Miracles

After my last post on a healing that we in the Jesus Army have found really exciting, I thought I'd post up a study I wrote recently. It was based in 2 Kings 4; I was considering the miracles of Elisha, and Elijah before him - and Jesus after him.

Elisha's miracles show he carries the same power as Elijah before him (1Ki.2:9): Elisha's multiplication (2Ki.4:1-7, 42-44) and purification (2Ki.4:38-41) of food are reminiscent of Elijah's provision for the widow of Zarephath (1Ki.17:7-16); Elisha raising a child from death (2Ki.4:8-37) is similar to Elijah raising the widow's son (1Ki.17:19-23).

Their miracles demonstrate that each is an anointed prophet, a man of God (2Ki.4:7, 9, 16, 1Ki.17:24 etc.)

And they point towards the miracles of Jesus, the ultimate anointed prophet, the man who is God - food multiplication (Jn.6:1-14), raising a child (Mk.5:35-42) and so on.

Miracles restore nature; they don't change it altogether. God is the Creator and all that He created is good (Gen.1:31): He made a world with plenty of food; He gave life to man; He made breath, sight, strength (see 2Ki.4:34).

Miracles restore creation's goodness. This is why the miracles of Elijah, Elisha - and Jesus - have common themes: provision, healing, commanding nature, reversing death.

Yet - and this is fascinating in itself - the man of God has imaginative freedom to perform miracles differently... Borrow some jars? Send a staff with your servant? Lie on a corpse? Throw flour in the pot? Use a boy's lunch? Smear mud on blind eyes? God works with and through His man to right wrongs and restore creation.

It made me ask what 'imaginative methods' for miracles I have experienced, why such inspired originality might be important, and how we can grow our faith.

Answers on a postcard.

A remarkable healing

Our church is one big hallelujah at the moment.

Tom, a young man who lives in one of our communities went blind six months ago, due to a rare, genetically-inherited condition called Lebers Hereditary Optic Neuropathy. It was very hard for his friends to see him suffering - and, of course, desperately difficult for Tom himself.

On Sunday night, Tom reached a breakthrough moment and re-committed himself to Jesus. This, in itself, was cause for joy as Tom found he was able to reach beyond the pain and literal darkness of the past six months and place his trust in Jesus again. But who would have predicted what followed?

Waking very early in the morning, Tom found to his astonishment - and excitement - that he could see! It wasn't long before the whole house was awake. It was true! Tom can see! Celebrations erupted. Yesterday the news was spreading round our churches.

This was the account given by Ian Clifford, the pastor of Tom's community:

"Tom came to faith in Jesus beginning of last year. Soon after he lost his sight in one eye and then a couple of weeks after lost sight in the other. The doctors diagnosed it as Lebers Hereditary Optic Neuropathy. He could see literally a few inches in front of him but that was very blurred and could only recognise some slight colour. His eyes couldn't cope with any form of light and had to keep his eyes covered with sunglasses.

"The doctors said he'd be permanently like this. Many people have been praying ever since.

"In the midst of all this he continued to live for Jesus although at times his faith was shaken. Last night he re-dedicated his life to Jesus afresh and then woke up at 5:15 to go to the toilet. Suddenly realised he could see and woke the whole house, we've been celebrating ever since."

I had the privilege of seeing Tom later that day, just briefly, through the window of my workplace. But - get this! - Tom saw me! He waved at me. My eyes welled with tears, I don't mind saying.

Should we be surprised? After all, we believe in miracles. We're supposed to expect them. We sing about them. We pray for them. But, flog the dogs, when a blind man sees - a blind man we know and love and have prayed for many times - that's cause for celebration.

Read the accounts of Tom's close friends: Aidan's is here (with some fascinating details from Tom's journey to healing as well); Jane's is here. Nathan's is here.

Good

One of the reasons I love our church is that we know how to make sharing the gospel fun. Check out this video of a recent Jesus flash mob in Northampton:



On the theme of the gospel, check out this interesting blog post from Kurt Willems' Pangea Blog in which he makes the intriguing point that the important thing about the good news is that it is good - and that how we frame the content is secondary. (I'm not sure I fully agree, but he got me thinking before 10 o'clock in the morning, for which - hat off!)

Love, key to joy

Tonight we sang 'This is my commandment that you love one another, that your joy may be full.' It struck me that Jesus didn't say 'that your stress may be full' or 'that your misery may be full' (of course; but stay with me...)

True love moves from the place I want to be to the place my brother or my sister needs me to be. And if it's truly love that moves me the result will be joy. Not resentment. Not strain. Joy.

Feeling stressed, miserable, down in the mouth? Love somebody.

Seasons in community

My friends made this (I think rather wonderful) little video about seasons in Christian community:

One in a taxi, one in a car

Forget greetings card images of three oriental kings offering gifts to a baby in a stable; the Epiphany story found in Matthew's Gospel is politically explosive – and politically incorrect!

We lose its impact because of storybook images that have grown up around it (Matthew doesn’t mention a stable; Mary and Joseph were simply living in a house in Bethlehem by then; the visitors were not kings, but astrologers; there were not three of them, just three gifts).

Why politically explosive? Because these men stride straight into the court of mafioso-style King Herod asking "Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?" – and they didn’t mean Herod! Result: Jesus’ family flee as asylum-seekers, the stargazers slip Herod's noose, while the megalomaniac massacres every infant in Bethlehem.

From the very beginning Matthew’s Gospel is subversive – right to its end with Jesus dying on Caesar's Roman cross, but rising with "all authority on...earth". Jesus is a fundamental challenge to the political powers of the world, a danger to the powerful status quo.

For make no mistake: the true "king of the Jews", the Messiah, is also the true king of the whole world ( just read Psalm 2 and you'll get the idea).

