So, this is a testimony really. A while back, you may have read about the house in which we were living - small, no central heating, small water heater, feeling a bit like rats in a cage etc. I also mentioned that we had been praying for a couple of years for a new home. Well, we are now living in that home; we have been here since 1 April.
Praying for our home had its 'ups and downs', and I believe God has taught me some things about praying during that time. God is here. He hear's us when we talk with Him and we ask of Him. I have learned more about believing God. We know that God can do anything. I sincerely believe He can. It seems that a problem we have though, is whether God will do what we ask. And it seems that faith is often more about the latter than about the former. So, when we pray, we might think, "God can do this". But Jesus' teaching seems to lean toward a command that we believe God will answer our prayers (although I am aware of scriptures where Jesus also teaches the former).
A verse that is perhaps cited most is Mark 11:26, "Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours." This is a scripture I read a lot when I'm praying for something. Meditating on this one day, I began thinking about all those answers to prayer that people have received but they just haven't believed it. Jesus is saying believe you have received it. He wouldn't ask us to believe something that isn't true, so I figure that when we ask for something, we receive it, but we may not know it. Now, I know that some of you might be thinking, "this sounds like that 'prosperity gospel' thing". Well, you can call it that if you like, but I'm going on what Jesus is saying here, and if I'm interpreting it incorrectly, then please feel free to leave a comment.
So, not long after praying for our new home, I began believing that I had received it. I started thanking God for it, but kept on praying that God would 'bring it in' as it were, that is, that I would see it and we'd move into it.
Now I also think a lot about hope. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for; it is even (to cite Terry Virgo in most recent blog entry) the 'substance of things hoped for' (NKJV). So, what was it that I was hoping for? Well, I told God what I would like. Not arrogantly, but as Josie or Kess (our daughters) might tell me what they wanted, that is, like a child. A detached house, offroad parking, lots of room, a big garden. I pictured in my mind what I wanted, and I thanked God for it; for the house that I had. I was just waiting to see it, and I prayed to see it. And I was sure of it; I was assured of it; I had the substance of it. According to Vine's, 'hupostasis' (assurance or substance') is about giving substance to. Hope seems to be partly about having a blueprint, and faith brings substance to that. It makes it real. You are so confident in it, not as though it is real, but because it is real.
In January this year, some friends told us of a house they had just vacated whilst their house was being redesigned (Guildford is a bit like that). It was even better than that I had hoped for (God is able to give us immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine), with a conservatory as well. But, it was also more than we could afford. I was a little disappointed, but hope doesn't disappoint. I said to God that I believed that he had answered our prayers, and I continued to thank Him for the house we had. But then, we made an offer on the rent, and praise God, this was accepted, and we moved in on 1 April.
I have been thinking about God answering prayer, and why he does this. He loves us, sure, but he more than this, God seeks his own glory and for us to glorify Him in everything. I prayed for God to glorify Himself through the house he gave to us, and I pray the same for the business I started up earlier this year. So answered prayer is not centred upon us but Him, that He may be glorified in everything.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Monday, 9 February 2009
Faith, works and sovereignty
My life group and I did a study a study last week that included Matthew 25: 31-46. Included in this passage is the following:
As we were reading this, I thought of the early church whose members would sell their belongings for those in need. How much their example exists in stunning contrast to how so quickly we offer to pray for people, offer a quick prayer, and then promptly forget about them! At least, that's what I have often done.
James tells us that faith without works is useless. Faith drives us to action. It might be prayer, but when we hear of a brother or sister in need, dare I say that our first action might not be to pray but to think about how we can meet that person's need? Do we always need to pray? Do we often use prayer as a bit of a 'cop out'?
I reckon that some of this behaviour and way of thinking draws from our (mis)understanding of the sovereignty of God. We think that God's in control (which he is), and in his sovereignty he will drive someone to give money, time, whatever, to the person in need. Sometimes he might, but perhaps this is often at the root of the cop out in our lives? 'After all, if God wants me to give to such and such, he'll tell me', we think. To depend upon the sovereignty of God in this way (which isn't to understand it correctly and depend upon it at all!) - to leave it up to him to work some kind of miracle - seems to relegate the abundant teaching and examples that are set in the New and Old Testament about how the people of God are to meet the needs of each other. And what a motivation the above passage gives us! When I do something for my brother or sister, then I'm doing it for Christ. Wow! But also, how different might church be different if we thought and acted like this?
25:35 For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 25:36 I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 25:37 Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 25:38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or naked and clothe you? 25:39 When did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ 25:40 And the king will answer them, ‘I tell you the truth, just as you did it for one of the least of these brothers or sisters of mine, you did it for me.’
