A full and fruitful week..

A very full week of ministry lies behind us; we were busy every day with the intensive workshop in foundational coaching skills (FOCOS). This is the same workshop that we ran for a week in January, but this time our trainees were mostly from Spanish speaking nations: they were from Costa Rica, Uruguay, Colombia, Venezuela, Honduras, and of course from Spain. We also had some Brazilian missionaries and pastors in the group.

The full schedule meant that I left home pretty early in the morning, which meant that I often saw beautiful sunrises and cloudscapes while driving to the retreat centre... and then it was already dark again by the time I headed home in the evening. The week was very full, but it was also very fruitful and we are really encouraged to hear the feedback from the trainees, and the testimonies of what God has done in their lives during this week.

Spanish FOCOS is one of the most challenging weeks in my year, as it's the only week where I have to teach and work uniquely in Spanish for the whole week. (All our other seminars at the retreat centre are in English.) This year I had to teach more than a dozen training sessions, as well as giving short coaching demonstrations in Spanish. I was encouraged, though, to notice that the Spanish seemed to flow more easily than it did this time last year, and by the second day I was feeling a lot more confident and excited about the week.

The 20 participants are now moving into the third phase of their training: they will begin coaching their own "clients" while we as staff mentor and coach them in their developing skills. The course will finish with an online "graduation" in September.

Not so different from you and me...

If I asked you to think of someone in the Bible who really wanted to be pleasing to God and who had spent his whole life seeking to obey Him, whose name would you give me? There are  many people that you might think of, but I kind of suspect that it wouldn't be the person I was reading about this morning.

However, if I asked you to think of someone in the Bible who wanted to have eternal life, but wasn't sure if he was willing to pay the price... you might think of this person immediately. I was reading this morning in Mark chapter 10, which includes the story of the rich young man.

You've probably heard more than a few sermons preached about this man, and I wonder perhaps if we don't give the poor guy a raw deal. He is so often held up as an example of someone who was not willing to "give up everything" for Jesus. (At least, we don't know if he was. At this point in the story, he went away troubled and sad about what Jesus had asked him to do. We're not told whether he thought things over and finally came to the hard decision to give up everything he had.)

We do know that he was a sincere young man, who had honestly spent his whole life seeking to obey God. It could have seemed arrogant or self-righteous when he said that, but I don't think that it was - because Jesus didn't look at him with anger or judgement, the way He related to the Pharisees. Instead, we read that Jesus looked at him with affection.

But we don't remember this young man for his godly life or for his years of faithful obedience. No, for some reason, we always seem to remember him for his sadness and his reluctance to make that supreme sacrifice that Jesus asked of him.

And yet I know that my own reaction is not so very different when faced with the prospect of sacrifice and loss. Not because I'm rich (I know I probably have very little in the eyes of the world) but because I also feel a sense of sadness when I think of losing the things that are precious to me. Last year, for example, I was invited to consider leaving Spain and moving to another part of the world. I confess that I shed tears as I considered the prospect of yet again losing my home, my team, my friends, my pets...

Maybe a key difference was that I knew from the outset that I would definitely obey and give up everything if that was what the Lord was asking of me... whereas we're left with the impression that this godly young man went away sadly, unwilling to pay the price.

As I look into my own heart, however, I see the warning: the awareness that people and things, animals and places, can so easily entwine themselves around our hearts in a way that means that our obedience will sometimes have a great cost to it.

Perhaps this was the very first time that someone had asked this young man to give up the things that mattered deeply to him. It's been said that none of us knows what idol we are worshipping until Jesus puts His finger on it and asks us to give it up. 

Those of us who have been walking with the Lord for years, even decades, have probably been there a few times. We've taken steps of obedience that called for true sacrifice; we've made personal and ministry decisions, knowing full well that they would entail losses as well as gains. We've come face to face with our own hearts at the times when wholehearted commitment only came after an intense inner struggle.

