A Reflection on 1 John: Love or Lie

 The first letter of John is one of those books you may have heard many sermons from if you’ve spent any time in the church. There’s a lot to unpack in every passage. But when you zoom out and read the letter as a whole, in a single sitting (it’s only five chapters — six pages in my Bible) something striking happens.

A single refrain pulses through it like a heartbeat.

Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother is still in darkness.
Whoever hates his brother is in darkness and walks in darkness.
Whoever does not love abides in death.
Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer.
If anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need yet closes his heart against him — how does God’s love abide in him?
Children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God.
Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.
If anyone says “I love God” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.

John’s message is not subtle. It is terrifying in its simplicity.

“Little children, love one another…”

There is an old tradition about John the Apostle.
When he was very old, too weak to walk, the believers in Ephesus would carry him into the assembly. Every time, he would say only one thing:

“Little children, love one another.”

After hearing it again and again, someone finally asked him, “Why do you always say this?”
And John replied:

“Because it is the Lord’s command. And if this alone be done, it is enough.”

Who is your brother?

This phrase — “love your brother” — echoes all through 1 John (2:9, 3:15, 4:20).
Some translations add words like “fellow believer,” as if John is talking only about church members. But the Greek word he uses is ἀδελφός — adelphos.

Originally meaning brother, by the time of the New Testament it had come to mean any fellow human being.

“A fellow human being, a neighbour in the wider sense, not restricted to one’s own group.” — BDAG
“A person viewed as a fellow human being, especially in contexts of moral duty.” — Louw & Nida

John is not talking about tribal loyalty.
He is talking about how we treat humanity.

He is not speaking only of those who look like you,
or speak your language,
or vote the same way you do.

He is speaking also of those who do not share your beliefs —
those of different religions,
or no religion at all.

The neighbour.
The stranger.
Even the one who opposes you.

Love is the Test

John doesn’t play theological games.
For him, love isn’t one aspect of faith — it is the test of faith.

How we treat another human being
— any human being —
is the evidence of whether we truly know God.

Whoever says they are in the light but hates another is still in darkness.
Whoever hates is a murderer.
If anyone says “I love God” but hates another human, they are a liar — because if you cannot love the one you see, how can you love God, whom you do not see?”

Love Must Be Tangible

John will not let us escape into abstraction.
Love is not an emotion we admire —
it is a life we live.

“Let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” (1 John 3:18)

Love feeds the hungry.
Love shelters the stranger.
Love lifts the dignity of those the world pushes aside —
the poor, the minority, the immigrant, the outsider.

A Grief I Cannot Shake

It grieves me — and I believe it grieves the Spirit —
when I see those who claim Christ preaching hate.
When churches march not to embrace the stranger
but to reject them.

Little children, love others.

If this alone be done, it is enough.

 

Who I am

Apologies for being missing in action these last few months. The current but of depression I've been battling against seems to have depleted my creative energy in all areas.

However, a new season is coming.  The sap of creativity is flowing again.

Here is the result of my reflection on who I am, and what I have received through Christ. (Including, but not limited to...)

With all my heart

The greatest commandment is this: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.
Deuteronomy 6:5 NIV

What does it really mean to love Him with all my heart?

For me, it means that when I come to him in prayer, praise and worship I bring Him the emotions that are in the depths of my being.  There is no part of me that is an unacceptable offering when I bring it to His altar.  I bring Him not only my joys, but also my tears, my anxieties, even my depression.  My whole heart, nothing held back.

I love psalms.  I love the way the full expression of all human emotions are expressed in prayer and song.

For so long I have battled against the lie of not being good enough.  Especially when I find myself yet again in this valley of darkness.  I don’t know how long I must walk through this, but I’m not afraid because I know I don’t walk through it alone.

More important, this darkness is not going to hold me back.  Having depression is not going to stop me from going deeper into scripture, deeper into prayer and deeper into worship.

Having depression doesn’t disqualify me from the gifts and abilities He’s granted me.  It doesn’t prevent me from bringing His blessing to others.  It doesn’t disqualify me from my dreams and hopes.

 

Brave Girl

I have written several draft posts over the last few weeks, but for each one, when I've read over it I've felt "I'm not ready to share this yet.  It's still too real and too raw."