And this leads us to why Matthew’s account would have been politically incorrect. Because these wise men are not Jewish scribes – they're foreigners (Persians) and followers of another religion (Zoroastrians)! Many of Matthew’s Jewish readers wanted a Messiah – but they wanted him for themselves. He was going to be king of the Jews for the Jews – and all those scummy pagans better watch their assess 'cos they were about to get whipped.

Matthew explodes all that – this king has come for all people, all races, all religions.

I have to ask (if I'm to avoid the cultural and religious complacency Matthew seems so determined to upset in his readers): what challenges might this explosive story bring to me? Is Jesus just for the Jesus Army? (Well, no, of course not.) Just for evangelicals? (Well, no. Sure?... Yeah, I'm sure.) Just for Christians? (Well, er...) Just for – people like me?

Maybe, Jesus is less for people like me, and more for, well – people like Him: asylum-seekers, abused children, displaced foreigners, people of 'the wrong' religion?

If Epiphany demolishes some of my small-minded assumptions and makes me uncomfortable, maybe it's because that's what Matthew intended.

Prophetic change

The prophetic word engenders change.

At our New Year celebration on December 31st, our main Jesus Army leader told us that the coming year would be a year of 'courageous faith and action'. He proceeded to unpack this with reference to courageous biblical heroes like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, thrown into a furnace for refusing to bow to a mad king's statue, or Eleazar, who fought on when all his fellows fled. As we trust God and act on that trust, we will advance as a church.

Yes, 'courageous faith and action' could be a mere slogan. Yet I do believe it's prophetic for us - mainly because I trust the integrity of the man who brought it to us. (We're blessed with a main leader who is both spiritual and humble - good qualifications for being a conduit of God's 'now' word.)

Another leader, a mentor of mine, commented that 'Courageous faith and action' is certainly better than 'Action and hope for the best', which he confessed has sometimes been his approach.

The fact is that genuine prophetic words bring real change. Last night, at our little local Agape meal, I spoke a little about what 'courageous faith and action' may mean for us - in particular, being true to our radical call. So we explored Acts 2 again, and what it means to be 'devoted' - to word, fellowship, sacrament and worship (Acts 2:42). It produced some truly hearty discussion and a sense of change in the air for the coming year.

I think if I'd just chosen my own topic it wouldn't have been quite the same. As a pastor I've learnt that something's released when I support and unpack the word of the prophets.

So I'm looking forward to 2012. God, grant us courageous faith - and the courage to put it into action.

Truly human

Writing a study on Philippians 2 today, and found it arresting. Here's what I wrote:

Paul the apostle was not afraid to be vulnerable or to humble himself before his converts and churches. In this passage, he exhorts his readers to be humble, but also shows them how.

Epaphroditus, Paul’s friend and co-worker, "was ill, near to death", writes Paul; "But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow" (v.27). Paul loved his fellow-workers in Christ; the thought of losing one through death was genuinely distressing to him and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

This perfectly matches what he writes earlier in the chapter about how, if you’re truly humble, you will "count others more significant" (v.3) and look "not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others" (v.4). Timothy is another example of such wonderfully human humility and love (v.20-21).

But the ultimate example of such humility is Jesus. In his hymn to Jesus (v.5-11), Paul shows that His humility makes Jesus the most human of all – indeed, Jesus embodies what a human should be.

Startlingly, Paul also says that Jesus’ humility is also the sign of His being truly God: Jesus did not humble Himself despite being God; it was because He is God that He humbled Himself.

The nature of God – and therefore of human beings who bear His image – is generous, self-giving, humble love.

Now to live the life...

Lark or owl?

One of the many, many adjustments to other human beings that come with living in community is how you use time. I’m not, here, talking about scheduled time – meetings and the like (plenty of them in community, but that’s not what I mean). With them it’s pretty clear: be there or think of a really groovy excuse (‘Sorry! I was leading someone to the Lord...’).

No, I’m talking about the in-between times, the non-specified times.

For example, take mornings and evenings, those un-allotted hours before (or after) the timetable whizzes in (or out) of play. Put simply, some people are morning larks; others are night owls.

Me, I’m no lark. When it comes to mornings, I’m right with the biblical proverb that says ‘Whoever blesses his neighbour with a loud voice, rising early in the morning, will be counted as cursing.’

Too right. Don’t talk to me in the mornings. Please – don’t be jolly. Leave me alone.

For me, the challenge of the morning is how to get up at the precise, timed-to-the-millisecond, moment which will allow me to roll into the bus that takes me to work on time. I’m far too intent on this delicately-timed operation (and on the fact that I can’t remember my name until 9 o’clock) to talk to anyone – let alone in a loud voice.

I’ve tried to change this. I know the holy people in our community rise early and work their way through the more important spiritual disciplines before breakfast. They are the larks, and their morning faces shine like the sun. But I can’t. I promise you, I’ve tried. I’m just simply not a morning person. Getting up at 7 o’clock for work is a minor miracle for me, I assure you.

Mind you, others are even more owlish than I am (I’m a tired middle-aged-parent-with-small-kids type who tends to burn the candle at neither end these days). But some are huge night hour adventurers. We have a young woman living in our community house at the moment who comes alive at 10 o’clock at night. That’s when she wants to go off to the park for madcap swinging fun. Or walk to the sea. Or make up a play. Or play an epic game of the Lord of the Rings board game (with extensions).

Unfortunately for her, at that point, all the larks are off to bed (as are the tired middle-aged-parent-with-small-kids types). So she’s on her own for a few hours, wondering what happened to living in community.

The secret, as with several squillion things in community, is give and take. Sometimes people have to get up a wee bit earlier – miss their Saturday lie in of epic proportions perhaps – to join more with community life. Others may stay up later than they prefer in order to join that late night heart-sharing in the kitchen.

In community, love comes down to the little things like this.

Then there’s the issue of time together versus time alone. But I think I’ll leave that post for now – till I’ve got time to write it...

