In these weeks following Easter, with our celebration of the resurrection of Jesus, it is easy for us as Christians to rejoice in the victory of Christ over death. He has triumphed over the cosmic enemy of humanity. Yet, as each day witnesses, that enemy still battles on and will do until its final destruction. In recent days, even tonight, I have heard of those who have passed through the gateway of death. Some have been older, some fighting illness for a long or short time. Others are younger, taken suddenly or by illnesses that are not meant to afflict their age group.
In whatever guise death comes, even when it comes seemingly as a friend and as a release from suffering, ultimately it is the enemy of humanity and the destroyer of life. Paul views death as one of the cosmic powers that is anti-God, as the Last Enemy to be destroyed – and it will be, but not yet. In such circumstances we must never resort to platitudes in an effort to alleviate the pain of those who are left behind. And yet it is incumbent upon us to speak words of hope, not based on some folk religion’s view of ‘heaven,’ but from the faith we have that God raised Jesus from the dead.
Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 4, “13 It is written: ‘I believed; therefore I have spoken.’Since we have that same spirit offaith, we also believe and therefore speak, 14 because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you to himself.” This is not a statement in the abstract, but one that emerges out of his incredible suffering for the sake of the name of Jesus. It is one that was spoken to people who had trouble both believing that suffering was a real part of the Christian life, and that resurrection was possible. It is possible because Jesus was raised, and with Jesus, God will also raise us.
In the meantime, as we struggle to live with their absence, Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 5, that their ‘tent-home,’ with its frailty and mortality, has been replaced by a ‘dwelling from God, a house not made with hands.’ It is a home for which he longs because it means being with Christ – ‘at home with the Lord.’
It is one of the ironies of faith that our hope of resurrection can only be strengthened in the face of death. I remember that, while I firmly believed in resurrection because of the resurrection of Jesus, it was only on the death of my father nearly twenty years ago that it took hold of me in a way that it hadn’t beforehand.
To my friends who are grieving I say this, the pain is real for us, and do not try to ignore or suppress it. Death is a thief who takes those whom we love the most. But in the midst of our grief let us keep on saying to ourselves, ‘The one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus.’
We are not very good in Church life at acknowledging lament, even if that lament needs to be couched in hope. But it is an important element of life for us since all of us go through hard times, some of which are very difficult to comprehend. There are several folks we know who, in recent times, have had difficult and life-changing experiences that are lamentable in the strict sense of the word.
As some of you will know, I’ve been discovering a bit more about my favourite Dutch contemporary worship group, Sela ( www.Sela.nl ) and I noticed that the songs I like best, which appear to be very popular in the Netherlands as well if YouTube is anything to go by, have this mixture of lament and hope. I wondered why that was, and in digging a bit deeper I think I found out. Their first main female vocalist was a lovely singer by the name of Kinga Bán who, for much of the time she was in the band, was fighting a losing battle with cancer. An experience of sharing together in this most sorrowful of life situations, and doing so in faith, resulted in a creativity that can speak to the whole church through their songs.
One of Kinga’s last recordings was of a song called Ik zal er zijn, “I will be there.” It is not only reflective of her own experience but draws on one of the most foundational stories in the whole of the Bible – that of Moses meeting God at the burning bush. On being told by God to go back to Egypt and lead the Israelites Moses says if the people ask who has sent me, what shall I say. What is your name? God says, ‘Say I am has sent you,’ and elaborates further by saying, ‘I am who I am,’ or ‘I will be who I will be.’
There has been much ink spilt on what this name means, with some thinking it refers to the eternity of God, which may well be part of it. But the most illuminating interpretation I’ve come across I first met in the work of John Goldingay, who thinks it is a name of assurance to the people that conveys ‘I will be to you all that you will need me to be for you’ – or, as we might say, ‘I will be there for you.’
This is not just a word to Moses or the Israelites, but for all who follow in their steps of faith – for us, even in the darkest of times, God says, ‘I will be there for you.’ It is this story that the title of the song comes from, and the song communicates that message very well.