I want to be authentic, real and honest with you.   I want to be able to share what's really going on in my life below the everyday stuff, to go deeper than the small-talk kind of posts.  But I'm also very aware this is a public forum.

So it has taken a few weeks to process enough to blog about this event from the beginning of the month.

I was an attendee at the first ever "Brave Girl" conference, hosted by the inspiring Steph and the team at bravegirl.co.nz.   

Photo courtesy of Manda J Photography and Brave Girl NZ

I was feeling down and vulnerable.  My black dog seemed to be getting worse, and it felt that I was going around in circles despite doing all that I should and could in terms of self care and well-being and processing through my "stuff".  I felt that my lack of progress was a reflection on my strength and my faith.

Photo courtesy of Manda J Photography and Brave Girl NZ

Even during the conference I was fighting against the darkness. I'd woken up on the Saturday morning feeling down, and instead of dissipating the feeling kept welling back up.

Photo courtesy of Manda J Photography and Brave Girl NZ

I didn't quite know what to expect, but found the weekend like a soothing balm.  The messages and stories of courage and hope, were what I most needed to hear.  

Photo courtesy of Manda J Photography and Brave Girl NZ

To understand that He is with us in and through the storm.  To learn about the different types of depression, and the amazing relief to finally understand that being prescribed medication does not represent failure.  (I mean, I knew that before, but it seems I didn't fully believe it applied to myself).  To have some much needed time of support and prayer.

Photo courtesy of Manda J Photography and Brave Girl NZ

Thank you Steph and your team.  Thank you for being brave enough to take the risk that hosting this conference would have been for you.  Thank you for your effort, your honesty and your compassion.  I'll look forward to seeing you again next year.

This is NOT a sponsored post in any way, just my own personal review of this event. 

Redemption, Atonement and Salvation

Earlier this month I found myself face to face with those long standing foes: rejection and failure.

As much as I tell myself (and others assured me) that it wasn’t personal, no reflection on who I am as a person or my abilities…

.. but I still feel pain.

As much as I tell myself (and others assured me) that everything has a season, and this is just the end of a season…

...but I still feel grief.

I’d catch myself thinking that if only I had stronger faith then I wouldn’t feel like this, and have to remind myself yet again that my emotions are no reflection of my faith, since in this darkness is when I cling even tighter to His love, mercy and grace.

I followed the emotions and thoughts back to find their roots.  I followed a shadowy strand into what seemed like a hidden cave in my mind. I followed it through a maze of many twists and turns, down shafts and through tunnels and passageways.  

I finally found myself in a subterranean chamber inside my soul facing a dark pulsating blob of hurt, rejection and shame, looking like something from a Dr Who episode, filled with the following thoughts:

"I am unworthy.  I am undeserving.  I am unacceptable.  I am nobody, I have nothing.  I am unattractive, and unlike-able"

I could see from this thing tendrils snaking back up to the surface, affecting all the areas that I'm struggling in, both in the present and as far back into my past as my memory would take me.

I sat in the dark, pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my chin on my knees, looking at this dark mass of lies, and asked Father, "Now what?  How do I deal with this?"

His answer was:
Isn't that the point of My grace and mercy?
Isn't that the point of redemption, atonement and salvation?
Isn't that the whole point of the Cross?
 

It only takes a single droplet of light to begin to dispel darkness.  And in that one drop of light was a distant hill, a chanting crowd, a suffering God.  

We hear a lot about the message of the Cross being forgiveness for sin.  And it is. But that’s just the surface of it.  Atonement offers so much more. This sense of unworthiness goes deeper than the wrongdoing that is usually meant by “sin”.  This darkness is not guilt, I know I have been forgiven and my conscience is clear. It is rejection, hurt, failure and shame.

Carried on his battered and bleeding shoulders was my black shape, the lies that have been burdening my life.  As the nails were driven into his flesh, they drove also into this darkness of mine. As he cried out “IT IS FINISHED” and breathed his last, the blackness was finally defeated and destroyed.

I wish I could say I’m not feeling these emotions any more.  But this is a journey and a process, and it seems these things take time.  I must still guard myself against the lies, and cling tightly to Truth and Light.  This is all I must do, the rest has already been done.

