The Village Library

A local village was home to famous person who was known for lots of good works. 

Over time, the villagers decided to create a library of works to celebrate this person and their relationship with the village. They asked respected artists, poets, story tellers, historians etc. to put together works that would tell the story of this person and their relationship with the village. 

All works were carefully scrutinised by a committee, who ensured that the works all accurately reflected this person and/or their relationship with the village, while respecting the creative freedoms to explore the relationship in different ways. 

People in the village insisted that they felt the spirit of that person, even though they weren't physically there anymore. Those who participated in the project were all inspired by this spirit and felt a deep connection. 

For example, one artist chose to write a love story, where they depicted this person as a handsome young man, singing praise and adoration over his fiancée. 

Another story teller chose to depict a battle, where the person protected the village from harm, and repelled the invaders. 

A local historian decided to tell a story about this person's birth, where they were born, who attended, what it was like to be the parents, and so on. 

These collected works were put together in the middle of the village in a magnificent library, for all the world to see and enjoy.

They tell a story of one person and their relationship with the village, but invite us all to consider our own relationship with this person, including the challenge of thinking our village might be bigger than we think.

That's how I see the Bible. Who wrote the Bible? The story tellers, the historians, the poets. 

Who inspired the Bible? The Spirit of God. 

What does the Bible tell us? A million stories that point to Jesus Christ and his love for all creation.

Language and Metaphor, Part 3 (Salvation and Repentance)

PART 3 – Salvation and Repentance

In Steve Chalkes’s book The Lost Message of Jesus, he tells of the autobiography of the Jewish historian, aristocrat and young roman officer Flavius Josephus.  He was on a mission to quell a revolt of Judean revolutionaries.  He tells of his meeting with the head of this band of rebels and he uses the expression “repent and believe in me.” (If you want to read more about this – do an online search for 'Josephus repent and believe in me').

In my NIV 1st Century study Bible notes (Kent Dobson) there is a fascinating note in the story of Paul bringing his jailor to faith in Acts 16.  The Roman Emperors promised “salvation” by which they meant the pax romana (the Roman peace and rule).

When Paul talks of the Armour of Faith in Ephesians 6, it is believed he was writing from prison in Rome.  Paul will have been staring at roman soldiers in full armour on a daily basis.

While many read Ephesians 6 as a call to spiritual warfare, which on one level it is, I think Paul is systematically UNDRESSING the roman soldier.  We are replacing the warlike pieces of armour with spiritual aspects – truth, righteousness, spiritual readiness, knowledge of God’s peace.  Likewise, when Paul and Jesus talk of salvation, they are borrowing concepts from the (Roman empire) culture around to show a different way.

What do these points mean to me?  The life of a Christian is being contrasted to culturally relevant concepts of the day (just as the Old Testament uses culturally relevant concepts of those days).  The metaphor and analogy, rich in meaning and application, can be completely lost when we turn them into limited literal concepts (like someone misunderstanding the metaphor: butter wouldn’t melt, which is a statement about perceived innocence, and nothing to do with dairy products). 

In today’s 21st Century, at least in our secular Western world, we don’t usually talk about salvation by living under a political regime.  We don’t tell criminals to repent and follow another way.   Only in religious circles do we really talk about “sinners” (in fact, sinful is now used as a positive word for fun in many contemporary circles).  Those are known as religious concepts.

And yet, our theology has engraved these words in what feels like tablets of stone.  Repent, bow the knee to Christ, receive salvation... from hell (not from a life on a rubbish dump outside of a community of safety and love).  I can fully comprehend why atheism is on the rise when they read concepts of God’s wrath, a need to repent to achieve salvation and the threat of an eternity in hell.  These concepts might have meant a world of difference to their original audiences, but today they speak a foreign language and alienate listeners.

Perhaps our role is that of Paul in the temple of Athens, in Acts 17 when he sees the altar to An Unknown God.  Paul made that God known to the people around, but in terms that made sense to them.   He used their own poets to connect their stories to his.  Perhaps we need to rediscover the skill of Paul and the art of Jesus, of making God’s love known in this world, with its language, its metaphor and its needs?  I would argue that some concepts of sin, repentance, salvation and hell do little to help this love be known.   Rather than reintroduce Roman Empire concepts, might our challenge be to find new metaphors for the gospel?  As John says (John 3:17) Jesus did not come to condemn this world but to save it through him.

How to we share this amazing message that God loves all creation and has defeated death, and that nothing can separate us from his love, in the 21st Century?

You can read Part 1 (Fear of God) here: https://musingmonk.blogspot.com/2020/05/language-and-metaphor-part-1-fear-of-god.html

You can read Part 2 (Hell and Gates of Hell) here: https://musingmonk.blogspot.com/2020/05/language-and-metaphor-part-2-hell-and.html

Language and Metaphor, Part 2 (Hell and the Gates of Hell)

This is the second part in my 3 part musings on Language and Metaphor in the Bible.

