior when it came to our attitude towards liturgical forms of worship, especially in the Church of England. For us, a prayer was only a prayer if it was extemporaneous, or – as we would describe it – directly inspired by the Holy Spirit. You couldn’t possibly read a prayer off a page, the liturgies and patterns of prayers and responses in a Church of England service were all “man made religion” and as such, dead and useless… It was only a bit later on in life that I grew to love the Church of England liturgies, the amazing words of concise, compressed truth, expressed in beautiful phrases – albeit very blunt and direct in places (Have mercy on us miserable offenders!)

Looking back, what I condemned as “religious” or “man made religion” was simply something that I didn’t understand, it was completely outside of my experience.

I remember visiting a small charismatic fellowship in my area, for one of their meetings. I had visited on occasions before – in the intervening time the fellowship had shrunk quite dramatically in numbers attending. The friend I went along with attended the local C of E church. One of the leaders of the fellowship said to my friend, in reference to the C of E church Can’t you get them to come here, can’t you get them out of their religion? The irony was, that the C of E church had been undergoing something of a revival, extending the building to cope with the increased numbers, while the fellowship was in its death throes….

I recall also, when attending a pentecostal church when I was at college. Again, they were very kind and genuine people and I have many good memories of times spent with them. They were suspicious, however, of the fact that I also attended a youth group at the local Anglican church, run by Michael, the Vicar. Deeply concerned about our welfare, spiritual and otherwise, he put a lot of effort into our meetings, encouraging us to think more deeply about our faith in Jesus. He was referred to only with a sneer, though, by the pentecostals: Bring the vicar along Jonathan – he needs it!

I sometimes wonder if – at the heart of this persistent misuse of the word religion and religious – is really a difficulty in believing or appreciating, that other outward forms of worship are really worship. Of course, liturgical worship can be “empty” if it is treated casually or insincerely – but so can any other kind of worship! And if you are going to define “religious” as using funny or mysterious sounding lingo or vocabulary, then funky and culturally “cool” fellowships can easily compete with any other branch of the church. I recall another occasion on which I attended another charismatic fellowship. The band struck up a song, an up tempo number that you would normally be able to jig around to. The trouble was, they didn’t get the tempo right, playing it far too slowly. The leader of the fellowship stepped up to the microphone after the first attempt and said I’m sorry, I just don’t think we had the anointing from the throne room – could we do it again, a bit faster? Of course, a simple Could we try that again, a bit faster please? Would have been perfectly fine!

Of course, this can work the other way as well – I once heard a proponent of liturgical worship describe an excitable charismatic worship event that he went along to, as like the prophets of Baal leaping around the altar…

Well, who knows? Maybe I’m wrong about all of this – these are just my thoughts and feelings. Perhaps my compromise suggestion would be to say that yes, Jesus certainly hates bad religion rather than just religion… I feel that this is borne out in the book of James, chapter one, which I’ll leave here as the final word on good and bad religion:

(Verse 26) Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.