Hold onto Hope

A glimmer of the possibility of something positive.

You don’t want to get your hopes up, now, I found myself thinking, You know this most likely isn’t going to work out.  You’re just setting yourself up for disappointment.

I fought back tears as I scraped vege scraps into the compost bin in the garden.    No, it probably won’t work out.  It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t work out.  I don’t really care if it doesn’t work out.  At least I’ll know I tried.

Then I suddenly realised – when did I start making a habit of talking myself out of hope?  The refrain “Don’t get your hopes up” has been part of my inner dialogue for as long as I can remember.  Reinforced by well-meaning advice from many different people over the years.

But if it’s true, why do I feel so much grief at the loss of hope?  No wonder it takes so much energy to push through the doubts, if I have to convince myself that it doesn’t really matter anyway just to get started.
Surely hope’s not a bad thing?

Hope deferred makes the heart sick (Proverbs 13:12, ESV).

So why do I find it so hard to allow myself to hope?  Because I fear disappointment?  Surely the grief at the loss of hope is as painful as, if not more than, the potential disappointment would be.

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation (Psalm 42:5, ESV)

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from him. (Psalm 62:5, ESV)

Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. (Romans 12:12, ESV)

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for. (Hebrews 11:1, ESV)

It’s okay, I told myself, You’re allowed to have hope.  Go ahead and hope as much as you want.  If disappointment comes we’ll just deal with it then.
 
But it was too late.  Where the hopeful glimmer had been was now just hollowness again.  But I’ll be watching myself next time so I can learn to hold more tightly to hope when it comes again.

Holy Love

Holy Love, calling to me,
”Come with me, come further in.”
Take my hand
to lead me through shadows,
If I stumble,
you won’t let me fall.
Holy Love, bring me home.

Mary

She felt the wave of pain spread up over her abdomen, increasing in intensity.  She tried to breathe the way her mother has shown her, deep slow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth.  She had to stop walking for a moment, leaning on Joseph’s arm as the wave peaked and passed.  He looked at her with concern.  She was needing to pause more frequently for the last couple of miles.  She knew what he was worried about:  this was slowing them down, and they needed to reach Bethlehem before dark.
She rubbed at the small of her back, took a deep, determined breath, and began walking again.  Earlier one of the others travelling with them had offered her a ride on their donkey, but the jolting was too uncomfortable, it made her back ache worse . 
She could feel the pressure of the baby pushing down into her pelvis. She was tired and sore – her back was sore, her belly was sore, even her thighs were sore.  There had been several times this day where she wasn’t sure if she could do this after all.
“I am the Lord’s servant,” she whispered, to remind herself.  That day seemed so long ago now, yet she was sure of the vision she’d seen.  She’d clung to the memory through the mocking and shunning of the other women and girls once the news of her condition spread through Nazareth.  She continued to cling to the vision and the promise now, when it was just so hard. 
As she walked, she hardly noticed any more the road and the fields they were passing.  She held onto Joseph, trusting him to guide her. Walk, pause, breathe through the contraction, start walking again. If only she could rest.  She was barely aware as Joseph knocked on the door of his cousin’s house, the brief conversation, then the turning away to walk once more through the streets.  She only vaguely noticed Joseph say something about another relative the could try, a more distant cousin who might still have some room.
As yet another contraction swept over her, she wondered briefly if this day would ever end. 
The contractions were consuming all her concentration.  She heard voices as if from a great distance.  Gentle hands guided her onto a small straw pallet.  A woman’s voice, “It’s okay, Mary, I’m a midwife.  It won’t be long now.”
A midwife.  Mary felt a great tension she didn’t realise she’d had lift suddenly from her shoulders. Tears welled up from nowhere, spilling down her cheeks. The midwives in Nazareth had been among the women who shunned her.  She'd only had her cousin Elizabeth, then in the last few months her mother, to tell her about what to expect.  But the rumours and whispers had not reached Bethlehem, and Joseph was with her, and now here was an experienced midwife, with gentle hands and a reassuring voice.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she confessed to the midwife.
“You’re doing great,” the woman replied, “the baby will be here soon.”
Another wave of contraction spread over her.  Before it fully passed another started.  Mary felt her muscles tighten involuntarily, again and again.  “Just keep breathing,” the gentle voice reassured her. 
“Good girl, the head’s out now.  Just one more push with your next contraction.”
Then it was over, and the sound of a new-born baby’s cry filled the air.  “It’s a boy,” the voice said, placing the warm, wet, slippery baby up onto Mary’s belly.  She reached down to hold the baby, still partially attached to her body.  As she looked at him, his eyes opened, gazing into her face. “He’s so beautiful,” and all the tiredness and pain disappeared from from her mind.  She barely noticed the last few contractions and the midwife busying herself with the afterbirth.  Everything was about this child, this new life, and the promise and hope that he brought to her. 
“I am the Lord’s servant,” she whispered to the child, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Little Black Dog