PART 2 – Hell and the Gates of Hell

Jesus and Paul were both experts at using culturally relevant metaphor to make a deeper point.  For example, many believe that when Jesus said it was easier for a camel to enter the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom Heaven, that he was talking of a narrow gate in the city walls where camels bearing many riches would not be able to pass – that to enter that gate they needed to strip themselves of their over-abundance.  This makes a lot of sense, as it seems unlikely Jesus is actually talking about the impossibility of someone with wealth going to Heaven.  It seems much more likely he is saying that worries of wealth are heavy burdens that prevent us from experiencing the “shalom” of God.

As Jesus spoke of Gehenna (unhelpfully translated as “hell” in many translations), the great stinking, burning rubbish dump outside the city walls, once a site of child sacrifices to Molech and place where wild dogs would fight over scraps of food and gnash their teeth at each other, his listeners would have had no doubt that he was describing a filthy place that no-one wanted to live in.  This was outside the city wall – a place of safety, community and belonging.  He wasn't talking about Dante's hell, an image that came centuries later, but has infiltrated our imaginations.

The scandal of Jesus was him saying “It is better for you to enter life maimed than with two hands to go into hell (Gehenna), where the fire never goes out.”   Why is this a scandal?  The religious view of the day was that deformity and illness were some kind of punishment from God.  Who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born this way?  People with illness and deformity were excluded, hence the scandal of Jesus the Rabbi dining with sinners, touching the unclean, healing crippled hands on the Sabbath and declaring a paralysed man’s sins forgiven in front of outraged Pharisees.  And here, Jesus proclaims that the maimed and deformed can find life WITH their physical deformity and that those who are “whole” might not live full lives in the Kingdom of God’s “shalom” but find themselves living on the smouldering rubbish dump outside those city walls.

Another fascinating detail is within the story of turning over the temple tables.  If we look at Matthew 21:14, we see a tiny, overlooked verse: “The blind and lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them.”  Access to the temple was highly regulated.  Outsiders, women, priests.  All had limits to their access.  All had to be ritually purified.  The money changers were selling the required sacrifices to allow people to be good enough to approach.  In the chaos of Jesus turning over the tables, look who approaches him... the outcasts.  Right into the temple itself.  And to whom is this letter being written?  By Matthew, the former Jewish tax collector, to a mostly Jewish audience.  A detail that Mark and Luke omit, whereas Matthew knew the scandal his Jewish audience would have noticed – Jesus, welcoming blind and lame into the temple itself!

And yet today, the 21st Century reader will read this passage and hear this to be about destinations - Heaven and Hell, and self punishment and even mutilation to avoid eternal punishment.  Once more, are we missing huge significance of the teachings of Jesus by not entering into the 1st Century world of his listeners?

I once heard a great talk about the Gates of Hell when Jesus was speaking to Peter in Caesarea Philippi (Matthew 16: 13-18).  In that location was a temple of Pan with a cave known as Pan’s Grotto – which pagans believed led to the underworld.  As Jesus was in that area, he tells Peter that the gates of hades will not overcome his church.  Another metaphor, based on the very real, known and significant cave in that region that would have been considered a gateway to hades by the pagans.

Again, how much do we miss, mistranslate and misunderstand when we fail to see the world in which the scriptures were written?  How much of our theology of God is built on culturally sensitive concepts and metaphor?

For me, this is a big warning to take care when I try to fathom the unfathomable God of love, reading God-breathed scripture.

You can read Part 1 (Fear of God) here: https://musingmonk.blogspot.com/2020/05/language-and-metaphor-part-1-fear-of-god.html

You can read Part 3 (Salvation and Repentance) here: https://musingmonk.blogspot.com/2020/05/language-and-metaphor-part-3-salvation.html

Language and Metaphor, Part 1 (Fear of God)

I wanted to share some musings about language and metaphor in the Bible, to show how I have wrestled with concepts such as Fearing God, Hell/Gates of Hell, Salvation and Repentance.

We all approach things wearing different lenses, which is why community exploration of topics can be so rich and rewarding. I’m not an academic theologian, but rather approach things from my own training in both psychology and language (including translation).

I have broken this into 3 parts: Fear of God; Hell/Gates of Hell; and Repentance/Salvation.

PART 1 – Fear of God

I became a Christian in the mid 1990s. When I made the decision to follow Christ, I had an insatiable desire to study the Bible and learn more about God and my faith. I joined Bible study groups, bought a study Bible and spent long hours reading and praying.

However, one concept that I found difficult to get my head around was the regular use of “the fear of the Lord” such as in Proverbs 1:7 (“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction”).

My relationship with Jesus held no fear. I felt love, acceptance, forgiveness, gentleness and encouragement. These much older words told me I had to fear this same God.