Wesley's words

To say the Christians did this only till the destruction of Jerusalem, is not true; for many did it long after. Not that there was any positive command for so doing: it needed not; for love constrained them. It was a natural fruit of that love wherewith each member of the community loved every other as his own soul. And if the whole Christian Church had continued in this spirit, this usage must have continued through all ages. To affirm therefore that Christ did not design it should continue, is neither more nor less than to affirm, that Christ did not design this measure of love should continue. I see no proof of this.

- John Wesley, commenting on Acts 2:45 ("And parted them to all as any one had need")

Too busy to blog

I confess, of late I've been a wee bit too busy to blog.

But, until I blog again, here's a few posts and things I've come across recently which I liked and thought I'd share:

Relevant magazine on why membership matters.

My housemate Tschaka musing about community - and while you're on that theme, another housemate Stu wrote some amusing (and searching) questions about community to a young aspirant recently and blogged them at my request.

Some fascinating early church perspectives on friendship from doctor Trevor (more to follow I think).

Only Peter Rollins could deny the resurrection and be so inspiring at the same time.

And on a lighter note: this vid of children and marshmallows has done the rounds, but since we watched it at both our Sunday night café at Coventry Jesus Centre and our staff meeting at work, I thought I'd share here.

Hope to blog soon.

True lies

I’m re-reading The Lord of the Rings after many years.

It’s prequel, The Silmarillion, is a great favourite of mine, one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read outside of Scripture and Shakespeare. And I’m reading The Hobbit to my 8- and 6-year-olds – so I thought it was time to revisit LOTR.

Tolkein expressed distaste for allegory, and the way that genre seeks to hound the reader into truth. He preferred the truths that come sideways through myth. Nevertheless, last night I read something which opened up a truth I’ll jot here, for those interested. (If mythic/fantasy literature doesn’t do it for you, feel free to stop here. See you next post if I haven’t put you off for good.)

So: The Lord of the Rings. I’ve arrived at that part in the story in which we meet Denathor, steward of Gondor. For those not familiar with Tolkein’s epic, Denathor has long ruled over that embattled country and its besieged capital, Minas Tirith. He rules in the absence of a king, just barely holding off the might and horror of neighbouring Mordor, the land of shadow.

Denathor is a man in despair – a despair that, a few chapters after we meet him, descends into madness. Convinced that all is lost and hope is gone, he tries to burn himself alive, together with his wounded son and heir.

The source of his despair, it transpires has come from having seen into a palantír (non-Tolkein readers, think crystal ball; Tolkein readers, forgive the comparison) in which he has wrestled with the will of the evil Lord of the Rings, Sauron. Through what he has permitted Denathor to see in the palantír, Sauron has deceived the steward into the crushing hopelessness which defeats him.

But it is what Sauron permits Denathor to see that struck me: he lets him see the truth.

Nothing that Denathor sees (or is permitted to see) in the palantír is untrue. He sees enemy armies amassing in great might and power, he sees the sparseness of his own and his allies’ strength. They cannot win. All hope is lost.

Yet Denethor is deceived by the truth. (In the end, it is two highly improbable heroes, two little half-size hobbits, that will bring triumph against Sauron’s might. But these Denathor did not see – nor did Sauron.)

When Satan, ‘the father of lies’, wishes to deceive, to wear out the saints, to sow discouragement and despair, he does not always lie outright. His most compelling lies can be those that are true. Lies that show truth – but not the whole truth.

“You’re not growing.” “That didn’t work.” “And you – you’re a sinner.” “Masses of people in the UK couldn’t care less about God.” “Sometimes, you couldn’t care less either.” “No-one’s listening.” “You make so little difference.”

And then, the whispered suggestion comes, so quiet, it seems to come from your own thought: “Why not just give up?”

But it’s a deceit. God delights to perform his greatest acts through the little people. He works in the small, the hidden, the ordinary, the overlooked. Watch out for mangers – they’ve been know to hold Messiahs. Watch out for executed criminals – they’ve been known to save the world. Watch out for that ragtag, disregarded, often odd, usually confused, rather-behind-the-times bunch called the Christian Church: they’re the firstfruits of God’s glorious new creation.

Let me learn the lesson of Denathor. I want to avoid listening to lies – especially when they’re true.

The kingdom is coming. Come, O Lord!

Mark and Helen

We're grieving the deaths of two friends we hadn't seen for a while, Mark and Helen. We first met them through the Coventry Jesus Centre (see yesterday's post and others), but they became part of our family for a little while, often visiting us at White Stone House, our community home. They even spent a few days away in Kent with us all last February.

Mark was an active, intelligent man, always stimulating to talk to. His devotion to Helen was obvious. Helen was quiet and sweet, with a wonderful impish sense of humour that could take us by surprise at times.

We lost touch in the early summer. They had been beset with difficulties, and found it hard to come all the way to Coventry (they lived in the next town). Also, I got the impression that Mark found the way his heart was being opened up by the love of a big family rather scary: when hurts run deep, it's not easy to open up.

We remained on very warm terms, I exchanged friendly emails with Mark from time to time, and they popped into Coventry Jesus Centre sometimes, too.

So imagine our shock and grief when we heard, the other day, from Mark's mother, that Mark and Helen had been found dead in their house.

In all the pain, in the fond memories now tinted with sorrow, in the regret, the inevitable stabs of guilt ('could we have done something more?'), in the anger ('why were they failed by the system?') and the helplessness, I cling to this: they tasted love - for each other, certainly, and also, for a time, among us; they knew Jesus; they received his love; they're in heaven.

Another friend of mine wrote a poem just recently after the death of his mother. But as I read it, I was thinking of Mark and Helen.

It was a long time
But she could see now.
All those tears that had poured from her eyes
And those inside
Blurring her vision and drowning her heart
Were all wiped away
She could see.