Those who know me in person, or even the more observant readers, may have noticed a small, metaphorical, black dog hanging around my heels for several months.  The good news is that I feel I’ve now turned a corner in my recovery and I’ve been feeling “normal” for about a month.

Now I’m in a place I can look back over the journey through this particular valley of shadow, I’ve noticed we all need to have more conversations about faith and mental health.  This is a good article for a starting point.

Miriam’s post was the beginning of the turning point for me. Miriam wrote:

…do not be dismayed that you are downcast – because even those with the surest of promises wobble in the present from time to time.

Re-align your Hope and do not berate yourself. Being downcast by circumstance is not a sign you are a loser. You are in the company of King David and you dear one are loved just the same.

The thing is, if you’d asked me point blank about whether Christians can be depressed, I’d have said, of course, just like Christians can live with diabetes or any other illness.   The Psalmist, Jeremiah, Elijah – all experienced depressive episodes in their ministry.  But underneath that understanding there was a part of my subconscious that believed the lie, especially in the darkest moments, that what I was going through was a symptom of a lack of faith.   

When the shadow did lift, there was nothing I was doing or believing or praying any differently than when I was in the middle of it.  I’ve learned all I can do is Trust and Hope, knowing that the Father is carrying me through this season, and will bring me through it to the other side, even if that takes longer than I think it should.

Mine was only a small “black dog,” a number of dear friends are grappling with a larger, more persistent “black dogs.”  I wish was as easy as “do this and you’ll get better,” but this does not appear to be reality.  But you are still loved, still liked, still someone I care about and enjoy hanging out with.

As I continue to process what I’ve learned, I’ll come back and share a little more where I hope it will be an encouragement to anyone else out there going through this kind of stuff.  In the meantime: have courage my friend, and remember you don’t walk alone.

Ordinariness: The lesson of Sarah Smith from Golders Green.

In his book The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis describes a parade in heaven, with a crowd of spirits and people and musicians.  It was in honour of a beautiful lady clothed in light.

“Is it? … is it?” I whispered to my guide.
”Not at all,” said he, “It’s someone ye’ll never have heard of.  Her name on Earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.”
”She seems to be … well, a person of particular importance?”
”Aye. She is one of the great ones.  Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”

The characters continue describing all the people (and animals) that in her life she’d loved who were now part of this procession.

I’ve been grappling of late with the idea of “Calling.”  Or more specifically my lack of one.  I’ve been coming across a number of messages exhorting Christians to recognise and act upon their “unique calling and gifting.”  The writers and speakers of those messages are, I think, unaware of how stifling such a message can be to some people.  For those who do feel a Calling into ministry that’s great, and we celebrate with you and support you in that. (And Gary Neal Hansen has written an excellent series of posts about how to identify that Ministry Calling.)

It was drummed into me earlier in my Christian growth the concept “Not everyone is called.”  Not everyone is called to lead or preach or go overseas with Missions.  I believed the lie that I didn't have a "Calling", "Ministry" or "Gifting".  So when I heard messages about stepping out into your unique gifting and calling from God, my heart would respond "what gifting? What calling?" And I’d become anxious trying to figure it out. When I wanted to try something new, the thoughts would attack me with “You’re not called for that.”

I was just me being me, doing what I do, the mundane, ordinary, everyday, getting-on-with-it things. 

I’m in the process of coming to the conclusion that the idea of a unique “calling” and “gifting” for each believer is being over-emphasised.  It’s becoming a distraction trying to work out what those callings and giftings are.