As we were reading this, I thought of the early church whose members would sell their belongings for those in need. How much their example exists in stunning contrast to how so quickly we offer to pray for people, offer a quick prayer, and then promptly forget about them! At least, that's what I have often done.
James tells us that faith without works is useless. Faith drives us to action. It might be prayer, but when we hear of a brother or sister in need, dare I say that our first action might not be to pray but to think about how we can meet that person's need? Do we always need to pray? Do we often use prayer as a bit of a 'cop out'?
I reckon that some of this behaviour and way of thinking draws from our (mis)understanding of the sovereignty of God. We think that God's in control (which he is), and in his sovereignty he will drive someone to give money, time, whatever, to the person in need. Sometimes he might, but perhaps this is often at the root of the cop out in our lives? 'After all, if God wants me to give to such and such, he'll tell me', we think. To depend upon the sovereignty of God in this way (which isn't to understand it correctly and depend upon it at all!) - to leave it up to him to work some kind of miracle - seems to relegate the abundant teaching and examples that are set in the New and Old Testament about how the people of God are to meet the needs of each other. And what a motivation the above passage gives us! When I do something for my brother or sister, then I'm doing it for Christ. Wow! But also, how different might church be different if we thought and acted like this?
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
On suffering
*Apologies in advance to people in my Life Group - you're probably tired of me banging on about this:)*
We are 'doing' a three week series at our church on the theme of suffering. A significant problem I have is that I'm not sure what 'suffering' is. Do I suffer? Am I suffering right now? It seems to me that much of what we might consider to be suffering is actually the consequence of interpretation. One person's suffering is another person's mild discomfort. What I perceive to be something I 'suffer' someone else might perceive as just an occurrence.
An example would be the house which we rent. It has no central heating, no shower, a kitchen and bathroom that are at least thirty years old, a bath that is even older, carpets that are wearing pretty thin, and a bathroom that is on the ground floor right at the back of the house, behind the kitchen. It has no double glazing, and Delia mops the upstairs windows of condensation every morning. The house is also small, although I am grateful for a separate dining room that leads off our very small kitchen space. What seems to make this more bitter is that the owners are Christians and, moreover, clergy (should I expect more of a member of the clergy than I would other Christians? I'm not sure).
Most days I am faced with how 'unusual' we are among our peers. We live in the middle of Guildford, and most of our peers are professionals (there seems to be a remarkable number of solicitors and accountants living here). We're pretty middle class in terms of our education and culture, and so there is a highly obvious and jarring disjuncture between how people initially think of us and what they then find out about us in terms of where and how we live.
We would love to find another house, but renting in Guildford is hugely expensive. Our house is (unsurprisingly!) comparatively cheap. A similar house along our road would rent for about £1,100 per month at a guess. A larger home than ours with (gasp!) central heating and a shower would be in the region of £1,300 per month. Simply, we can not afford this.
A friend a couple of days ago told us about a chap who wanted to rent out his four bedroom house with conservatory, central heating and shower(!) for a reasonable rent. He has a 'social conscience', and is a Christian, she told us, and so might be amenable to radically reducing the rent. It's a lovely house. I'd love to live in it, and Delia would even more so. Thus, along we went yesterday, and, indeed, it is lovely, and instead of charging the full market cost, we could possibly have it for around £1,300.
But we can't afford that. And so, for now, here we live. Delia and I have been praying for somewhere else to live, for around three years now. I believe I have received it too (Mark 11:24). I have this semi-detached house, which is painted white with around four bedrooms (one for my office as I work from home). It has its own drive way as well (and a shower and central heating). In fact, it looks remarkably like the house we saw yesterday.
So, I have been thinking for a while now, do we suffer because of the house we live in? On the one hand, I am so grateful for somewhere to live and that this somewhere is liveable. I often remind myself and think of people who are 'less fortunate' than ourselves. There are people even in Guildford who are homeless. And I think of DR Congo, of Gaza, of Darfur. So, I am comparatively and richly blessed, and most days I thank God for what we have.
But also, day to day life has its challenges living here. I have another 'interpretation' - I don't like having a daily wash down in the bath, I don't enjoy waking in the cold and then going round the house switching on the (expensive) electrical heaters for a couple of hours (at the most). I don't enjoy feeling like a rat in cramped space. (There is a definite correlation between familial disharmony and space. For example when my brother in law and his family of six (in total) moved from a cottage into a large farmhouse, they noticed a rapid decline in 'disagreements', bickering and so on.)