My way of reconciling this at the time was to think this must be a nuance in translation. Perhaps “fear” just meant having respect for, in the way a Victorian-era child might have fear of their father – this didn’t mean the father didn’t love them, only that the father was deserving of awe and respect. I began to think of different aspects of God and perhaps I just felt more comfortable with the “son” aspect of the trinity?

Yesterday I was talking with an overseas friend, and I used the expression “butter wouldn’t melt.”  She had no idea what I was talking about.  We both spoke English, but this metaphor meant nothing to her. While I was saying that a picture I had seen suggested that on the outside, the person gave the impression of child-like innocence, there was an insinuation there might be some mischief behind the eyes. My friend missed all this, having never heard the expression.

Imagine if I were viewed as a deeply spiritual man, and had written this down, and 2000 years later it was translated into whatever language they will speak in Greece? Would people be debating the spirituality of butter, having lost my entire meaning out of context?

A couple of years ago, I stumbled across the words “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge” once again. However, my faith had “journeyed” and I had a somewhat different approach to the Bible than in my early days as a Christian. I had been reflecting on the progressive nature of much of the Old Testament (I can’t recommend Rob Bell’s book “What is the Bible?” highly enough!) and how Abraham’s encounter with God shifted from the understanding of capricious, unpredictable, easily angered gods of the day (think Baal, Molech, all the Egyptian gods) that needed appeasing, to a God of covenant who wanted relationship with people.

I realised that as a translator, I had learned to take great care when reading a phrase to consider what words I instinctively emphasised.  I was reading this as: the FEAR of the Lord.  My 21st Century mind focused on the emotion and the verb ‘to fear’.  However, in that ancient world, people didn’t need to be told to fear God. They already feared gods, left right and centre. Solomon here is telling them not ‘to fear’, but to focus on The Lord. Instead, I re-read the verse with the following emphasis – “The fear of THE LORD (not Baal, Molech or any other god) is the beginning of knowledge.”

I now see that this verse as not commanding us to fear God, but as actually yet another way of describing the greatest commandment – love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength.  Putting our fear in God is about putting all our emotional world, our hopes, dreams, anxieties etc. into the Lord.

And in that moment, I saw Jesus in the Old Testament once again...

You can read Part 2 (Hell and Gates of Hell) here: https://musingmonk.blogspot.com/2020/05/language-and-metaphor-part-2-hell-and.html

You can read Part 3 (Salvation and Repentance) here: https://musingmonk.blogspot.com/2020/05/language-and-metaphor-part-3-salvation.html

Jesus and Healing

Musing for the day...


Our 21st century minds read many of the healing accounts of Jesus and focus quite naturally on the overcoming health-related suffering aspects. This is the love and power of God made manifest.


However, we are probably missing a lot of the social exclusion aspects of the first century. Even with some head knowledge of this, we probably struggle to fully appreciate it as a lived experience.


In the famous story of the paralyzed man being brought to Jesus through a hole in the roof, Jesus responded in an unusual way.


"When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralysed man, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.’" (Mark 2:5).


In fact, it looked like Jesus wasn't even going to heal the man, until he became aware of the grumbling of the Pharisees, at which point he carried out the healing to demonstrate he had the power to declare his sins forgiven.


This is a very odd story if you approach it from a (penal substitution) way of seeing the Good News being that if you repent of your sins and accept the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross then you will have eternal life. For starters, there is no indication that this man repented of anything. Secondly, Jesus had not yet died or been resurrected - therefore how could this man put his faith in the cross?


A much better reading of this passage to my mind, is that Jesus was not preaching about avoiding hell if people repent, but rather he was declaring a message of inclusion - God's love is for ALL. In those days, any illness or disability was considered grounds for exclusion, or attributed to sin. People who were ritually unclean were not welcome, certainly not allowed to be touched or to share a table with a Rabbi - hence the shock of people who saw "sinners" eating with Jesus, the shame of the woman with bleeding touching Jesus, or Peter eating with gentiles. When Jesus saw the faithfulness of the friends (remember, the concept of faith and faithfulness is not a cognitive belief in something, but a living out faithfully to something) he was declaring that this man was living in God's Kingdom, evidenced by the love of the friends. While the Pharisees were judging people as unclean and putting barriers up between them and God, these friends were doing the exact opposite. They were, quite literally, taking their friend into the very presence of God. Jesus saw his message lived out in this stunning example of faith, love and inclusion.


Coming back to the healing aspect - it is an amazing story of inclusion, and Jesus proclaiming that the faithfulnnes of his friends is "Kingdom living". The way the story is told, as I mention above, it looks like he was almost not going to even do the healing, had he not heard the grumbling Pharisees. The physical disablity was not what Jesus saw when he looked at the man.


In today's world, many are perplexed why God appears not to heal/answer all prayers (although many point to times God DID appear to answer their prayers also).