Perhaps that's why the times of grief and loss, when they do happen, help to cement our commitment to the Lord and free us from the question or the possibility that other people and things could be important enough to take His place.

So let's not judge the rich young man for his sadness; rather, let's be humbly aware of the things in our own lives that would be hard to give up if Jesus asked us to.

Stretching out...

Reading this morning in Mark's gospel, I came to the story where Jesus heals a man's hand, and I found myself wondering if what He asked of the man seemed impossible at the time. Was, "Stretch out your hand" (Mark 3 vs 5) something that a man with a deformed and shrivelled hand was unable to do? But as he attempted to obey, his hand was healed and restored.
Or does it simply mean that the man did what he could do - stretched out his arm - and then Jesus did the rest?

Either way, it has implications for how we deal with our own limitations in life - in my case, for example, how I respond to ministry travel invitations when I'm painfully aware of my personal limitations caused by arthritis.

There's a simple truth in our preschool curriculum that we teach to small children: Father God will never ask me to do something that I am unable to do (with His help.) So whenever I step out into something that looks and feels impossible for me, I can be sure that Jesus will stretch out His hand to meet my need and enable me to do whatever He has asked of me.

It was this man's hand that got healed, but I'm guessing it made a huge impact on his whole life. If you've ever struggled with hands that don't work properly - perhaps because you have your arm in plaster, or because your painful joints mean that you can't lift, hold or open things - you'll know that the limitation affects you in all sorts of ways. When this man's hand was restored, it probably meant that many other areas of his life were affected too. Likewise, when we stretch out in obedience and allow Jesus to touch the places where we feel inadequate, many other aspects of our life will be changed too. We just need to be willing to stretch out our hand.

So what does it really mean?

In Mark chapter one, and at the beginning of other gospels too, John the Baptist preached in the desert and called the people to repentance. Repentance isn't a fashionable word nowadays, and it's possible that plenty of people are not really sure what it means.

In Hebrew thought, repentance meant a change of direction (an about turn) that was evidenced by a change in people's actions. In Greek thought, it involved a new way of thinking. John was Hebrew, but the New Testament account is preserved for us in Greek, so which meaning is intended here? How can we know if we have truly repented?


The answer is that both are true and both are needed. Change needs to begin in our thinking, in our beliefs and attitudes (which is why Paul wrote to the Romans concerning the need for the renewing of their minds/thinking. See Romans 12: 2) But that change of thinking needs to work itself out in our behaviour, or no meaningful change will happen in our lives (which is why James wrote to the early believers that faith without actions is dead. See James 2:20)

And so our more modern translations of the Bible, instead of using the word "repentance," sometimes use a phrase that seeks to convey these two interlinked meanings of the word:
Change your hearts and lives.
Change your attitudes and behaviour.
Show by your actions that you have turned from your old way of thinking.
These are some of the ways that this radical change of thinking and lifestyle is expressed in the gospels.

If people try to change their behaviour without changing their core beliefs, it won't be lasting, and they will revert to their old ways when the heat is on. If they change what they think, but don't allow that to change the way that they live, they are simply making themselves more accountable, more guilty when the time comes for judgement. (As James writes in James 4: 17, it is a sin to know the good you should do, and not to do it.)

So, how do we know if we are living a life of repentance? We will see the daily fruit in our lives of being willing to give up our old ways of thinking and dearly held beliefs, and we will be intentional in making our lives measure up to the new revelation that we receive from the Word of God. That's what is really meant by repentance.

Read on below for a modern day example of how hard it can be to change our thinking and our habits.

The way it's always been...

Back in the 1980s, a friend of mine was part of a missionary community seeking to reach out to a large city in Europe. More than 150 people lived in the mission building (a former hotel) and her bedroom was in an annexe leading off from an area with a large lounge. An early bedder, this meant that she was sometimes kept awake at night by the chatting and laughing of other missionaries and the guests that they were reaching out to. So she took a sheet of paper and a marker pen, and in her best handwriting she made a sign saying, "Please keep this sliding door closed after 9 pm. Thank you."