She came from a long line of broken hearts
Just an ordinary woman longing for righteousness
But she shone brighter than any celestial body
When she landed here upon this New Earth.
She used to be my mother,
But she is taken up with bigger things now.

It’s been a long time,
Something like and not like a thousand years
All spent gazing at this daisy
But as she will tell you
Its fascination is endless
(Like everything else here)
And there’s no rush,
For if time is here at all
It is a river without end
If not, then time has poured into a shoreless ocean
Either way there is no rush.

Mark and Helen - you will be sorely missed. Until we meet again, rest well - and enjoy those daisies.

Naked ladies and raised eyebrows

So, there's this Christian chap touring 66 cities around the UK, speaking on all 66 books of the Bible as he goes (one in each). While he was in Coventry, he dropped by our Jesus Centre and interviewed the manager, Piers.

He was very enthusiastic and affirming about what we seek to do and to be. So encouraging, I thought I'd share his blog post (which includes the interview vid) here. Enjoy.

A funny postscript: the blog post is entitled '"Bombs and naked ladies" - a good way to pick up attention from Googlers, even if their not the kind of Googlers likely to be interested in a preaching tour. As I was looking at it earlier an old friend dropped by. As we were chatting, I noticed him raise his eyebrows as he glanced at my PC monitor. Only after I left did I realise he may not have realised the blog was about two icons of Coventry's past (the blitz and Lady Godiva) rather than anything unsavoury.

I think he may be praying for me right now. Hey ho. I can always use people praying for me.

Naturally speaking

I’ve been thinking about natural strengths recently, partly prompted by writing a study on two pretty impressively able characters, one from the Old Testament – Elisha – and one from the New – Paul. On the one hand, God clearly chooses, calls, and uses people of capacity and character to further his purposes. On the other, he chooses what is “foolish in the world to shame the wise and what is weak in the world to shame the strong”. And he calls us to “die to” much that may be naturally good, for the sake of something spiritually better. (Or so Hinds Feet on High Places says, so it must be true, eh?)

So I posed the question on Twitter: “What is the right biblical attitude to natural talent? Die to it? Use it? Both? Half & half? Or what? Answers on a posttweet please.”

Most of the answers were basically positive towards natural strengths and talents, with the caveat sometimes added that we should “give glory to God” for them (Not always quite sure what this means in practice beyond putting pious expressions like “Praise the Lord” on our lips, which I can never quite get into despite being a passionate Christian. Post for another day?)

Anyway – Elisha and Paul. Some thoughts taken from the studies I wrote:

Elisha has many qualities: his determination (ploughing parched ground with twelve yoke of oxen); his full-blooded commitment (burning the tools of his old occupation when called to follow Elijah); his loyalty and resolve to follow his mentor closely once he sensed the time for Elijah’s departure was near, his heart-devotion glimpsed in his quiet grief at the thought of this departure. His boldness and faith are evident in his request for a "double portion" of Elijah's spirit.

Israel had many kings, but they were rarely her real leaders. True leaders were anointed not just with oil, but with the Spirit. In the era of 2Kings, the monarchy was so unspiritual that true godly authority in Israel had reverted to prophets. The issue of Elijah’s successor was vital because he would represent God’s authority in Israel. The Bible narrative hints at Elijah’s likeness to Israel’s founding prophet: his parting the water by striking it with his cloak is reminiscent of Moses’ parting the Red Sea with his staff. When Elisha is able to do this, too, he is shown to be the true successor of Elijah, just as Joshua was successor to Moses. Elisha now carries God’s authority.

Reading and pondering all this, I find myself asking: which of Elisha’s qualities can I aim to grow in? But also – how can we, in our church, ensure those with anointing (rather than just natural ability or a “leadership” label) carry true authority among us?

In Paul’s world there were three key groups: Jews, Greeks and Romans. Paul was the ideal man to represent the gospel across his world: a pure-bred Jew who studied under a leading rabbi; a Greek-speaker with good knowledge of philosophy; a Roman citizen by birth. He is at pains to stress his Jewish pedigree to an audience of zealous Jews; he makes use of his Roman citizenship on more than one occasion; in Athens and Corinth, he quotes Greek poetry and philosophy.

Sometimes these advantages led to gospel opportunities: impressed with Paul’s excellent Greek, a tribune allows him to speak to the Jews, whom Paul addresses in Hebrew. Sometimes they led to Paul escaping imprisonment or punishment, as in Jerusalem and previously in Philippi. And sometimes they did him no good at all: the Jewish crowd still turn on him in Jerusalem; the Athenians dismiss him as a "babbler"; tradition says Paul was beheaded in Rome!

Paul saw his natural advantages as rubbish compared to the “surpassing worth of knowing Christ” and having God’s power working in him. But he certainly wasn’t against using natural strengths when the situation called for them!

We’ve landed slap bang in the middle of another paradox, I feel. I must ask myself: what are my natural strengths? Am I able to “consider them as rubbish”? Conversely, can I freely offer them to God to use them for his plans and purpses, for the gospel?

Kirk, Spock and Samosas

"The good of the one outweighs the good of the many" according to Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise.

Good American philoposphy, that. But is it true?

You might think that our life in community is an expression of the opposite view: "The good of the many outweighs the good of the few, or the one", a view, in fact, expressed by Kirk's famous pointy-eared comrade, Mr Spock.

Is this the case?

Last night our community house family all dressed in Indian clothes, ate samosas and bhaji's, improvised bhangra music - one even made a turban out of a scarf. Why? We were honouring the birthday of one of our newer members who is from India. We wanted to say "This is your home. You can be you here. We love what you bring to us."

In this case, "the good of the one" was uppermost - rightly and vitally so.

For any community, any family, the good of the many and the good of the few - or the one - cannot be separated.