However, my musing of the day - might Jesus' lifetime ministry have primarily been one of inclusion? In a first century culture where illness resulted in exclusion and blame (assumption of sin), might the healing of physical illness have been the method Jesus used to bring people healing from their exclusion (almost all the healings were of people likely to be considered unclean, or of outsiders), rather than the purpose - just something to make people's lives more comfortable or less painful? Jesus spent a lot of time outside of the city (Jerusalem) precisely where the marginilised would be. He wasn't a travelling doctor. He was a proclaimer that God's Kingdom was for all.


This has interesting implications for Christianity today. Rather than focusing, as some churches or ministries appear to, on miraculous healings, might we be entirely missing the "healing of exclusion"? There is a lot of research that shows the health benefits of belonging, relationships, friendship, community etc. Our medical advances have transformed health care. Many great advances in society have stemmed from Christianity (but let's acknowledge the amazing contributions of all types of people, regardless of culture or belief). Do we need to think of all physical healing as miraculous? Or perhaps a better way of putting it, might all our medical advances be miracles in themselves to give thanks for?  However... how are we doing at love and inclusion?


In Matthew 18:8-9, Jesus said it's better to find life, despite being crippled and maimed, than to have physical well-being but to be discarded on the rubbish dump that is Gehenna, outside the city walls. Perhaps we need to focus more on this gospel of inclusion to see genuine healing in our world.


Notes on Matthew 18:8-9: many read this as Jesus saying it's better to gouge out something that causes you to sin, so that you can enter Heaven maimed than be sent to hell whole. However, this is a very different way of understanding what he was likely meaning. Jesus said it is better to enter "life" (not a future Heaven) than be thrown into the fire of Gehenna, which was the burning rubbish dump outside the walls of Jerusalem. John the Baptist proclaimed the Kingdom of Heaven being near. Jesus said it would be in our midst. I think it is much more likely that Jesus is saying it is better to be included (in the loving Kingdom that he was proclaiming) even if we were maimed or crippled, than to be physically healthy but excluded and cast aside - often as a result of our own sinful decisions, greed and unloving actions that destroy the loving community Jesus calls us to build with him.


This is a turning upside down of the beliefs of the day that physcial disability was a sign of sin and therefore the person needed exluded. Jesus challenged this head on, saying those people could find true life despite it, thus breaking the idea that illness was somehow linked to sin. A total challenge to the theology of the day!


Readers of this blog will know my views on homosexuality. Where would Jesus be today at a Gay Pride march? On the sidelines with a placard saying "faggots will rot in hell" or amongst the religious and non-religious marchers declaring how wonderful it is to include all in our world and to celebrate human life? Does God exclude us because of our genetics, our appearance, our orientation, our beliefs, telling us that only after repentance will he welcome us? Or does God celebrate us as created beings, longing for us to be welcomed in his loving arms, and calling us to share that all-inclusive love with all? I know which God I love...

Finding meaning in the Cross and Resurrection

When an artist creates a painting, there is a deep, multi-layered expression.  When people look at art, we all find our own meaning in it.  The idea of looking for the "truth" or correct interpretation is an odd concept.

Of course, the artist might have been trying to express something, but will find joy in people connecting their own lives to his or her work.

In our scientific reductionist western world, we can often reduce things to a single meaning. Is love a beating heart, a well of emotion, a willing sacrifice, a feeling of desire, a flow of chemicals to certain parts of the brain... or might it be all the above?  Why must we always try to reduce things to only one meaning?

When I put bird food in my garden feeder, if people came to examine the action and debate what the meaning of my action was, what might they say?

He did it because he cares about vulnerable creatures, one will say.

No, he is bored and needed something to occupy his time, another will suggest.

Both wrong, says a third.  He is easing his guilt at the damage mankind has done to natural resources.

A fourth might suggest the answer is clear.  He finds a peace from watching nature from the comfort of his window.  He is luring nature towards himself.

And what of my children?  What will they learn about me as a father?  One might suggest this shows that a father with power and resources must care and provide for those who are weak, and motivate her to do likewise.  Another might say it reflects my gentle spirit and be reminded of my care for her.

These are very different ways of looking at the same event, while drawing different meanings from it.  The truth is multifaceted, and of course, someone might draw an incorrect conclusion.  However, it's also possible for multiple "truths" to be contained in the same event.

I was reading up on different models of atonement, and found all 7 fascinating.  However, as I was reading, I sensed an internal panic rising.  I had to find the "correct" view.  Which was closest to the truth?  How should I explain this to my children, other believers or an enquiring non-believer?

Was it the Moral Influence theory?  Ransom to satan or God?  Christus Victor?  Satisfaction theory?  Penal substitution?  Governmental?  Scapegoat?

Each can find supporting scripture.  Each has an army of theologians and authors able and seemingly willing to argue their case.

I found myself wondering, did God want me to have a clear opinion?  Did I need to understand the complex theology of the Cross and resurrection?  No doubt some theologians would tell me yes, as a "correct" understanding of the death and resurrection of Christ will guide me to know how to live my life in the best way.