If you want to listen to it you can catch it at this YouTube link:
I’m a great fan of an app called ‘Streaks’ which reminds me of several things that I want to do every day, or once a week, or whenever. It reminded me today that I’m scheduled to write a blog. Also on the list, Monday to Friday, is a reminder to watch a video from the creators of the Daily Dose of Greek (another app, or you can find them at https://dailydoseofgreek.com/ ) who go through a New Testament text verse by verse helping the viewer understand what is going on with the words and the grammar. It’s a great resource, and it’s free.
Today’s text was Matthew 7:20 ἄρα γε ἀπὸ τῶν καρπῶν αὐτῶν ἐπιγνώσεσθε αὐτούς, ‘By their fruits you will know them.’ It confirmed what was going around in my head for today’s blog because this week saw the start of the first criminal trial ever of a former President of the United States. To mention the name Donald Trump is a ‘light the blue touch paper and stand well back’ moment, because no-one in my lifetime had generated so much strong feeling for and against. ‘Marmite character’ does not cover it.
There are things about DJT that are not in doubt and are a matter of public record. He has been married three times and cheated on all his wives; his dominant view of women is that they are sex objects – witness the infamous ‘Access Hollywood’ tape; he and his company have been found guilty by a jury in a criminal case for defrauding the government, with another civil judgment in process; there are four criminal indictments working their way through the court system, the first of which has just started in New York; he cheats at golf. There is much more that could be written, but this mustn’t turn into a rant.
Given the warning of Jesus, ‘by their fruits you will know them,’ what is most surprising about the MAGA base is that so many of their number would call themselves ‘Evangelical Christians.’ I think that the word ‘Evangelical’ is more theologically understood in the UK and more sociologically understood in the US. But at its heart, it is about being ‘gospel/good news people’ – sharing the good news of Jesus with those willing to listen.
To zoom out a bit and think about this disturbing situation in relation to those in the wider world who may be open to listening to the good news of Jesus, does the endorsement of Trump, with his obvious ‘fruits,’ help or hinder that mission of the Church? There is no doubt in my mind that it hinders the spread of the good news, because even those who would not consider themselves open to it are saying to Trump-supporting Christians, ‘How can you support this man when he is so antithetical to the teaching of your founder?’ It is a very good question, because ‘by their fruits you will know them’!
Meanwhile, we all wait for the November election to see how it pans out. Ah, ‘Streaks’ has just reminded me about today’s blog – I can mark it completed.
One of the most exciting moments of my retirement, and of my time as a student of the New Testament, was when Jane and I had the opportunity to visit Ancient Corinth in 2019. This blog contains three of the many photos I took, my favourite being the one facing the Acrocorinth (Corinth’s equivalent of the Acropolis in Athens). The site is run by the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, and they have organised digs there annually (more or less) since 1896. Much of the material discovered and described can be found in a series of volumes called Corinth, some of which are now in the public domain and available on ASCSA’s website at: https://corinth.ascsa.net/research?v=default#Publications .
What they have discovered has been discussed widely in the world of archaeology and biblical studies, and the material remains uncovered shed much light on the social setting and conditions of what was a vibrant commercial city served by two ports, one on either side of the isthmus. The Apostle Paul spent a lot of time there and wrote several letters to the infant church in Corinth, the relationship being a bit like that between an irritated parent and a wayward child.
Little did I know then that I would spend a considerable amount of time with parts of these letters, especially Paul’s great chapter on resurrection, 1 Corinthians 15, and a much more controverted section, 2 Corinthians 4:7-5:10. This latter passage is particularly significant in my present studies, and I would be grateful for your help by sharing your impressions with me.
The focus is 2 Corinthians 5:1-5, where Paul speaks of believers receiving a permanent home from God to replace the tent-house that we have now. The latter speaks of frailty and mortality, while the former gives the assurance of endurance and stability. The question is, according to 2 Corinthians 5:1-5, when do believers receive this new home? Is it at the point of death, or on the day of resurrection? Or is there another solution?
One of the fascinating follow-up questions relates to us in our time: how do we picture our friends and family who have departed this life ahead of us? I’m not going to make any suggestions so that I don’t muddy the waters, but I would appreciate hearing what you think. Are they recognisable? Do they have shape and form? Are they wispy ethereal beings? Do they have any conscious existence at all?