"If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together" (1 Corinthians 12:26)

Simple

Yesterday was a sad day for some of our community - perhaps especially the kids: our cat, Lucy (named after a queen in Narnia), had to be put down after having been hit by a car.

At our little burial in the garden, my 3-year-old son said 'We'll see Lucy again when she wakes up.' Well meaning adults, including myself, stepped in to put the little chap right: Lucy wasn't going to wake up.

'When Jesus comes back, we'll all wake up' he retorted. Saving a debate about animals and the afterlife for another day, it did rather seem that his child's faith had trumped us all.

The next morning, our worship time had a strong strand of hope in Jesus' return. I thought of my son's simple belief that  Jesus comes all will be well. Central to our faith, that. For Christians, hope has a name: Jesus.

A few days earlier I had gone to see a very old member of our church who lives in a nursing home. She talks quite a lot and is not always easy to follow. I listen hard because I love her, and because amidst the disconnected jottings from the war and her distant youth and memories, she throws in some gems.

'Do you have anything you'd like to say to the people back at church?' I asked her. She nodded.

'Sometimes you grow and then you stop' she said. 'Then sometimes you grow and then you stop again.'

Now this may not seem very profound to you. But let me tell you, dear reader, I felt I'd just heard the word of the Lord. I'd been agonizing over our lack of growth this year, despite plenty of effort. God was speaking to me about letting Him work different seasons into our shared life.

So there we have it. Out of the mouth of babes... and very old ladies.

Sometimes we complex types need to hear the simple word of hope in the midst of all our strivings. Sometimes you grow and then you stop and then sometimes you grow and then you stop again. But when Jesus comes, we'll all wake up.

Why live in community?

My friends, Stevo and Olivia Scott, talk honestly and inspiringly about why they live in intentional Christian community.

Angry at the pigs

Last week, I read some words of the prophet Amos, possibly the angriest man in the Bible. Here are some of my thoughts on Amos, chapter 8.

The rich ruling classes of Amos’s day resented the worship festivals in Israel’s calendar; they meant a day’s less trade for them to get fat on. What was more, their crooked and deceitful trade was riddled with injustice and oppressed the poor.

“When will the new moon be over,
that we may sell grain?
And the Sabbath,
that we may offer wheat for sale,
that we may make the measure small and our profit great
and deal deceitfully with false balances,
that we may buy the poor for silver
and the needy for a pair of sandals?..” (Amos 8:5-6)

Amos’s response to these selfish and corrupt fat cats, is to announce a judgement on their nation so fearsome that it makes difficult reading.

“So many dead bodies! They are thrown everywhere!” (Amos 8:3)

This prophet’s voice relentlessly carries within it God’s naked fury at the oppression of the poor. Perhaps, if we find the force of the anger in such passages ‘difficult’, it points to something of our own complacency or insensitivity towards the things that stir the white heat of God’s passion. God simply cannot abide the kind of selfishness that fattens itself at another’s expense.

“The end has come upon my people Israel” God declares through Amos; “I will never again pass by them”.

It was with Amos’s fiery words still reverberating around me that I read, today, an article about Sir Philip Green (knight of the realm), the multi-billionaire businessman who runs some of the biggest names on British high streets (Topshop, Topman, Dorothy Perkins, Burton, Miss Selfridge, BHS...)

According to this article, Sir Phil dodged tax on his self-awarded £1.2 billion paycheque. (His business empire is conveniently “owned” by his wife who has not done a single day’s work for the company, lives in Monaco, and pays not a penny of income tax.)

Any time it takes his fancy, Sir Phil can pay himself huge sums of money without having to pay any tax. A distasteful fact, made utterly disgusting when compared to the life of the sweatshop labourers in Mauritius upon whose back he has built his £5bn fortune. In these sweatshops, Sri Lankans, Indians and Bangladeshis toil 12 hours a day, six days a week, for minimal pay.

What would Amos say?

And what am I saying? How am I living? Where do I shop? What do I wear? (I don’t think wearing a wristband with WWJD on it is quite enough here.)

Do I get angry at injustice and oppression of the poor? If so, what do I do about it?

Honest to God

This afternoon, we're going evangelizing in Leamington Spa. For those less than conversant with evangelical lingo, this means a team from our church will be talking to people on the streets about faith, about Jesus, about life. Maybe praying with some.

I for one will also be seeking to do a lot of listening, if I can, because I'm hoping to do more than just spray 'answers' around - I want to connect with people's hearts.

Which brings me to a question: which is more important in evangelism - honesty or certainty? Put another way, telling or listening? You see, we really do have something - someone - to proclaim. But it's not as neat and tidy as having all the answers. Sometimes knowing and walking with God is more like a wrestling match than a picnic in the park; more like a desert than a cool drink on a hot day.

So how do we tread the line between confidently, excitedly, spreading the reality we've found, at the same time as being real and vulnerable with people about the struggle faith can be at times?
Jesus appointed his followers 'witnesses'. Perhaps this is the key: we share what we've known and found of his life, and don't need to be bashful about what we still struggle with. And perhaps this is another key: Jesus appointed his followers 'fishers of men' - so there's room in our honesty and humility for a strong call.

I'll let you know how it goes. Pray for us. Pray for them.

How (Not) to Speak of God

How (Not) to Speak of God: Marks of the Emerging Church by Peter Rollins

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Rollins' community, Ikon, 'describes itself as iconic, apocalyptic, heretical, emerging and failing' which gives you something of the flavour.

Rollins explores paradox after paradox with the delight and unapolagetic fervour of a true postmodern. Indeed, what makes this book so arresting is that Rollins is not a theologian talking about postmodernism; he is a postmodern theologian talking about God.

This book threw all my beliefs around, causing them to land more deeply rooted - but sometimes upside-down. If you read it, prepare to think hard in some counter-instinctive directions.