More than 25 years later, this lady was back in Europe and went to visit the community where she had once lived. Imagine her surprise when she went into the lounge and spotted the sign that said, "Please keep this door closed after 9 pm." It was no longer in her handwriting; someone had typed it up, laminated the paper and stuck it neatly on the glass panel of the door. It seemed a little strange, because her former bedroom was now used as an office, and no one was there after 9 pm. So she found one of the missionaries that lived in the community and asked him, "Excuse me, can you tell me why this door needs to be kept closed at night?"
The young man looked a little baffled. "I don't think I know the reason," he said, "but that's the way it's always been." In his desire to be helpful, he searched around a little in his imagination. "Maybe it's to keep the heat in," he suggested.

Well, my friend knew that this explanation made no sense at all, as there was a warm radiator in that corridor, just the same as in the staff lounge. But human traditions can be slow to die out. Often we accept them without question, because it's "the way things have always been," and when someone questions that or happens to believe or act differently, we search around in our minds to find a reason, a justification for the things that we've become so used to. In Christian circles, there's even a danger that we equate "the way it's always been" with the Biblical way, without stopping to examine and evaluate our beliefs and ways of doing things.

I was thinking about this just a couple of days ago, as I sat in our church service here in Spain and heard an announcement about the 10th Anniversary celebrations coming up next month. I looked around the church and thought about how the congregation had changed over the ten years since we planted it. Many new people have come in, some because they moved into the area, and others because they've come to know the Lord for the first time in their lives.

There was a time in church history, in some nations of Europe at least, where church was mainly for the rich and the middle class. The poor people were unable to go or were unwelcome there if they tried. As a result, this meant that the people who attended church were well-dressed in expensive clothes. As the gospel spread to others, and working class people were able to be part of church congregations, this tradition of "dressing up" for church somehow got passed on and accepted by all. The phrase" Sunday best" came into the English language, because people had one set of clothes that they wore to work in the factory or in the fields all week, and another set of clothes that they wore to go to church on a Sunday. As recently as the 1970s, I remember speaking to an elderly lady who told me that she had never been able to go to church as a child because she "didn't own a hat and coat."

This is a prime example of a human tradition whose origins have been forgotten, but whose practice persists in some circles until today. There's nothing even slightly Biblical about it; in fact, in the book of James, the believers are reproached for having a different standard in the way they treated a well-dressed rich person and a poor person dressed in rags. From earliest times in Jewish history (the Old Testament Hebrews in the desert) to the birth of the Christian church (the early believers in the book of Acts), the Biblical way was to "come as you are" - the only prerequisite being that you should seek to come with "clean hands and a pure heart." (See Psalm 15)

However did we reach a place in Christian history where coming to church with nice clothes was more important than coming to church with a pure, unselfish, uncritical and forgiving heart?

Like the young man who searched for an explanation for the tradition of keeping the door closed, we can probably think up all kinds of good reasons: it's because it's a celebration; it's because it's a sign of respect for God; it's because Sunday is a special day of the week.... But no matter how many explanations we think up, we can't escape the fact that we've enshrined a practice that had its roots in the unjust class system of previous generations, rather than in the eternal truth of the Word of God. 

As I looked around our church on Sunday and saw what a mixed bunch we were - some in their finery and others casual in their jeans - I couldn't help realising that some of them, especially the new believers, probably wouldn't be there if wearing fine and formal clothes had been a prerequisite for their acceptance into the family of God.

I'm not saying that we should turn up to church in our pyjamas or in our paint-splattered overalls (although I've seen both of those in an African setting where someone came straight from work and someone brought their kids ready for bed.) In fact, clothing isn't really the issue here; there are plenty of other human traditions that have become part of how we "do church." Like sitting in rows, instead of eating food around the table. Or having one person pray from up front, instead of everyone being involved in praying and worshipping the Lord...