There are many other questions that could be asked, but my main one is this: what do you think, and why do you think it? There are lots of reasons why this is important to us as human beings who grieve the loss of loved ones, but the main one is pastoral, thinking about the comfort we can take from what we believe.
Take a moment or two to drop me a comment. I’d be very grateful to hear from you to inform my own thinking. Nothing shared on the blog will be shared anywhere else. Thanks in advance and may your thinking about this bring its own comfort.
Last week I had the privilege of conducting a solemn and reflective service on Good Friday evening, as well as the great joy of preaching about the resurrection of Jesus on Easter Day. With all these roller-coaster thoughts of sorrow, pain, death, and Jesus’s victory over death swirling about in my head I came across two quotations that made me put on my ‘grumpy old man’ hat! Both quotes came from a similar source on the theological spectrum. The first was the title of a song, called ‘Death is hollow,’ and the second was a quotation from Arsene Wenger (taken out of its football context for effect) that ‘Christmas is important, but Easter is decisive.’ [Note: if Arsenal don’t win the league this year it might have been Christmas that was decisive, since they dropped lots of points then. Sad for me as a Gooner.]
So, why did these two things get me worked up? My reactions were immediate, and thinking about why I realised that it was both for pastoral and theological reasons. Is it true that ‘Death is hollow’? I suppose it depends on what ‘hollow’ means, but I took it to mean that Death, that cosmic power and enemy of all that is mortal, is a lightweight and has no power to hurt us now that Jesus has been raised from the dead. Pastorally, I think that this is a disastrous position to take. Look around and see all kinds of families, Christian and not, whose lives have been shattered by the trauma of death – sudden and without warning, from suicide or murder, from a long-battled illness, from war in places like Ukraine and Gaza and Israel. Why do people, even Christians, feel the grief of the death of a loved one if death is hollow? Rather than try to persuade people that death is hollow, and leave them wondering why their body, mind and spirit is telling them something different, we need to help people grieve in faith. The grieving process has a vital role in helping human beings come to a place where life can continue despite the intrusion of death.
‘Death is hollow’ is also theologically wrongheaded. According to Paul, Death is the Enemy, and it will be the Last Enemy to be destroyed. Despite the resurrection of Jesus, until his coming death still holds power. It was Oscar Cullmann who illustrated this differentiation using the metaphor of D-Day in June 1944 and VE-Day, nearly a year later. D-Day was a day when the successful invasion of Normandy assured that ultimate victory in Europe was certain, and Cullmann likens that to Jesus’s death and resurrection. But ultimate victory, when the Last Enemy will be destroyed, will not be realised until the coming of Christ in glory, our spiritual VE-Day.
‘Christmas is important, but Easter is decisive’ got me going for mainly theological reasons, but I think it is bad pastoral practice to set the two most celebrated festivals of the Christian calendar against each other. We need to celebrate both. Yes, Christmas has been more commercially exploited, but the remedy for that is to teach Christians how to mark it appropriately rather than pit it against Easter. More significantly, ‘Christmas is important, but Easter is decisive’ sets two events in the drama of salvation against each other, without the understanding that if either of them were missing, the Christian faith would not exist. It also underplays the magnitude of the decisive intervention of God through the incarnation of Jesus. Christmas is not just the birth of a baby. It is the coming into flesh of the Son of God, who then gave himself on the cross and was raised the third day. For our salvation to be effected, these events need to be held together and be seen as equally the decisive intervention of God on behalf of all creation.
Ok, I’ll take my ‘grumpy old man’ hat off now. I’m off to have some more chocolate egg.
In recent years I’ve been conscious of how different Holy Week feels in retirement after thirty years in the Parish. People often said to me at Christmas, ‘This will be your busy time,’ but the number and range of events in Holy Week and through Easter Day could be quite overwhelming. At lunchtime on Easter Day, it was not so much an experience of rejoicing in the victory of Christ over death, as being glad to get through all the services alive. There was little time to pause and reflect.