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The fidelity of betrayal

The Fidelity of Betrayal: The Ir/Religious Heart of Christianity by Peter Rollins

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I read this straight after 'How (Not) To Speak of God'. As in that book, Rollins delves deliberately into paradoxes here - not as someone who wants to engage in apologetics and 'explain' the difficulties of faith (in either the slightly embarrased or slightly bombastic manner of some apologists). Unashamedly postmodern, Rollins delights in paradox - he shouts paradox from the rooftops - he sets paradox on fire and waves it from the treetops.

Central to this book is the (yes, paradoxical) assertion that in order to be faithful to God, we will sometimes need to betray God. In fact, if I understand him right, Rollins is actually saying we need to betray our idolotrous human certainties about God in order to continually stay alive to the possibility of encountering God more authentically (which is a subtly different point though I think I understand why Rollins puts his case more provocatively).

The worst parts of this book were those where the opaque prose forced me to read a paragraph several times in vain for understanding (usually before giving up and moving on); conversely, the best parts were some of the stories and parables Rollins used to illumine my way through his arguments.

Stimulating read and it will go on affecting me. I will certainly be reading Rollins' next book 'Insurrection' due out in October.

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Love and madness

My old schoolfriend - another James as it happens - has recently become the vicar of a church in Luton. His inaugural address to his new flock was based on Acts 2; he explored something of what it means to live with 'everything in common'. It was good to listen to him, even if he has developed a mysterious southern accent in the years since we were schooled near Liverpool. (Apparently his church is called 'Saint Frarncis'...)

Before he delivered his talk - which I understand was greeted with enthusiasm by the good people of Saint Frarncis - he tweeted to let me know he was going to mention me in it. His actual words were: In my first sermon at StFrancis, Luton, I intend to quote Tertullian, Tom Wright and @n0rma1 (that's me, by the way, for those unfamilair with Tweet jargon) - in no particular order.

Good heavens. Two titans of theology, one ancient, one modern - and me. And in no particular order!

James referred to me and the community life I and my sisters and brothers pursue as a noteworthy way of living out the challenge of Acts 2.

It was a blessing to be considered a blessing, though I did wonder if James was rather too swift to pidgeonhole our lifestyle as 'a calling for some'. It's not that I disagree, it's just that in my experience that sort of talk tends to lead to many Christians breathing a sigh of relief and getting on with being the same as everyone else.

But I mustn't be glib. You can't sustain a common-purse-community life without being convinced that you can do no other. A mentor of mine describes our community - of which he too is a member - as 'strenuous'. Shane Claiborne said to me recently that he sees us as 'community on steroids' (I loved that). And, in fact, the words James quoted me as having said to him, many years ago, were that Acts 2 had 'ruined my life - in a good way.'

A life of full sharing, no personal money, house and hearth shared, is a pretty tough call and cuts across a lot of natural preferences. Just for the record, I do not live in community because I like having no money or because I like having other people in my living room (all the time) or because I really enjoy other people choosing the colour scheme of my kitchen or because I always wanted to have my weekly diary substantially written by others or... well, you get the idea.

I live in community because I have to. Because I can't read the New Testament without it shouting community at me. Because God is a community and I want to be like him (even if he does bewilder me much of the time). Because I really do believe that radical, root-level, self-renouncing love is the way Jesus lived and because no disciple is above his master, I have to do so too.

I still agree wholeheartedly with what I said to James all those years ago - except perhaps the bit about 'in a good way'.

Okay, okay, it is a good way. But it can feel like madness. There have been times when I've felt like if I see another person I may kill them - with my words, if not with the kitchen knife. Times when I've walked round and round the block I live on, with my head pounding, thinking 'I can't take this anymore'. Times when some relationship tension has swelled to fill my entire emotional world and I can't escape from it, I can't 'go home' because they're in my home. Times when vision is dim and I can't remember why or what for. Times when I'm fed up with my family, neighbours and friends thinking I'm odd (or, worse still, thinking I'm 'radical') and I just yearn to be bloody ordinary like everyone else.

But in all this, just as much or more than in the times when living in community is inspiring and wonderful , I learn what it means to live Christ.

James said I gave up a lot of opportunities to live in community. Maybe. But I would not be even a tenth of the person I am today if were not for the madness that ruined my life - in a good, way.

Perhaps it would appropriate to leave the last words of this post to St Francis. This is from his Canticle of Love (if you like it, read it all here):

I have entirely renounced both the world and myself in order to buy love. If I owned all creation I would gladly trade that for love. But I find that love has deceived me. I have given everything and yet I do not know where I am being drawn to. Love has destroyed me. I am looked at as if I am mad, and because I have been sold, I am no longer worth anything...

...In this anguish of Love, Love, Love, O my adorable Jesus, I would die while embracing you, O Jesus, my sweet spouse. Love, Love, I beg for death from you; O pitying Jesus receive me and transform me into thyself. Remember that I am passing away killing myself with love. I do not know where I am, Jesus, my hope, destroy me with love.

L(h)eaven

Adam was gripped with a passion to share God with others. He began to give himself to people in a local housing estate, serving his neighbours, speaking of God, listening to hurts and fears, laughing with people.

He started to be known as 'the Jesus man' - which was fine by him.

But as time went by, nobody was converted. No-one seemed to be having the same experience as young Adam had had. They were glad to be friends, genuinely appreciated him. Adam went on serving, praying, but he was frustrated.

Adam wasn't alone, of course; he was part of a church and drew huge strength of purpose from it. One day, Adam was talking to Guy, an old man and much-respected leader in his church, a revered figure, whom the younger man looked up to a great deal.

"You need to be braver" said the great man, "bolder, extend your faith. Call people with clarity and confidence. Make disciples."

Adam went away and thought a great deal about what Guy had said. And he went on serving, listening, laughing, praying, and no-one was converted. This went on for many years, in fact until the Adam was no longer young.