I'm simply remembering that the people Jesus criticised most were the Pharisees, who revered the traditions of man while ignoring the things that were most important to God. It's a sad day when we get more concerned about someone coming into church with a cup of coffee than someone coming into church with pride in their heart or greed in their life.

One choice can change everything

This morning I felt challenged and impacted by one verse in particular from my morning reading. It was Mark chapter one verse 45 - where it says that the man who had been healed of leprosy ignored Jesus' command to keep quiet about what had happened to him. Instead, he went around telling everyone that he met. It's understandable: his life had been changed forever and he wanted to let people know about it. But the result of his enthusiastic "witnessing" was that it became impossible for Jesus to enter publicly into any towns or villages. 

You know those Jesus films where we always see Him out in an isolated place, surrounded by groups of people who have come to hear His teaching? That was necessary largely because of this leper's choice to disobey what Jesus had asked of him. That one man's actions, his decision to ignore what Jesus requested, made a huge difference to the early course of Jesus' ministry.

It could be easy for you or me to think that our "small" act of obedience or disobedience won't really make that much difference in the grand scheme of things. That choice not to forgive, that decision to contribute financially, that embarrassment that stopped us from speaking to someone...  We think that our lives are inconsequential and that these daily choices don't really make that much of an impact. But sometimes, as in this case, that one step of obedience, or that one seemingly small act of disobedience can totally change everything!

The Lion and the Lamb

In the season leading up to Christmas, I spent several weeks meditating on different aspects of who God is: the different names He is called by in the Bible, and the different aspects of His nature and character. One of those passages came up again this month, as I was reading daily in the very last book of the Bible.

In Revelation chapter five, a disciple called John finds himself in heaven before the throne of God. God is holding a scroll, full of special things that He wants to reveal to us, but no one can be found who is worthy to open the scroll, and John begins to weep.

Then an angel appears and tells him not to cry, because “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” is coming and is able to open the seals on the scroll. I wonder if John was feeling slightly terrified as he turned around and looked behind him to see this Lion. I lived in Africa long enough to know that the lion represents authority, power and strength. Everyone knows how majestic and fierce a lion can be; his sheer size and speed make him the king of the jungle, and no other animal dares to challenge him because they all know that no one can defeat him. John’s knees may have been trembling as he turned around to catch a glimpse of this fearsome beast.

Instead, what he sees is a lamb. And not just any lamb; this tiny little creature looks as if it has been slaughtered. I wonder what thoughts went through John’s mind in those moments. Did he feel confused when he didn’t see the mighty lion he was expecting? Did he think that this vulnerable lamb had been killed by the lion that the angel had spoken of?

But no! Although this lamb has obviously been slain, it isn’t lying helpless on the ground, like a casualty devoured by a predator. It is standing up, it is alive, and it walks across to take the scroll from the One who is sitting on the throne. Everyone that’s nearby falls down on their faces and begins to worship the lamb. And in a fearsome moment of lucidity, it probably dawned on John that the Lion and the Lamb were the same person: that they both represent the person of Jesus.

Could there be any more powerful image of authority and humility wrapped up in the same individual? Kingship and power, servanthood and sacrifice all reside in this same God.  This is what makes the angels cry, “Worthy!” - the understanding that Jesus could have defeated His opponents at any time, but instead, he held back His power and allowed people to subject Him to slaughter, to a horrifying and painful death.

Calling Jesus the Lion of Judah is synonymous with saying that He has won the victory: “Behold the Lion… has conquered.” And calling Him the sacrificial lamb speaks to us of the enormous price that He paid to atone for our sins and make that victory ours.

Jesus can be both Lamb and Lion to you today: He can forgive your sins when you need Him to, and He can give you strength, power and victory to live for Him in the sometimes confusing world of the 21st Century.