Is he really with me?

Last Thursday was Ascension Day, the day when Christians recall the end of "all that Jesus began to do and teach, until the day that he was taken up", as St Luke says in Acts. On Thought for the Day the speaker told us, as far as I understood her, that the message of the day is that Jesus left his disciples, and us, on our own to get on with it. She finished with the gnomic statement: "It is possible to make our peace with God when we live with the reality that we live together, alone."

I was sorry Lucy Winkett ended there, because, of course, the story doesn't end there. It was just the end of what "Jesus began to do and teach". St Luke proceeds to tell us what Jesus went on to do in The Acts of the Apostles, and he certainly doesn't mean that the apostles did his work for him together, "alone", i.e. without him. Arguably they are "on their own together" for ten days. But on Pentecost they receive "the promise of the Father". On the night of  his arrest, Jesus had told them: "I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you." Putting it a different way, he'd said,  ^"And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you for ever, even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you." And, pow! on Pentecost, don't they know it! I have a feeling that that's the significance of the physical signs they experience - they're to be in no doubt that Jesus has kept his promise: "Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."


It remains true. The Holy Spirit of Jesus dwells in those who follow him. On 24th May 1738 (anniversary - Thursday), the Rev John Wesley wrote in his journal, "In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther's preface to the Epistle to the Romans.  About a quarter before nine, while the leader was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." He was never the same man again. It was the same transforming experience which radicalised the first disciples at Pentecost. He had no doubt that Jesus had answered his longing and kept his promise.


On 30th September 1994 another Anglican cleric wrote, "God answered immediately and dramatically, as it seemed to me. The conversation between my spirit and the Holy Spirit was humbling, yet full of his fiery love. I knew and physically felt that, in spite of everything, God loved me. It was the most liberating and wonderful experience.... It was not surprising that next morning I was different." He would tell you that, although his life has not been easy, he still has no doubt of the presence of Jesus.


Last Friday we read the story of Jesus asleep in the storm. "On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, 'Let us go across to the other side.' And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, 'Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?' And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, 'Peace! Be still!' And the wind ceased, andthere was a great calm. He said to them, 'Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?'" The accompanying note suggested we imagine the Father's arms around us. I have to admit that didn't really help me. I actually found the picture of Jesus there sleeping in the storm-threatened boat more like my experience. It's clear that he's there, and therefore it's ok, but nevertheless it can be pretty scary - but it's all right. You can't sink Jesus, and he's not suddenly about to take to the lifeboat. This is the lifeboat!

Psalms of complaint

We've just had Pete and Jane round, and, as always, had a lovely evening. They became good friends from soon after we moved here to Grove. We enjoy eating together. Jane (of Pete and J) makes rather good cakes; so Jane (of Michael and J) makes the first course. Pete and I do our bit by showing appreciation. We usually end up reading the Bible together, discussing and praying for our shared concerns.

Today we were talking about psalms of complaint (or disorientation, as Walter Brueggemann called  them), like 74, 79 and 137, and thinking how little real honest pain we express together in our worship services. We're always so polite and afraid of offending God's sensibilities - as if he doesn't already know exactly what we're feeling! I mentioned the song by Graham Kendrick which we'd had in church last Sunday, "For the joys and for the sorrows" sung here in Coventry Cathedral on Pentecost 2007. Here are the words:

For the joys and for the sorrows
The best and worst of times
For this moment, for tomorrow
For all that lies behind
Fears that crowd around me
For the failure of my plans
For the dreams of all I hope to be
The truth of what I am

For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus, I have Jesus
(Repeat)

For the tears that flow in secret
In the broken times
For the moments of elation
Or the troubled mind
For all the disappointments
Or the sting of old regrets
All my prayers and longings
That seem unanswered yet

For the weakness of my body
The burdens of each day
For the nights of doubt and worry
When sleep has fled away
Needing reassurance
And the will to start again
A steely-eyed endurance
The strength to fight and win

Graham Kendrick
Copyright © 1994 Make Way Music,
www.grahamkendrick.co.uk 

I have to confess this is a song which brings tears to my eyes when it's sung in church, where in fact so many are experiencing some or all of the song. But the refrain, "For this I have Jesus", is true in a profound way, because he also experienced the whole gamut of the song and more, and he knows and feels with us.

Keeping hope in the storm

I've not been aware of this picture by Rembrandt "Christ
in the Storm" before today when a friend from University
who has cancer pointed it out. He likes especially the
cruciform mast and the use of light and dark contrasts. 

Two years ago, at the New Wine festival, from where this blog originated, some folk from Exmouth prayed with me. Since then they have become good friends. Sadly we didn't see one couple again as they set off on an expedition of faith. They are visionaries and pioneers. Nicky and Mike Temple began a blog for their friends, called "P is for pilgrim". Nicky has just posted one entitled Stormy Weather, illustrated, I assume, by some of Mike's great photographs (Mike Temple Photography). These are extracts:
"I have been pondering the storm and its effects over the past few weeks, pondering how we, as followers of Jesus, navigate the storms of life, how are we to ride the 'perfect' storm? How do we remain in victory through the storm? What does it look like to come through the storm without losing hope and remaining steadfast?" 