So, do I suffer? Clearly, not very much when compared to people who don't have a home or who are living six to a room. But also, I and my family clearly do, just in different ways and to a different degree. And we have hope, and we have peace. Hope deferred makes the heart grow sick. I have the hope of somewhere else to live. I sincerely believe this, I just don't know when I'll see it. But also, and more overwhelmingly, I have the hope of heaven. My family is here only for a short while. This discomfort won't last long.
So, perhaps we all suffer, and if heaven is the standard, then anything this side of it must involve some form of suffering. Understood like this, perhaps suffering can be defined as 'lack' - anything that falls short of perfection. Suffering is life and parts thereof that fall short of how life should be, of what for which we were made.
Anyway, I have to go. Delia will be home soon, and, as a treat, I'm going to turn the heater on downstairs.
We are 'doing' a three week series at our church on the theme of suffering. A significant problem I have is that I'm not sure what 'suffering' is. Do I suffer? Am I suffering right now? It seems to me that much of what we might consider to be suffering is actually the consequence of interpretation. One person's suffering is another person's mild discomfort. What I perceive to be something I 'suffer' someone else might perceive as just an occurrence.
An example would be the house which we rent. It has no central heating, no shower, a kitchen and bathroom that are at least thirty years old, a bath that is even older, carpets that are wearing pretty thin, and a bathroom that is on the ground floor right at the back of the house, behind the kitchen. It has no double glazing, and Delia mops the upstairs windows of condensation every morning. The house is also small, although I am grateful for a separate dining room that leads off our very small kitchen space. What seems to make this more bitter is that the owners are Christians and, moreover, clergy (should I expect more of a member of the clergy than I would other Christians? I'm not sure).
Most days I am faced with how 'unusual' we are among our peers. We live in the middle of Guildford, and most of our peers are professionals (there seems to be a remarkable number of solicitors and accountants living here). We're pretty middle class in terms of our education and culture, and so there is a highly obvious and jarring disjuncture between how people initially think of us and what they then find out about us in terms of where and how we live.
We would love to find another house, but renting in Guildford is hugely expensive. Our house is (unsurprisingly!) comparatively cheap. A similar house along our road would rent for about £1,100 per month at a guess. A larger home than ours with (gasp!) central heating and a shower would be in the region of £1,300 per month. Simply, we can not afford this.
A friend a couple of days ago told us about a chap who wanted to rent out his four bedroom house with conservatory, central heating and shower(!) for a reasonable rent. He has a 'social conscience', and is a Christian, she told us, and so might be amenable to radically reducing the rent. It's a lovely house. I'd love to live in it, and Delia would even more so. Thus, along we went yesterday, and, indeed, it is lovely, and instead of charging the full market cost, we could possibly have it for around £1,300.
But we can't afford that. And so, for now, here we live. Delia and I have been praying for somewhere else to live, for around three years now. I believe I have received it too (Mark 11:24). I have this semi-detached house, which is painted white with around four bedrooms (one for my office as I work from home). It has its own drive way as well (and a shower and central heating). In fact, it looks remarkably like the house we saw yesterday.
So, I have been thinking for a while now, do we suffer because of the house we live in? On the one hand, I am so grateful for somewhere to live and that this somewhere is liveable. I often remind myself and think of people who are 'less fortunate' than ourselves. There are people even in Guildford who are homeless. And I think of DR Congo, of Gaza, of Darfur. So, I am comparatively and richly blessed, and most days I thank God for what we have.
But also, day to day life has its challenges living here. I have another 'interpretation' - I don't like having a daily wash down in the bath, I don't enjoy waking in the cold and then going round the house switching on the (expensive) electrical heaters for a couple of hours (at the most). I don't enjoy feeling like a rat in cramped space. (There is a definite correlation between familial disharmony and space. For example when my brother in law and his family of six (in total) moved from a cottage into a large farmhouse, they noticed a rapid decline in 'disagreements', bickering and so on.)
So, do I suffer? Clearly, not very much when compared to people who don't have a home or who are living six to a room. But also, I and my family clearly do, just in different ways and to a different degree. And we have hope, and we have peace. Hope deferred makes the heart grow sick. I have the hope of somewhere else to live. I sincerely believe this, I just don't know when I'll see it. But also, and more overwhelmingly, I have the hope of heaven. My family is here only for a short while. This discomfort won't last long.
So, perhaps we all suffer, and if heaven is the standard, then anything this side of it must involve some form of suffering. Understood like this, perhaps suffering can be defined as 'lack' - anything that falls short of perfection. Suffering is life and parts thereof that fall short of how life should be, of what for which we were made.