And yet, at times there can be a theological paralysis that does more harm than good.  Spending too much time studying something can reduce our pleasure of enjoying it.  I know God loves all creation.  I know Jesus taught us how to love.  I know the Bible has stories, poems, pastoral letters and historical events that help me reflect upon God and his relationship with people and with me.  I know Jesus died on a cross, free from guilt.  I know Jesus overcame death.  I know Jesus promised his Holy Spirit as our guide and counsellor.  I know Jesus gave a commandment of love and summarised the Law and Prophets with the greatest commandments.

While reading the different models of atonement, I began to see how people across the ages would connect with different models and draw something beautiful from each.

In the Moral Influence theory, I find inspiration in how I live today.  Too often in my faith, I have focused extensively on heaven as a future place, while neglecting God's Kingdom in our midst today.  The moral influence aspect of the life of Jesus and the consequent explosion of Christianity across the globe following the resurrection and by the subsequent work of the Holy Spirit fills me with hope and energy to be part of that story and to partner with God in my prayer life and Christian walk.

Within the Ransom Theory, I see a God who is willing to pay any price to rescue me from a life of pain and suffering - a life without God.  At times I need reminded that there is someone who loves me so powerfully that he is willing to put himself on the line for me.

In Christus Victor, I am rescued from my fear of death.  Christ has conquered death!  In following him, I know that there is nothing that can separate me from the love of God.  No sin and no death can keep me from God's love!

I am aware that in my own focus, I am drawn to models that emphasise the love of God over the justice of God.  This is what drew me to faith in the first place.  When I saw the love and acceptance in the lives of Christians, I knew this was a community I wanted to be a part of.

However, I am also aware that there is a father whose son was murdered in a gangland crime.  I know there is a mother whose daughter was raped and killed by an unrepentant paedophile.  I know there are victims of war criminals who escaped justice and died in the comfort of their own homes surrounded by wealth.  How do these people respond when we tell them God loves and accepts the murderer and rapist of their loved ones?  These voices demand justice.  They demand repentance.  And for those people, I can understand that they need to believe in a system of justice.  A price to be paid, a genuine repentance of sin.  In my desire to move away from any model of penal substitution or satisfaction theory that addresses the issue of sin, as it can paint an angry God of wrath demanding sacrifice, might I be robbing the grieving victim of a sense of justice?  What God turns a blind eye to their pain?   Perhaps models like the scapegoating theory of a non-violent substitution for our natural violence is something important for people to hear?

As she approaches the cross, she sees a reminder that God has suffered with her.

As he approaches the cross, he knows God will not ignore his oppression and injustice.

As she approaches the cross, she knows no sin or failure on her behalf can ever stand between her and her God.  She knows her slate has been wiped clean.

As he approaches the cross, he is reminded that death is not the end.

As I approach the cross, I am reminded of the loathing humanity can show when the force of love encounters the greed of power and control, but the resurrection reminds me that love wins.

What do you see when you approach the cross?  What hope do you find in the resurrection?

Perhaps, rather than obsessing about a single correct truth (and fighting amongst ourselves about who is right), we need to find our own meaning in a much bigger truth than we will never truly be able to grasp in its fullness.   For myself, this might mean sacrificing my hunger for a perfect understanding of that cross, on that cross, that I might be free to love with all my heart, soul, mind and strength in the light of the resurrection.

Perhaps, rather than convincing others my view is correct, I need to help people find their own meaning within it, while being willing to share mine, as we journey that Road to Emmaus together, making sense of what happened that first Easter.  Then together we might encounter the living God, however limited and imperfect our theology.

(A helpful overview of models of atonement: http://www.sdmorrison.org/7-theories-of-the-atonement-summarized/)

A Tale of Two Kingdoms

We are living in strange times.  As I type, my country is in partial lock-down.  The global pandemic of Covid-19 is affecting every life on this planet in some way.

This morning, as I took a breath, I was musing about the times we are in and the behaviour we see in people around us, and humanity's response in a time of global/universal crisis.

Firstly, I have to categorially state: I do not believe God has sent a virus to punish us.  I do not believe that if we paint the blood of a lamb on our doorposts that death will pass over our households protecting the faithful, and smiting those who reject God.  Why do I not believe this?  Clearly this illness is affecting all of humanity, regardless of faith and belief.  A virus doesn't discriminate by race, gender or religion.   Secondly, to understand God, I always look first at Jesus.  His ministry was one of healing and love.  He didn't walk around casting plagues on sinners.  He healed the leper, he cured the disease, he restored the spirit... he even raised the dead.  We see the attitude of God revealed in the life of Jesus.  I believe in a God who loves us all passionately, and I believe Jesus is a universal saviour.

Returning to my musings... the last few years has been very disconcerting.  Across the world, we are seeing shifts to extremism.  Far right governments and political parties are gaining power.  Nationalism is taking the place of internationalism.  Walls are being built and bridges are being burned.  Immigrants are being demonised.  Foreigners are being treated with suspicion and as outsiders.