Yes, we are each created uniquely.  Yes, it is intended for us to make a difference in the lives of those around us.

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Ephesians 2:10)

For those of us with “ordinariness”, let’s think less about trying to figure out what our “calling” or “gifting” is and just get on with getting on with it.

I’m going to go back to concentrating on just being me, and doing what I do.  Focus my attention back to loving God and loving my neighbours.  I’m finding that’s bringing much more freedom.  When I want to try something new, I don’t have to figure out if it’s in my “calling” or not, I can just give it a go anyway and see how it turns out.

We may never see in this world the outcome of what we do.  We may never know what difference we have made to those around us.   We can only see the outside, but God sees the inside of the heart, and the eternal consequences that we cannot see.

Just like Sarah Smith from Golders Green, let’s make our focus loving God and loving others.

A Widow’s Offering

Jesus was sitting in the temple near the offering box and watching people put in their gifts. He noticed that many rich people were giving a lot of money. Finally, a poor widow came up and put in two coins that were worth only a few pennies.
(Mark 12:41-42 CEV)

The sun was hot and bright.  She tucked damp stray strands of hair back under her headscarf and crossed the street to find the shade.  The dust was getting into her eyes and the smell of the sweaty sticky throngs of people and animals got into her nostrils.  The pushing and shoving of the crowd carried her through the temple gates into the Women’s Court.

She stayed at the edge of the crowd, trying to pray despite the noise.  The richly dressed Teachers glared sharply at her, sneering as they strode past.  She shrank back into the shadows the best she could, to stay out of the way.  She tightened her hand around the coins, their edges digging into her palm reassuring her that she hadn’t dropped them.

She carefully made her way to the offering box. Several times she was shoved roughly by one of the Teachers, their flowing linen robes showing the status of their office.  It was one of those very Teachers that had evicted her from her hovel the previous day, after demanding more rent than she could afford, and more than the room was worth.  She watched as he made a great show of dropping a fat purse of gold into the offering box. 

A trickle of sweat escaped from under her headscarf and ran down her temple. 

She remembered previous offerings she’d made.  The time when she saw the box after the priests had emptied it and carried the contents to the treasury at the end of the day, and realised her small pennies were still stuck in the grime at the bottom – overlooked and forgotten.

Or the other time when the guards watching the offering box jeered at her as she dropped her small coins in, and cuffed at her to get out of the way of the wealthier worshippers.

Tears pricked in her eyes at the memories.  She inhaled deeply, and reminded herself it didn’t matter, she was here to make her offering to God, and not to people.  The taunts and jeers and blows were not going to stop her.  This was her act of worship.

She’d learned to be as invisible as she could, to creep in when there were fewer people around, or they were looking elsewhere, quick and quiet and not noticed.  There was that new teacher on the other side, he was talking to the crowds and everyone was listening to him.  Even the guards were straining to hear him.  Now. Quickly.

As she was scuttling back from the box, she glanced around to make sure she was unobserved, and to her shock found the new Teacher’s eyes were looking directly at her.  But there was no scorn, no displeasure.  Those eyes somehow looked right into her heart and soul, and they were filled with only Love.

Jesus told his disciples to gather around him. Then he said: “I tell you that this poor widow has put in more than all the others. Everyone else gave what they didn’t need. But she is very poor and gave everything she had. Now she doesn’t have a cent to live on.”
(Mark 12:43-44, CEV)

 

Who am I
    To come into Your Holy Presence
What have I
    To bring as my offering
All those around
    Offer gifts of shining gold
All I have
    Are these two copper coins

Here am I
    I bring myself to Your altar
All of my heart
    All of my life
I pray You’ll find my gift worthy
Here at Your altar
    With my two copper coins

Here am I
    I’m kneeling in Your Holy Presence
Here I come
    Bringing You this offering
All those around
    Offer gifts of shining gold
Here I bring
    You these two copper coins

Here am I
   I bring myself to Your altar
All of my heart
    All of my life
Your Love has found my gift worthy
Here at Your altar
    With my two copper coins

(Two Copper Coins, © Claudia McFie 2014)

Needing one another

Maybe I’d started to believe it when I was a new Christian, and was told by a very spiritual I-wish-I-was-like-that lady at church told me how she was so close to the Lord she never needed help from anyone else.