There are still lots of events taking place over Holy Week, but these days I go to very few, and only those that I find helpful in focussing on the central elements of the Passion and Resurrection of Jesus. It is my firm belief that we can only experience the full joy of Christ’s victory on Easter Day if we have plumbed the depths of the disciples’ despair on Good Friday.
It has been my privilege in recent years to lead the Good Friday evening service of reflection in our home congregation, and I find that makes me think afresh about the crucifixion. Over several readings we cover almost the whole of the crucifixion story and it’s amazing the different details that call attention to themselves over the years. This year, from Mark’s Passion narrative, we’ll be thinking of Pilate’s amazement at Jesus’s silence in the face of his accusers, the taunts for him to come down from the cross, and the temple curtain that is torn in two. Each detail has something to add to the meaning of the story.
Holy Saturday is the Cinderella day of the weekend. It was the Sabbath on which Jesus’s body rested in the tomb, but it is usually treated as a day when we go about our business as usual, getting everything ready for a big Easter Day celebration. There is one personal discipline I keep that day to remind me of its significance, and that is to take off the shelf a book by one of my late teachers, Alan E. Lewis, called Between Cross and Resurrection: A Theology of Holy Saturday. Alan was writing this book as he was fighting the cancer that took his life and these circumstances shaped in a creative way how he saw Holy Saturday and what it can say to us.
This coming Easter Day I have the unexpected responsibility of covering for the illness of a friend, and with the lectionary text set as Mark’s Gospel, it finishes on the note of the women being scared and not telling anyone. While there is scholarly dispute over whether Mark 16:8 could be the original ending of the book, and while early church leaders wrote two endings to smooth things out, the text as it stands has impressed upon me just how scary an event the resurrection was for the disciples. And it is scary for us too, because although we take great hope from it, especially at times of bereavement, when we get round to thinking about the implications of it for future existence and how it impinges on our behaviour in the present, that is an awesome realisation.
Wherever you mark the Easter Story, and in whatever circumstances you find yourself, I pray that you will know both the sorrow and joy it brings, and that it will speak into your own life in ways that you never imagined.
Looking back over my life, so far, and pondering on last week’s blog, I’m conscious of how important a place music and songs/hymns have had in my spiritual and emotional development. Even at this point in my life, decades after I first heard some of the old mission hall hymns, I will sit down and play them – with headphones on! Or it might be old Scottish Psalm tunes, like Invocation, set to Psalm 43. Or some contemporary compositions, and even Taizé chants. At the moment, with a left hand contorted by Dupuytren’s Contracture and unable to play my keyboard, I miss these times when I can inhabit a world of melodies and chords far from the madding crowd. It will be some time before I get back to them and will have to content myself with ear pods, MP3s and YouTube videos.
I was reminded by Facebook last week that it’s eleven years since I made the first of my two trips (so far!) to Taizé (www.taize.fr ), an ecumenical monastic community in the Burgundy region of France. The community is justly famous for its chants in many languages, and the tens of thousands of mainly young people who spend a week there engaging in worship, work, Bible Study, and fun. It has impacted and transformed countless lives from many nations. Each week there is a spiritual journey reflected in the thrice daily worship times and morning studies, that culminates at the weekend with Friday night prayer round the cross, Saturday night candles spreading light in the darkness, and celebrating the resurrection with the Sunday morning eucharist.
There is a liturgical simplicity about the community’s times of worship: song, prayer, Scripture and silence. If you want a seat, you can sit on the steps, or bring your own taboret – and if you don’t have one you can buy community-made ones in the ‘Exposition des Ateliers.’ The community lives off what it produces and the money paid by pilgrims for food and lodging – both very basic. Even the smallest donation is not accepted, so ‘keep the change’ is not part of the vocabulary.
It is hard to understand why so many go and continually return to this tiny village in the French countryside, apart from the fact that people know God is encountered there in ways that are difficult to articulate. The ripple-effect of its influence is experienced all across the globe, and, through the languages in which it offers worship, it seeks to encompass as many people groups as possible within its fold.
I thought that my Taizé days might be over, but I’m glad to say that I’ve just been asked to lead a local congregational evening of Taizé prayer. Who knows where that will lead? But the full ‘Taizé experience’ is only to be found in community life in a tiny village in the heart of France. If you want to know more about Taizé you could check out A Community Called Taize: A Story of Prayer, Worship and Reconciliation by Jason Brian Santos.