Deuteronomy 24:10-15; 17-22

When you make a loan of any kind to your neighbor, do not go into their house to get what is offered to you as a pledge. Stay outside and let the neighbor to whom you are making the loan bring the pledge out to you.  If the neighbor is poor, do not go to sleep with their pledge in your possession.  Return their cloak by sunset so that your neighbor may sleep in it. Then they will thank you, and it will be regarded as a righteous act in the sight of the Lord your God.

Do not take advantage of a hired worker who is poor and needy, whether that worker is a fellow Israelite or a foreigner residing in one of your towns.  Pay them their wages each day before sunset, because they are poor and are counting on it. Otherwise they may cry to the Lord against you, and you will be guilty of sin.

Do not deprive the foreigner or the fatherless of justice, or take the cloak of the widow as a pledge.  Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you from there. That is why I command you to do this.

When you are harvesting in your field and you overlook a sheaf, do not go back to get it. Leave it for the foreigner, the fatherless and the widow, so that the Lord your God may bless you in all the work of your hands.  When you beat the olives from your trees, do not go over the branches a second time. Leave what remains for the foreigner, the fatherless and the widow.  When you harvest the grapes in your vineyard, do not go over the vines again. Leave what remains for the foreigner, the fatherless and the widow.  Remember that you were slaves in Egypt. That is why I command you to do this.

In these ancient words for an ancient people in ancient times, we see the heart of a God who cares about the vulnerable, the foreigner, the orphan and widow (those with no protection and security).

And when I contrast what I see in the news before the virus outbreak with what I see during it, the difference is huge.  We are now seeing humanity working together to care for the vulnerable.  We see people loving their neighbours.  We hear of communities coming together, people helping strangers, reaching out to the housebound.  A few months ago, the conservative and increasingly right wing UK government was judging people's value to our country based on their income level.  The talk was of points-based systems to judge the value of a human being to our society.  Thousands of carers and other low paid but hugely critical roles were being told they weren't wanted.  We want high earners to pay higher tax.  Those are the ones we want.  Bring in the bankers and throw out the cleaners.

Yet today, in the midst of our crisis, we now talk of key workers.  People are being protected and prioritised who would previously have failed to meet the "skilled workers" definition.  We are praising the cleaners, the child minders, the teachers, the hospital workers.  Our world has turned upside down, but in some ways, it has reverted to the right way up.  

While I do not believe God causes natural disasters, I do believe, like the famous painting of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel, that God reaches out to us and asks us to reach out to him.  And when we connect, we feel the compassion and love that God has for all humanity.   We feel the call to bring love and compassion, to heal and bring hope.  God asks us to partner with him as agents in his Kingdom to bring peace to this earth.    And God does not limit his power to those who worship him.  I believe God is working through the nurses, doctors, scientists, teachers, carers... every spark of human compassion for our neighbour comes from the image of God within each of us.   We are created beings, but we face a choice.

I can sit with the questions: Did God cause this?  Did he allow it?  Is it part of a greater plan?  I will let the theologians argue amongst themselves on that one.  Rather, I can choose to answer a different question:  What does God want me to do about it?

Which Kingdom do we want?  A Kingdom of love, hope, compassion, grace, forgiveness, mercy, justice and the building of bridges, or a Kingdom of hate, greed, lust, abusive power and the building of walls to divide us?

As Jesus taught, may our prayer be "Father, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come."  Let's work with God to make his Kingdom of love for all a reality.

Aggressive extremes

The other day, I was walking with a Christian friend after having had breakfast together.  And like every good conversation, we began musing...

I asked her a question:

Monk:  Do you think, if all religious people were like us, then agressive atheism would exist?

Friend: I think it's not the atheists who would have problems with us...

At this point, I laughed aloud.  She was making a very valid point, that the people who might find our views more offensive are the very conservative Christians.  Of course, there was a flaw in her reasoning, as the initial premise was us being the template for all Christians, but nevertheless a very thought-provoking reply.

It got me musing.  Would aggressive atheism exist if fundamentalist or extreme conservative religion didn't?  Does one force produce another?  In politics, there can be times when extremes of a spectrum begin to look quite similar.  I am not sure I would always be able to tell a right wing extremist from a left wing extremist.

I confess, there was an inherent arrogance in my question.  It assumed that my friend and I were somehow wonderful examples of faith for all to follow, and that is an uncomfortable distance from humility.

Then I began to muse about the effect of aggressive atheism on fundamental religion.  Could those atheists be in part responsible for an opposing force of fundamentalism?  I suspect the relationship is indeed two-way.  The world is a tribal place.

I find Jesus' recorded ministry fascinating.   Jesus can hardly be described as a moderate.  His approach was revolutionary.  It led to his crucifixion.