She writes about Brendan (the Celtic saint) and Reepicheep (!) in their coracles launching into uncharted waters, having to ride the storms and trust in God's navigation for them. I don't know what storms Nicky is talking about in her case, but they're clearly real; she loves to call God "Papa" (the English equivalent of Jesus's Aramaic name for him, "Abba"). And she also talks about the childhood experience of having a rotten day at school.
"Our storms often feel like 'one of those days' in which we're just getting it all wrong and bumbling our way through the wind and rain. It is so easy for shame and heaviness to set in but Papa is there, right there, closer than air, taking our head in his gentle hands and saying "I'm so proud of you". He loves us through the storm, pure, simple, powerful love that keeps no record of wrongs. Religion might measure how well we navigate the storm, keeping score of good days and bad - ticks and crosses. That is not the heart of Papa God. He knows storms are a messy business! He loves us through the raging seas and is not concerned with our response. He is concerned with loving us more fiercely than raging circumstances and telling us how well we're doing, how amazing we are! He never once abandons us. 

"He has a plan, a great plan that He is forging through the storm. All storms end and as we keep hope, as we cling, as we yield through them we are transformed and transported to new places in Him. I'm not sure when  my stormy weather will finally break, but I know it will. I believe that Jesus is good always, faithful always and kind always. He knows my heart, He understands me fully and loves me beyond imagining. So I can wait, I can ask for rescue and I can trust knowing that the sun will come out."

As I remember, Reepicheep, the valiant mouse, in the Narnia Chronicle The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, sailed in his coracle on a huge wave straight into Aslan's country. Scary but infinitely worth it.
I recommend Nicky's post.  Thank you, Nicky.

"There is always hope"

A good friend of mine with a different sort of MND lives in the village of Longhope in Gloucestershire. I must say, although I've never been there, it looks an idyllic place. There are lots of hill walks in around the village, which now of course my friend isn't able to enjoy. What I particularly like about the village is its name. Apparently it means "long enclosed valley" - which in a way is apt as that's what chronic illness can feel like, but I prefer to think of it as "long-held hope" (expectation). Whether that's the hope of a cure being discovered by some God-inspired researchers or of green pastures where one day we'll dwell in his presence for ever, holding on to hope is a blessing worth having.

It's not the only thing that keeps us going. Another is receiving the gift of a new day every day. Our garden's not spectacular by any means, but I still gaze out of the window each breakfast time and admire the vitality and variety of creation. When it's raining the earth is dark and grateful; when it's stopped raindrops catch the light in unlooked for places; when the sun comes out, the hazel leaves take on a fresh lime-green vibrancy. And of course the greatest blessing is being loved.

I gather, from yesterday's Independent, that "Banksy's image of kissing policemen, originally daubed on a Brighton pub wall, has been surprisingly named the single work of art that best expresses British identity in a poll of 1,000 artists." I'm not sure what that says about contemporary British artists! It so happens we were talking with Pete and Jane a week ago, not about that graffito, but about "There is always hope", which I think first appeared on the South Bank. We were provoked by the question I'd read asking how we would relate it to the Christian good news (the writer saw the escaped balloon as symbolising forlorn hope and related it to the "better hope" that we have in Jesus). I myself imagined Jesus leaning down over the parapet and catching the balloon and giving it back to the girl, as many times as she let go of it, for, as the hymn puts it, "the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind". I think that's what the Incarnation (Jesus' birth) and the Atonement (his death) are about, his coming down with forgiveness and love for all and always.

The communion of heaven

I've already mentioned The King's Blog which continues to encourage me. One of pieces under Words for the Journey comes from the letters of American writer, Flannery O'Connor, who suffered from lupus and died aged 38. The excerpt concluded with a prayer to St Raphael. I confess there was a time when praying to anyone but God would have made me bristle, being a sound Protestant. However I now think I was wrong, partly because I reckon I was fixated with the word "pray", which really just means "ask". I seem to remember some Shakespearian plays (such as The Taming of the Shrew using the expression "I pray you"). And I don't have any problem with asking other people, "the saints" to pray for me or being asked to pray for others. Now it seems illogical to believe in the reality of life after death, saints on earth and saints in heaven, and to exclude the latter from my conversations. (It might, of course, give rise to some misgivings as to my rationality on the part of some!)

However, for my many friends who might find the prayer problematic, I recommend simply addressing it to Jesus, who "always lives to make intercession" for us (Hebrews 7).

PRAYER TO ST RAPHAEL

O Raphael, lead us towards those we are waiting for, those who are waiting for us! Raphael, Angel of Happy Meetings, lead us by the hand towards those we are looking for! May all our movements, all their movements, be guided by your Light and transfigured by your Joy.

Angel Guide of Tobias, lay the request we now address to you at the feet of Him on whose unveiled Face you are privileged to gaze. Lonely and tired, crushed by the separations and sorrows of earth, we feel the need of calling to you and of pleading for the protection of your wings, so that we may not be as strangers in the Province of Joy, all ignorant of the concerns of our country.

Remember the weak, you who are strong–you whose home lies beyond the region of thunder, in a land that is always peaceful, always serene, and bright with the resplendent glory of God. Amen.