One of my Open University tutors used to say regularly, ‘Never underestimate the power of serendipity.’ I guess this is such a story. And it is a kind of weird one about me and my love for some Christian songs…in Dutch!
It began pre-pandemic when I came across this, to me, unusual male voice choir on YouTube. They were wearing red striped shirts and funny black hangings around their necks. The singing was good but the amateur recording wasn’t great, so I did a search and came across more such choirs of various sizes and quality. It appears that the uniform is quite widespread among fishing community choirs in the Netherlands.
The choir – more of an ensemble – that I thought were best is one called Soli Deo Gloria Urk, Urk being a picturesque costal town around an hour’s drive NE of Amsterdam. They have recorded albums and videos that I’m still discovering – and, of course, Google Translate is important for me to be able to understand most of the words, but it’s amazing what you can pick up quickly.
It was only later that I discovered that most of the songs I really liked were written by a group called Sela, who specifically took on a task to help renew the worship songs of the church in the Netherlands. (www.sela.nl ). Sela appear to have changed some personnel over the years, but then and now they have produced some very high quality songs and videos, at least some in conjunction with Nederland Zingt (check out their YouTube channel too!).
I can’t count the number of times that Sela songs have proved to be ear worms for me. Every time I think there can’t be another one, I encounter one. ‘Encounter’ is a good word for it, because I have found that these are not simply good songs to listen to, but they have brought me time and time again into the presence of the living God. They have fed, comforted, and inspired. As I write this I’m listening to the one that can be found at the YouTube link below. I was not surprised to see so many people with tears in their eyes, including one of the singers.
But Sela are not out to make as much money as they can from what they produce. Yes, there are things to buy from the website and concerts to go to, but there are so many free resources, like lyrics and simple sheet music. Much to my delight, the one I’m listening to has sheet music with an English translation/adaptation that I hope I can persuade people to use – check it out. ‘I will be there’ or ‘Ik zal er zijn’ based on the name of God revealed to Moses, ‘I am,’ and ‘I will be who I will be’ (= ‘I will be there for you’).
There’s another reason I have been delighted to explore songs in a language that is not my own ‘heart language,’ and that is because I love the picture of the church in the book of Revelation 5:9-10 (NIV) where a song is sung to Jesus: “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased for God persons from every tribe and language and people and nation. 10 You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God, and they will reign on the earth.”
The church is a global phenomenon made up of many people and languages, and it’s good to step out of our comfort zone to embrace something of the wider Christian community.
Dive in and explore; listen and be grasped by the hope of the Gospel; be prepared to be touched deep within your being by songs you never imagined you would listen to.
The following is a message I gave at the University of Edinburgh’s Christmas service, held in the magnificent McEwan Hall. It was my last responsibility as an Honorary Chaplain as I retire on 31st December, and a great privilege to substitute for the Chaplain who was unwell.
UE Carol service address 11th December 6pm
Not cosy, but edgy.
Good evening everyone. It’s lovely to be back here in the McEwan Hall to celebrate Christmas together – and no World Cup matches to distract us.
It will come as no surprise to you that, as someone who spent 30 years in parishes conducting Christmas services, I have a few Christmas ‘pet hates’ so, for a moment I’m going to play the Grinch! On that list is receiving Christmas cards with a robin redbreast on the front, and also the way in which the generosity of that ancient follower of Jesus called St Nicholas has been corrupted and commercialised into Santa Claus. Our culture has, effectively, made Christmas cosy.
It is tempting to say, then, that we get rid of these ‘pet hates’ and focus on ‘the real meaning of Christmas’ but when we ask what that is, there are as many answers as there are people asked. In truth, there are many appropriate answers to this question for Christmas is like a precious diamond with many facets. As we carefully examine each facet, looking deeply into the beauty of this diamond, we discover that we not only understand more about this festival, but we are also changed by that understanding.