Or maybe it was the time many years ago when I was depressed, and when reaching out asking for help and support I was let down and disappointed. I remember someone telling me “Maybe you just need to ask God to show you why this is upsetting you so much.”

It may even be rooted within our culture that values self-sufficiency and independence, and looks down on those who show weakness.

However it got there, I have been carrying a belief that God should be enough without needing other people, and to ask for help is a lack of faith. 

It sounds like a very spiritual thought.

It’s a lie.

A few months ago, when I was feeling discouraged, I asked, “Father, is it wrong that I’d just like to hear some encouragement from another person, and not just from you?”

We are designed and created to live in community – even in the beginning when it was said “It is not good for man to be alone.”  Throughout scripture we called to support and encourage and pray for one another.  If we are to be encouraging one another, then it must be because we need to be encouraged by one another too.

The Truth is that it takes courage to admit when things aren’t okay, and to ask for help and prayer.

The Truth is that it is okay to want to hear a reassuring word, or to need a hug.

When was the last time you offered encouragement?

Just as important – when was the last time you received encouragement?

Thank you to all my encouragers  (I hope you know who you are).  I appreciate you.

Out of the winepress–a reflection on Gideon

 

Poor Gideon.  He seems to be considered a bit of a coward, hiding from his oppressors in a winepress, demanding signs from God before taking any action, and then waiting for the cover of darkness to do so.  "Look at Gideon," I’ve heard some people say, "he should have trusted the word of God and been bold enough to just go and knock down that Asherah pole then and there."

When the angel of the Lord appeared to Gideon, he said, “The Lord is with you, mighty warrior.” …  “Pardon me, my lord,” Gideon replied, “but how can I save Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family.” (Judges 6:12 & 15, NIV)

I can relate a little bit to Poor Gideon.  His threshing wheat in the winepress idea looks a lot like my hiding a lamp in a bushel idea.  I often find myself asking God "Are you sure?", doubting that I've heard him right when I'm surrounded by people with far greater skills, talents and experience than what I have.  I’m conscious of my own inadequacies, I feel I have the least to offer.

There's nothing in the text that tells us Gideon was wrong to ask God for His reassurance.  The author of Judges accuse Gideon of cowardice.  Instead we are shown how God can use the least of us for His greater glory. 

God knows that when He calls the least qualified that extra encouragement and reassurance is needed, and in His grace provides it in the right way  and at the right time.  An offering supernaturally combusts, fleece is dry instead of wet then wet instead of dry.  At the greatest challenge -  a numerous enemy faced with only 300 men - an overheard conversation provides the necessary boldness and inspiration. An enemy is dispersed without a sword being lifted. 

The less I have to offer, the more room there is for God's Spirit to move instead. 

It is not for me to fight the battle, I am just asked to stand and blow a trumpet and shout and hold my torch high so it can be seen.

Courage is not the lack of fear and doubt, it is stepping out  in spite of those doubts.  And courage grows out of encouragement.  It's okay to ask God for reassurance and encouragement when faced with challenges, in His mercy and grace they will be given to me.

The all of me

 

They say courage isn’t the absence of fear, but feeling the fear and stepping forward anyway.

When I prayed “Lord, let me come deeper into you,” I expected it would be warm and wonderful. I thought there would be an intensity to my worship, that there would be a deep joy and an awareness of His love.

What’s happened instead is there’s been a digging deeper inside of me, bringing to the surface my past anxieties, hurts and brokenness.

It was so much easier when the past stayed buried, the memories didn’t bother me and I didn’t bother them.

I know in my mind that it’s different now, but my physical emotions are not yet convinced.

The past lies still mock me.  You’re not good enough for this.  You don’t really belong here.

My stomach knots, my chest tightens.  Emotion wells up in my throat.

You are here because I have led you here.  Don’t be afraid, I am with you.

I couldn’t cry back then.  I dared not, it wasn’t safe.  I’m not afraid to cry now.  A caring hand on my shoulder, and the wave breaks over me.

“You must be getting tired of praying for me week after week,” I say, “I don’t like being needy.”