Anyway, I have to go. Delia will be home soon, and, as a treat, I'm going to turn the heater on downstairs.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
A response to Adrian Warnock
Adrian Warnock recently blogged this article at http://tinyurl.com/8trpf8. Below is my brief response to this, which is basically a summarised re-run of what I have said before.
Given many evangelical Christian writers' desire to wrestle with scripture and account for the world in which we live, I am always surprised with some of the poor thinking we give to epistemology. Adrian's blog entry is short and so perhaps his actual views are more nuanced, however it can be used as a springboard for a 'conversation' to which I freely invite anyone to contribute here.
Adrian appeals to science as some kind of proof that objective truth exists. This is problematic on two counts. Firstly, science is strewn with theories, accounts and events which demonstrate that 'truth' is always being either 'improved' upon, undermined, argued over, uncertain or fought over. Popper's notion of falsification and Kuhn's notion of paradigms demonstrate this, as do debates over particle physics, quantum theory and a grand theory of everything. Indeed, most scientists stress the notion of theory over scientific 'fact', and that theory can and should be improved upon.
Secondly, it is problematic because to appeal to an objective truth, that is to say, 'out there', seems to undermine the sovereignty of God with reference to truth. To appeal to an objective truth is to appeal to something outside of God. If something is good, then it is because God defines it as such (vis the creation), if something is holy, it is because God defines it as such. God identifies things for us by speaking for them. God defines the world for us. Science is not a locus of truth; God is truth.
This takes us to Adrian's position regarding the Bible. The Bible is the word of God. I believe this. However, I am uncertain at what 'point' the Bible is God's word. I have argued before that developments in translation and texts are emblematic of how languages are themselves constructions. Arguments and debates over writers' intentions, and the nuances and particularities of languages in relation to societies demonstrate this. All scripture is God breathed, but it appears to us in language that by its very 'nature' has to be limited. This is one reason we need the Spirit; Jesus has not left us alone. And, as I have said before, what should drive us to worship and adoration is that God allows us to use language, limited as it is, to describe Him, communicate with Him and worship Him at all. How can the finite and imperfect credibly describe the infinite and perfect? Praise God that He allows us to do this, and that we have all of eternity to describe Him and worship Him - we require eternity to do so!
Given many evangelical Christian writers' desire to wrestle with scripture and account for the world in which we live, I am always surprised with some of the poor thinking we give to epistemology. Adrian's blog entry is short and so perhaps his actual views are more nuanced, however it can be used as a springboard for a 'conversation' to which I freely invite anyone to contribute here.
Adrian appeals to science as some kind of proof that objective truth exists. This is problematic on two counts. Firstly, science is strewn with theories, accounts and events which demonstrate that 'truth' is always being either 'improved' upon, undermined, argued over, uncertain or fought over. Popper's notion of falsification and Kuhn's notion of paradigms demonstrate this, as do debates over particle physics, quantum theory and a grand theory of everything. Indeed, most scientists stress the notion of theory over scientific 'fact', and that theory can and should be improved upon.
Secondly, it is problematic because to appeal to an objective truth, that is to say, 'out there', seems to undermine the sovereignty of God with reference to truth. To appeal to an objective truth is to appeal to something outside of God. If something is good, then it is because God defines it as such (vis the creation), if something is holy, it is because God defines it as such. God identifies things for us by speaking for them. God defines the world for us. Science is not a locus of truth; God is truth.
This takes us to Adrian's position regarding the Bible. The Bible is the word of God. I believe this. However, I am uncertain at what 'point' the Bible is God's word. I have argued before that developments in translation and texts are emblematic of how languages are themselves constructions. Arguments and debates over writers' intentions, and the nuances and particularities of languages in relation to societies demonstrate this. All scripture is God breathed, but it appears to us in language that by its very 'nature' has to be limited. This is one reason we need the Spirit; Jesus has not left us alone. And, as I have said before, what should drive us to worship and adoration is that God allows us to use language, limited as it is, to describe Him, communicate with Him and worship Him at all. How can the finite and imperfect credibly describe the infinite and perfect? Praise God that He allows us to do this, and that we have all of eternity to describe Him and worship Him - we require eternity to do so!
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Carols, Christmas and religion
I heard on Radio 4 a couple of days ago that despite the apparent decline in regular 'church' attendance here in the UK, attendance at carol services leading up to Christmas this year shows an overall increase over last year. For example, St Albans' Cathedral has put on six extra carol services.