The facet we look at tonight is found in the Gospel of Luke, from which we have two readings. Luke self-consciously sets his Gospel story in two different contexts: first the Greco-Roman world – we read, ‘In those days, Caesar Augustus issued a decree…’; and second the religious and ethnic traditions of the Jewish people – Mary, Joseph and other characters are devout in their Jewish faith and their hope is shaped by it. Both these contexts are important, and we will see that they point us to the reality that the story of the birth of Jesus is not a cosy one, but an edgy one. The birth of this little boy is interpreted as an event that will have world changing implications. Indeed, it is seen by Luke as the coming of God to bring to reality in the present, the kind of kingdom, or society, that will reflect God’s own desire for human wellbeing and salvation: his shalom.
This is the story of a young girl, Mary, probably in mid-teens, from a backwater village who is unexpectedly pregnant, and not even by her fiancé. She is a nobody from nowhere in danger of being thrown out, for there is social shame and disgrace in her condition. But Joseph sticks by her and her child because they both believe God has said to them that the little boy is going to be someone special. As Mary reflects on what is happening to her, Luke puts a song in her mouth that sets the agenda for his book and the actions of Mary’s son – we call it the Magnificat. God has taken me, a nobody, and made me a somebody – he lifts up the humble and brings down the proud, even rulers from their thrones; he will fill the hungry with good things and send the rich away empty. What Mary sees coming is an upside-down society that is to be ushered in through this child – it is an edgy and uncomfortable message rather than a cosy one.
When her little boy Jesus grows up and becomes an itinerant preacher, he returns to the synagogue in the backwater village of Nazareth where he grew up, and uses a text from the prophet Isaiah, from whom we have also heard tonight: he quotes – the powerful Spirit of God is at work through me to bring good news to the poor, freedom to those in captivity and healing for those who are blind. To a world in which the élite were impossibly wealthy, the economy was built on slavery and those whose abilities were impaired had to beg or die, this was an upside-down message – not cosy, but edgy.
When so many, even within the Christian community, have made Christmas cosy, with ‘gentle Jesus, meek and mild,’ with robins to make us smile and Santa Claus to give us what we want, the story of the first Christmas, and the Christian tradition more broadly, sees Christmas as an edgy and subversive story. It believes that Christmas brings with it the promise that God will bring this upside-down society to completion at some point in the future yet denies that this is only a ‘pie in the sky when you die’ promise, for the beginnings of that society are here already. The question is, how are we contributing to it? How are we living in and seeking to develop peace, ‘shalom’ – that big word describing total human wellbeing.
If we believe in no God, or in a God who is not bothered about the present, only a distant promise of ‘jam tomorrow,’ then a cosy Christmas may satisfy us. But if we believe in the God of Mary and Joseph, the God who sent Jesus that first Christmas, then a cosy Christmas is not one that will satisfy. The Christmas story as presented by Luke challenges us in our wealth, our pride and our complacency – are we the rich and the proud who will be brought down, or the poor and humble who will be lifted up?
We are living in a world that is in many ways like the times of the first Christmas. There are those in poverty because of the oppressive actions of others, either intentionally, through political extremism or militarism, or by the consequences of our actions – think of Ukraine, Iran, and many other places. There are people who are in captivity, some as sex slaves, or clothes production slaves, political prisoners or exiles because of persecution – think of the trafficking of those who promise a good life elsewhere; the many in poorer countries who slave to make articles to service the desires of wealthier countries; those whose religious beliefs have required them to flee persecution.
All these things can be found in the Roman world in the time of Jesus, and the message of the first Christmas included a warning and a challenge to that world and ours. The warning is that those who perpetrate these activities will be brought low in the short or long term. Beware! The challenge is to all of us: are we among those who perpetrate these injustices, or are we among those who seek to make them right – who hold the values of God’s just society, put them into practice and work for their wider adoption?
This year, let us not be satisfied with a cosy Christmas, turned in upon ourselves, only looking for a good time then saving up for next year. There are many worldwide for whom Christmas will not, and cannot, be cosy this year or any year. For them, we need to hear the edgy call of the birth of Jesus to be sharers in working for his upside-down society until the day when it comes to fulfilment. As we examine this facet of the Christmas diamond, let us not only see its beauty; let us allow ourselves to be changed by it. Amen.
Steps on The Way 