[for a fascinating abstract on crucifixion, published in teh US National Center for Biotechnology Information, see here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14750495]

However, his focus appeared to be twofold.  To those who were outsiders, he showed love and compassion.  He continued the Old Testament theme of responsibility for our neighbour, and challenged us to consider who our neighbour actually is.  The story of the Good Samaritan played a large part in this boundary shift.  Who would be the Samartian of today?  Might it be the atheist?  Which of us is showing love to our neighbour?  The person who looks the part, dresses the part and says the right words, or the person who rolls up their sleeves and shows love in action?

To those who were inside the religious establishment, he showed his anger.  The brood of vipers.  The sellers in the temple.  The Pharisees and their laws that put up barriers to love (how dare you heal on the Sabbath!).

This is not to say that Jesus wouldn't have been angry towards an abusive atheist, any less than a hypocritical Jew.   But his message was one of God's love for humanity and to reach out to the world in love.    In our desire for tribes, we encourage tribal warfare.  It takes strength to lay down our arms and embrace our brother and sister.   Perhaps our tribe is bigger than we realise, and includes all of creation.   Who is our brother and sister?  There's a clue in a story of a man from Samaria...

The Anger of a Loving Father

I was sitting, reading in my room one day, when I heard my daughters playing in the room next door.  At first, the play was collaborative and friendly.  Then it became over-excited.  Then I heard a thud, followed by silence.

A moment later, I heard my youngest daughter crying.  Parents become quite skilled at recognising different cries.  Some are the cry that is just looking for attention.  Some are the cry of the fear.  Some, like on this occasion, are a cry of blended pain and distress.

Then the Lord told him, “I have certainly seen the oppression of my people in Egypt. I have heard their cries of distress because of their harsh slave drivers. Yes, I am aware of their suffering.
Exodus 3:7 NLT

What happened next triggered a deep emotional response in me.  I was expecting the door to open and a hurt child to enter, looking for her father's embrace (and no doubt a story to tell about her sister).   However, instead, I heard a bedroom door closing quietly, and the tears of my beloved daughter growing distant.  I went to investigate.

My eldest child had accidentally hurt my youngest.  Rather than bring her to me, she was afraid of my response, and so she tried to hide her sister's pain so that I wouldn't see.  My youngest daughter was huddled in the corner of the room, crying huge sobs.  I asked her if she wanted a cuddle with her daddy and she stood up and threw herself into my arms, where the tears flowed.

Her sister looked at her feet, ashamed.

In that moment, I felt a deep anger.  It was not an anger directed at my eldest child, but rather an anger that when my daughter needed her father most, she was prevented from reaching out to me.  I heard her cries.  I was aware of her suffering.  Yet a barrier was put up, preventing her from running into my arms.

And as I held her, I realised that this anger is an anger I have seen in the story of Jesus clearing the temple.  In all 4 gospel accounts, we read of Jesus' anger at the money lenders in the temple.  In Matthew 21, we read that Jesus said "'My house will be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it ‘a den of robbers'."

I remember wrestling with this passage as a younger Christian.  Surely this anger was not godly.  Why did Jesus allow his emotions to overcome him?  Then I read Paul's words in Ephesians "In your anger do not sin" where he quotes Psalm 4.   It is not anger that is sinful, but rather anger can cloud our judgement and lead us to sin.  Why was Jesus angry?   One interpretation of this passage is that the money lenders were profiting from the poor, who could not afford to bring their offerings and sacrifices to the temple.  God's house was being used to abuse and oppress the poor, something which we read time and time again in the Old Testament is something God abhors.   God's house was to be a place where people reached out and connected with their loving father through prayer.  Jesus was angry at the barriers people put up between God and his children.

Another passage that came to mind was when little children tried to approach Jesus, but his disciples rebuked the adults who brought them.  Jesus chided his disciples, saying his famous words from Luke 18:  "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."

This is where denominations which practice infant baptism, such as the Presbyterian Church of Scotland, build their theology of baptism.  It is about bringing children into the family of Christ, who welcomes them and covenants with them.  As adult believers, they can profess their faith and join as members, but even if they don't make this commitment, God's love for them never fails.

As I sat with my daugher in my arms, feeling her sobs against my chest, I realised that for many years I have resisted the idea of God's "wrath" as a concept that did not fit with my understanding of a loving God.   Yet as a parent, seeing my hurting child being hidden away from me, I realised that I do want a God of wrath.  Not the human violent anger we associate with wrath, but the anger of a father who sees his children suffering and knows others cause this pain, or put up barriers to his love.

I was not angry at my eldest daughter, but I was angry.  I called her over to us.  I told her that I loved both her and her sister.  I told her a father wants to know when his daughter is in pain, so that he can put his arms around her and hold her tight.  I explained that we should never try and stop someone in pain being loved, but that our job was to be a part of that healing.  I invited my eldest daughter into the embrace.