It would be easy to conclude that this increased attendance reflects a growth in interest in what Christmas is about. Although this may be the case, I would suggest that this is due more to a growth in a religion is an 'add-on' to one's life, where religion can be partly defined as a set of rules and regulations to which someone expresses some form of commitment on one's own terms. It is something that we 'do', rather than something God does. In this sense, attendance at a Carol service can be indicative of an attempt to continue to organise and structure one's own life, partly by tryingto conform to some external rules and regulations, and so facilitate one's life - to make it easier to manage and practice.
It would be easy to conclude that this increased attendance reflects a growth in interest in what Christmas is about. Although this may be the case, I would suggest that this is due more to a growth in a religion is an 'add-on' to one's life, where religion can be partly defined as a set of rules and regulations to which someone expresses some form of commitment on one's own terms. It is something that we 'do', rather than something God does. In this sense, attendance at a Carol service can be indicative of an attempt to continue to organise and structure one's own life, partly by tryingto conform to some external rules and regulations, and so facilitate one's life - to make it easier to manage and practice.
Monday, 22 December 2008
'Going to Church'
I was a bit troubled by Mark Driscoll's most recent blog entry about the lowest attendance at Mars Hill Church, Seattle 'in years (http://tinyurl.com/8nv8o2). Apparently because a lot of people don't go to a Sunday morning meeting because of a lot of snow, we can see the difference between those who see Church as 'a job' and those who see it as a 'calling'. Although I understand where he is coming from, I would rather take a more indirect approach to encouraging those who did not attend to think about why they did not attend, and then to draw a difference between the two. But secondly, I think it also raises questions about the nature of 'Church' and meetings, and the value we place upon them. A Sunday morning meeting of 5,000 people seems to me to be primarily for worship together and for teaching. Though important, I would be more concerned if people didn't attend their mid week cell/community (call them what you will) meetings. Perhaps it is at these 'meetings' (particularly the latter) where 'Church' is (or should be) made most evident. So, Mark, although I think you have a point, a greater point may be derived from answers to the question: 'how many people attended your mid week group this week?'
Friday, 19 December 2008
The birth and death of Jesus
I have been thinking about the two most profound events in history.
Although the gospels don't go into huge detail about where and how in fact Jesus was born, we know from Luke that Mary placed Jesus in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn. Perhaps this was on the ground floor of a house (similar to some rural areas of eastern Europe), because we read in Matthew that the Magi found Jesus in a house.
So, was Jesus born in a stable? I'm not sure we know. But it is evident that it wasn't a clean, hygenic birth. A manger is a trough from which animals eat. And where there are animals, there is the horrid smell and presence of shit and piss. There would have been blood too - not only because of the after-birth but probably also because of his mother's physical age and that Jesus was her first child. Ponder this with the revelation that God was born into it and we don't know what to say for we can not sufficiently imagine the birth of God, nor what it implies.
Thinking about the birth of Jesus seems to lead automatically to thinking about his death. Hanging on a cross, most probably naked. Very visible. On display for earth, hell and heaven to see. Then I think about what happened when he died. The bowels of bodies relax when they die, and so they defecate. Is it any wonder that the cross is such foolishness to those who are perishing? Yet to us, this person who is both God and man is the very wisdom of God, and we have eternity to think about it and worship him for it.
So, I ponder God on a cross, but like his birth, I can not really imagine it to the degree it demands. And right now, all this drives me to think about how much the world should be in awe of this thing called 'Christmas', and thereby to think about the depth of his grace because we are not.
Although the gospels don't go into huge detail about where and how in fact Jesus was born, we know from Luke that Mary placed Jesus in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn. Perhaps this was on the ground floor of a house (similar to some rural areas of eastern Europe), because we read in Matthew that the Magi found Jesus in a house.
So, was Jesus born in a stable? I'm not sure we know. But it is evident that it wasn't a clean, hygenic birth. A manger is a trough from which animals eat. And where there are animals, there is the horrid smell and presence of shit and piss. There would have been blood too - not only because of the after-birth but probably also because of his mother's physical age and that Jesus was her first child. Ponder this with the revelation that God was born into it and we don't know what to say for we can not sufficiently imagine the birth of God, nor what it implies.
Thinking about the birth of Jesus seems to lead automatically to thinking about his death. Hanging on a cross, most probably naked. Very visible. On display for earth, hell and heaven to see. Then I think about what happened when he died. The bowels of bodies relax when they die, and so they defecate. Is it any wonder that the cross is such foolishness to those who are perishing? Yet to us, this person who is both God and man is the very wisdom of God, and we have eternity to think about it and worship him for it.
So, I ponder God on a cross, but like his birth, I can not really imagine it to the degree it demands. And right now, all this drives me to think about how much the world should be in awe of this thing called 'Christmas', and thereby to think about the depth of his grace because we are not.
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