If I am to worship with all of my heart and mind and soul and strength, then that includes these messy, hurting and broken parts of me.

Instead of being afraid of these emotions, I will make them my offering at the altar, the gift of my worship.  I welcome and accept them, then give them to Him, just as they are.  This is my entire heart, the all of me.

“Lord, let me have courage.”

I feel the fear, but I’m not afraid of it.  I will step into and through it: one step, then another and another.

Send out your light and your truth;
let them guide me;
let them bring me to your holy mountain,
to the place where you dwell.
Then I will go to the altar of God,
to God, my joy and my delight.
I will praise you with the harp,
O God, my God.

Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my saviour and my God.
(Psalm 43:3-5, NIV 1985)

Not your battle to fight

In one of the quieter corners of the Old Testament, rarely visited by Sunday preachers, lived a king of Judah called Jehoshaphat.  Faced with a vast enemy, thoroughly outnumbered, Jehoshaphat responded by calling the nation to fasting and prayer, “For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us.  We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you.”

God’s answer through the prophet was this: “Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army.  For the battle is not yours, but God’s.”

The next morning, they went out towards the battle.  Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and to praise him for the splendour of his holiness as they went out at the head of the army, saying “Give thanks to the Lord, for his love endures forever.”  It was less a march to battle as it was a procession of worship.

By they time they came to the place that overlooked the battle field, all they saw was a dead army awaiting plunder – the enemy had fought among themselves and so destroyed each other. (Retold from 2 Chronicles 20)

My enemy is within me.  My anxieties well up in me, wave upon wave, threatening to overwhelm me. I try using the breathing and relaxation techniques I’ve learned from my counsellor, but find myself me praying, shaking and trembling, tears streaming down my face.  I have no power to face this.  I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, but my eyes are upon you, God.

This is not your battle to fight.

My default setting is to think “Here is a problem, I must do something to solve this.”  I now have two problems to solve: the original stress that has triggered this, and then the anxiety and fear, which often seems bigger than the original issue. 

This is not my battle to fight.  It’s not about fighting back against the anxiety, but shifting my focus to worship, “Give thanks to the Lord, for his love endures forever.”  I’m to change my approach from a march into battle to a procession of praise.  It’s a letting go of the need to DO, and Trusting instead.

Easier said than done.

Don’t be afraid or discouraged.  This is not your battle to fight.

Achieved

I can do this.
Six months working towards this.
I have now achieved my first half marathon.

The route took us through the city then out to the residential red zone.  The quietness of the Avonside area was eerie. 

My devotional reading this night before the run included this passage:

"Even youths grow tired and weary" - I've been feeling that a lot so  far this year.  The background tension that's been building up in me I'm only now starting to learn how to let go.  Letting go of that tension means learning more how to trust.  

Running has helped with this.  As I run, I find a rhythm and pace I can maintain, and strangely enough it helps  my brain to relax. Sometimes I can pray as I run, more I just focus on the moment, take each step, each stride, each pace as it comes.

I'm not quite at the "run and not grow weary" stage.  My legs are certainly telling me all about it the day after! But I feel good that I've achieved my  goal. 

I can do this.

(If you are really interested, my official results are here)

Face to Face

© Claudia McFie, May 2015

I pull down the walls,
    throw my mask away,
Open and broken
    but no longer afraid,
To soak in your love,
    to know your embrace
I will see you.

Higher and deeper
    I will seek your face
Into the Holy of Holies
    you opened the way
Your word stands true
    when this world falls away
I will see you.

Father and King,
    we meet face to face,
Lover and Friend,
    in this cool of the day
Here in this garden
    you call out my name,
I will see you.

Love Your Bible!–Guest post by Gary Neal Hansen

 

 

When I went to work on my new book, I thought the counter-cultural bit was asking 21st century Christians to learn from a 12th century monk. I had no idea that the biggest stretch would be the invitation in the first part of the title: Love Your Bible! Alas, many do not.

There are lots of reasons loving the Bible seems like a stretch today.

• Many of us are under such constant pressure between work and family that opening the Bible just doesn’t come to mind.

• Many have spent years following Christ, whom we know in our hearts; we just haven’t picked up the habit of Bible reading.