By now he had many, many friends. Indeed, some of the people in that estate would probably have died for Adam. He'd seen the Dodd children grow from birth. He'd spoken for Sarah's son in court. He'd been there for Pat's family while she was losing her battle with cancer.

It was many years later when the first healing occured. Tracey's baby was deaf the doctor's said. Adam held him and prayed quietly. After that, tests showed he could hear. Stan had been going downhill with Alzheimer's. But after one of Adam's customary visits, Stan got better. He just got better. Julie had a twisted leg before Adam did something - nobody had quite the same story but apparently it had something to do with olive oil - and her leg was straight after that.

Still nobody was converted, or at least not in quite the way Adam had hungered for when he was young. But by now a lot of people believed in God, followed Jesus, joined Adam and his friends in the church. Janice was speaking to Becky again. Margaret smiled these days. Jim was doing odd jobs for everyone in Chancery Street. A couple of younger lads, Tom and Steve, were so loyal to Adam, they ended up moving in with him and few other Christians from his church. In fact, Steve became a bit of a right hand man to Adam...

*

In heaven, Adam was surrounded with hundreds of those friends, many of whom had been healed and had healed others and loved and lived and shared over many years. One heavenly day, Adam met the old leader he'd spoken to back on earth, all those years ago.

"Well," said the leader, "You didn't do what I said."

Adam said nothing, but he slipped to his knees and grasped Guy's hand and kissed it. Then he said, "Thank you. For if I hadn't have decided not to do what you said, I would have never quite known what I was to do. It was all thanks to you."

And the older man smiled.

Stop praying to the Lord!

Here's a radical thought. How about if we stopped praying to the Lord?

In case you think I'm advocating defection to paganism, let me explain. We often address our praying to 'Lord' (or at any rate that's the word we use as commas in our prayers, along with the ubiquitous 'just' - 'and Lord we just ask that Lord You would just...)

But what resonance or meaning does 'Lord' have for us? Lords are the members of a possibly-soon-to-be-scrapped second chamber of Parliament. Or a cricket ground.

But it's not just that the word has no meaning for us. We no longer live in a fuedal system - when the word 'lord' had plenty of relevance. But even if we did, or even if our sense of history was enlivened enough to still engage with the word as a living one - does that make it a positive term of address for God. Many, perhaps most Medieval lords were harsh, even brutal. Do we want to name God after such oppressive power?

I'm fully aware that the Bible uses the term 'kyrios' - Lord (or even Caesar) - to denote God and Christ. In the New Testament and especially in Paul I believe there was some deliberate political subversion going on there, too. ('This is the true Caesar, and he's totally different to that guy in Rome.')

In the New Testament, whatever they were doing with the word we translate as Lord, it certainly had currency at the time.

I know some have suggested we use words with contemporary relevance like 'boss', but I can never take that entirely seriously. 'Master' has the advantage of freshness (and the advantage of being St Francis's favourite term of address towards God) but its reference to slavery takes us back into an unhelpful concept base.

Here's a suggestion. How about if we made it our common practice to address God as Love. Afterall, that's biblical - God is love, says John. Love is God's first best name as the hymn writer put it.

Now I'm aware that the word 'love' has come to mean all manner of petty or even selfish or lustful things in our day. I know that Greeks had the good sense to use different words for different loves.

But maybe if we were to deliberately address God as Love, it would rescue our concept of love a little. Maybe it would subvert those other petty loves, like Paul subverted the petty Caesars.

More still, rather than having a prayer life built round a distant, soon-to-be-abolished authority, we'd be continually reminding ourselves that the God we worship and pray to is love - self-giving, serving, generous love.

Imagine: 'And, Love, we just ask that you'd show us the way. Love, we pray you'd bring your healing power here. Dear Love, we give our lives to You again...'

Love could change everything.

RAW deeper

And for those who'd like a deeper look into what RAW was about, here's three little vids showing snapshots of what went on each day... (Spot the little ode in my honour!)

RAW 2011 Highlights

Here's the highlights video from RAW (Real & Wild) 2011, the youth event that I helped lead recently. My last one as it goes; they've put me out to seed now...

This video captures the essence of the event really well.

Brennan's blessing

This benediction, often used my Brennan Manning, has got me thinking:

  May all of your expectations be frustrated,
  May all of your plans be thwarted,
  May all of your desires be withered into nothingness,
  That you may experience the powerlessness and poverty of a child
  And can sing and dance in the love of God
  Who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

It seems almost entirely a maladiction - but somehow speaks more genuinely of the blessing God gives than the syrupy verses and poems more likely to be found on fridge magnets.

Selah.

'Boris, where's your broom?'

There have been two 'breakouts' on the streets this week. Two examples of people power.

Firstly, obviously, rioters; smashing, grabbing, looting.

But we've also seen people taking to the streets, brooms in hands, to clear up. One lad in Liverpool announced on Facebook that he was going out to sweep up - 60 people arrived to help him. The Mayor of London was asked 'Boris, where's your broom?' and joined in the sweeping.

I think both are revolutionary in their way. The first lot turned over more than just bins: bored kids (I've been told the average age of the rioters is 15) got drunk on a heady cocktail of adrenaline, selfishness - and group-power. An abuse of power certainly, but let's not overlook the fact that they had it - maybe fleetingly, certainly destructively - but they had it.

The sweepers were a grass roots movement of people banding together. It was people serving, not for reward but because they care. It was people joined in a cause they felt was simply right. I can't help feeling what they did was a more eloquent, powerful statement than any politician has delivered this week.

Power destructive; power constructive. Power that grabs; power that gives.

In a very deep sense, I think, the central question of every person who ever lives is: which power will I align myself with?

A grass-roots revolution of service, community, unity, positivity, peaceful resistance, which speaks eloquently of something better? Sounds like something I'd wanna live for.

Hang on - it sounds like something I am living for...