• Still others are put off by a book written thousands of years ago in distant cultures and foreign languages.

• And those who want to ask hard questions and wrestle with answers dislike the superficial way many Christians do read the Bible.

Is it surprising that the people who find it hard to love their Bible are real Christians, people who follow Jesus with passion? Surprising or not, it is a loss--a crippling loss that keeps us from flourishing as disciples.

It is not that we need to know the Scriptures so we can have snappy answers to the world’s pressing questions. Knowing the Bible does help you understand your faith and the good news that needs to be shared. But I’m talking about something deeper.

The Bible is not given to us as an answer book or a user’s manual. The Bible is intended to lead us into the presence of the living God.

So here’s the risk: if we don’t find a way into the Bible, we may not find our way into God’s life-giving presence. We may end up following a figment of our imaginations, or a projection of our own neuroses.

We need the real God who so loves the world, the same God who called Abraham and Sarah, and who came in person in Jesus. His words and acts have been preserved for us in Scripture. His Spirit is whispering there still.

What we need is a faithful guide who knows the way.

In Love Your Bible I suggest a 12th century monk as that guide: a fellow named Guigo, who wrote the go-to book on the ancient Christian practice of lectio divina or “divine reading.”

You may have heard of lectio divina. Lots of Christians are exploring classic approaches to spiritual disciplines these days (I recommend ten of them in my earlier book Kneeling with Giants: Learning to Pray with History’s best Teachers).

Commonly lectio divina is presented as a group process in which a text is read aloud three or four times and people listen for words and phrases that jump out evocatively. That can be helpful, but it is a far cry from the classic form of the practice.

Guigo teaches a much more serious practice. Joyful, prayerful, gentle--but fully engaged. It starts with careful study of a biblical text, and moves with the text through meditation and prayer to the very presence of God.

Guigo didn’t invent lectio divina. By the time he wrote, Christians had been honing the practice for centuries. Monks were instructed to spend a couple of hours a day at it.

Every day they encountered the Bible in ways that were intellectually rigorous and spiritually engaged.

• Every day they went from the text of Scripture into the presence of the living God.

• It shaped their minds to the Gospel--often when you read the writings of medieval monks they are virtually a patchwork of biblical quotations.

• And it shaped their hearts and their lives. Dwelling with God through Scripture turned monks into the missionaries and leaders that spread the faith across Europe.

Lord knows, we need to drink deeply from those living waters today.

Lord knows the world needs a new generation of disciples formed by the Word and empowered by his presence.

I hope you’ll give classic lectio divina a try. Isn’t it time to find a way to Love Your Bible?

You can get a free copy of the eBook at my blog by clicking here, or you can get the paperback at Amazon.com or The Book Depository.

____________

Gary Neal Hansen is the award-winning author of Kneeling with Giants: Learning to Pray with History's Best Teachers (InterVarsity Press, 2012). On his blog, GaryNealHansen.com, he mines the Christian past for wisdom in the complex changing present and future. He serves as Associate Professor of Church History at the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary.

 

 

Giveaway!

Gary has kindly offered a free paperback of Love Your Bible to one of my readers.  To enter: comment on this post with your experiences of Bible Reading in the past and how it affected your life and faith.  Winner will be selected randomly from the comments on 10 May 2015.

Lies

The lies are telling me I’m unimportant and insignificant.

At least I’m pretty sure they’re lies.
I think they might be lies.
I hope they’re lies.

It’s getting harder to resist the discouragement.  The lies are getting more subtle – where they used to be things that were blatantly untrue, now they are twisting and distorting the might-be-trues and even some actually-did-happens.  A thought will trigger a knife twisting kind of emotion.  It takes all my effort to not let the emotion drag me down and to refute the trigger-thought.

I know how to fight this: it takes prayer, thanksgiving, praise and worship. 

I had overlooked one thing: the support, prayer and encouragement of other believers.  When I could no longer stand on my own, I sent out a prayer request email.  What took me so long?  The best weapon in the battle against discouragement in encouragement.

I’m not yet 100% better, but the intensity has reduced.  I no longer stand alone, for I know now there are others standing with me.  And that makes all the difference.

It’s Friday… but Sunday’s a-comin’

 

Says it all really.