Deliver us from evil

What makes violence and lawlessness suddenly erupt across a nation?

In pondering this question, and thinking about the recent riots in cities across the UK, I drew a comment on Twitter from a church pastor in Liverpool. 'What we are seeing is EVIL,' he said.

And who can disagree, when people turn feral, and smash, loot and burn indiscriminately?

Yet, it prompted me to delve a little deeper into the nature of the evil we are seeing.

Firstly, there's a well of social evil here. As a London-based youth worker commented to Christian thinktank Ekklesia yesterday:

'Of course there is a huge amount of criminality and copycat looting involved in all this. But to pretend it has nothing whatsoever to do with the erosion of our social fabric, the closing of youth centres, and the sense among a mass of people - not least the young - that they have no real future in a country where the poorest are being made to sacrifice most while bankers get away with murder... that's pure fantasy.'

I believe a truly Christly response has to include the recognition that society's rottenness has, close to its source, injustice, the divide between power-brokers and the broken. And the Church of Jesus should speak for those without voices. We cannot just shout 'thuggery' and call for tougher measures. We must ask 'why?' We must work for justice and stand alongside and among the disadvantaged.

But to leave it there risks excusing the execrable. Because there is another level of evil at work here: moral evil. 'I'm not really bothered' said a Manchester rioter. 'I'll keep doing it every day until I get caught.' 'We can do what we want' crowed a female London rioter.

Even psychologists, analysing group behaviour, admit the presence of basic selfishness in the mix: 'For most people looting is opportunistic' says Jason Nier, associate professor of psychology at Connecticut College. And greed is certainly a factor.'

At the heart of the human problem is the problem of the human heart, as a cliché I once heard has it. Like so many clichés, it's true. At heart, people are selfish. (My friend Andy had some thoughts about this which you can read here.)

It's not just the gangs, of course. Bankers gambled with economic stability - for greed. Politicians helped themselves to public money - for greed. Media moguls turned a blind eye when journalists were immoral - for greed... Gangs smash and loot shops - for greed.

But we must go deeper still. Under social evil, under moral evil, there is spiritual evil. As Paul the apostle describes it:

'We do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil.'

Spiritual powers, by their very nature, hide. They masquerade behind human evil - be it greed expressed in violent looting or greed expressed in high-level corruption.

How do we oppose them? How do we engage in a spiritual 'clean up' campaign?

We pray - 'at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication' as Paul writes later in the same passage quoted above. We share the gospel and see its transforming power at work in lives changing selfish hearts into new hearts. We speak out for justice and against what is unfair because apart from anything else, giving the voiceless a voice may prevent them from finding a voice through wielding a baseball bat.

'The weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh' writes Paul, 'but have divine power to destroy strongholds.'

Pray, love, evangelise, love the poor, speak for justice.

In fact - let's be the church.

Peacemaker

A poem by my friend Wilf.

Peacemaker

A peacemaker is not a piecemaker-
Patching together
The ragged unravellings of relationships.
He is in the place of warfare
In the place of the Prince of Peace
As his pores
His tear ducts
His lungs
Sweating weeping breathing,
"Peace be with you"
In all he does.

Monday morning radicals

Reflecting on the Jesus Army-ran youth event, RAW (Real and Wild) that we just got to the end of, last Saturday. It was the fifth RAW (and for me the last - I'm too old and they're putting me out to seed...)

But this quote from one of the rising generation summed up for me something close to the very heart of why we do RAW, and what it's, ultimately, all about:

I was asked this morning if, post-RAW, I felt a bit deflated after all the excitement and inspiration and fun. I thought for a moment and realised, No, I wasn't feeling deflated, but in fact this is what it is all about; reality, back to the normal life, Monday morning, Tuesday agape, Wednesday cell group.... that's the whole point right that after RAW it all carries on. Real changes aren't just for the weekend; real changes are still there on Monday morning!

Brilliant. Monday morning radicality. It's what changes the world.

A time to rest

I got a lot done today. Unfortunately, almost none of it was what I set out to do at the beginning of the day. Phones ganged up on me. Emails ambushed me. My agenda was hijacked.

It's tempting, tonight, to hive off to the office at home and get some work done - some of that work I wanted to get done today. After all, I'm heavily involved in leading a national youth event next week. Et cetera. Okay, so tonight's supposed to be a night of deliberate friendship, yeah, but if you knew the pressure I'm under...

No. Wrong. I must not bow to the subtle workaholism that drives. Spending time with people tonight is life. I won't put life on hold.

Not many people get to the end of their life, look back, and say 'I wish I'd spent more time at the office.'

So. Tonight's time for rest. Time for friendship. Time for play. Time for worship, perhaps, or for sharing of hearts. But I'm staying away from the office.

I may even switch my phone off.

Now that would be radical.

Stop. Look. Listen.

We're a community often at full tilt, so often doors open, welcome-all-comers, so it's important to have the odd occasion when, as the old road safety mantra put it, we 'stop, look and listen'.

Stop and appreciate the community God has made us. Look with fresh eyes. Listen to each other, and by doing that, perhaps, discern a fresh word from God.

Tonight we're doing just that. All our 'house family' (those who live and share life in the community house) are staying in; we've asked others, for tonight, not to come round. We're having a romantic evening in.

First a celebratory three-course meal (what are we celebrating? one another of course, with glorious unapologetic abandon). Then a couple of our sisters have something up their sleeves to get us opening up our hearts and minds to each other a bit. Then, we'll pile into the lounge for hot drinks and - later for those who want - we're going to project a nature programme onto the wall and be wowed by some elephants and their friends.

I hope we’ll all enjoy it (this can be a challenge as I’ve written before here and here). As an old Jesus Army song (so old, it was written before the Jesus Army was even called the Jesus Army) has it –

Slow down and appreciate your brother. Contemplate the grace of God in him...