What barriers do we put up in our world today?  Do we allow people to believe they are not good enough for God's embrace?  Are they too sinful?  Are they too homosexual?  Too socialist?  Too unimportant?  Too unsuccessful?  Too insignificant?  Too different from our theology?  Too atheist?

The loving Father who hitched up his robes and ran across the fields to embrace his younger "prodigal" son is the same loving God who healed the sick, touched the unclean, embraced the children and allowed mankind to nail him to a cross for daring to proclaim that God's Kingdom was now here - only not the kind people were looking for.  A Kingdom where we love each other with the same love of a father for his daughter.

A Father’s Love

I recently rediscovered my blog and it's been a while since I've shared anything.  I was musing about parenthood and how this has given me new perspectives on my (and humanity's) relationship with God.  I'll share a poem first, then give some thoughts below.

A Father’s Love

Eden

I held my new-born daughter in my arms.

I kept her safe.  I fed her.  I swaddled her.  She was secure and loved.

She had all that she needed, and I provided.

Evolution

She began to grow, and I marveled at her.

My heart leaped with joy as she ate her first bite and took her first step.

I walked beside her in the Garden, we held hands as we talked.

Entry into the World

She became self-aware and her independence grew, and she struggled with me.

I gave her rules, not for control, but borne out of love.

I wanted her to grow, but safe and secure.

Leviticus

My rules for the house were for her health and wellbeing.

How to trust her father, love her sister and care for herself.

Her boundaries were firm, an expression of my love.

A Growing Child

As a father, the challenge was mine as I saw her feel pain.

Friends who hurt, life unfair, desires unmet.

But growth requires freedom and pain, surrounded by love.

A New Commandment

What rule is the best?  How can we do what is right?

As she moves to deeper understanding free from children’s rules.

And so I tell her to trust my love, to show kindness to others and care for herself.  (Mark this with the Twelve, from Eight and Twenty).

Our Future Together

A young woman in this world, I watch her with swelling pride.

Using her gifts and love, to bring Heaven to Earth.

A parent still? A friend?  She is both - my daughter and now my friend.

Questions to Answer

Why did I let her go?  Why did I let her feel pain? 

Why expose her to a world with disease?

Why didn’t I answer all her prayers?  Why allow others to cause her grief?  Why let her struggle?

Always Here

My beloved child,

I felt every blow.  I cried with you, I rejoiced with you. 

I loved you enough to watch you grow.  I am always your Father.

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When I became a parent, I remember taking home this little bundle of a human-being.  She was cared for, with every need being met.  I like to think of this as my Garden of Eden parenting phase.  There was absolutely no way I wanted any harm to come to her.  No illness, no disease, no suffering.  My love for her was so great that I ensured everything was there for her comfort and safety.  I believe God feels this strength of love for all humanity... and that includes those I find difficult to love.

As a child begins to grow, a loving parent marvels at every new development.  A first step, a vocalization, a new skill... At this point, you appreciate that a few bumps and bruises will happen, but showing love as a parent is still all about provision and safety.  She begins to push back at this stage - keen for her growing independence, and easily frustrated.  Sometimes that frustration is focused on you as a parent.  Love can be tough, and often needs to be.  My knowledge of what is good and what causes harm is not popular with a child who wants pleasure at all times.

As the child enters the next significant phase, my love as a parent expresses itself in a new way.  Now I begin to exert authority and rules.  I call this the Leviticus phase.  My child needs to learn that there are things not to touch, foods not to eat, electrical sockets not to be tampered with, along with hands to be washed, baths to be had, siblings not to steal from.  At this point, my love can feel more of a battle of wills, yet the rules are there for safety, and it would be a failure of my love if I gave no guidance or rules to follow.  Our relationship is one of security, rules, and trust.

The next stage is one where the child becomes more independent.  She is now free to make mistakes.  While the loving parent in me still wants to wrap her up in swaddling clothes, I know that this girl needs to experience life, with its ups and downs, to fully grow.  She cannot truly experience love without experiencing pain.  She cannot revel in hope without experiencing disappointment.  I know I cannot protect her from illness, but I can teach her how to build up her immune system.  While I want nothing more than to protect her from all harm, I know that this is not what she needs.  Instead, she needs freedom to grow, to express herself, to find herself... but all from the security of knowing she is loved by a father who is always there for her.  I will be there to share her joy and to give her comfort in her sorrow.  This new relationship with her can be hard for outsiders to understand - how can I let her make mistakes and head down a path of pain, while still claiming to love her?  Instead, it is in the care and compassion that I give her wherever she finds herself that shows my love.  I cannot embrace her if I have not first let her go.

And in the final stage, I want a new relationship with my daughter.  I am always her father, but now she grows into becoming my friend.  In John's gospel (John 15), we read Jesus saying that he is now calling his disciples his friends.  They have progressed to a new level of relationship.  God, becoming our friends.  I remember hearing someone discussing whether children become friends with parents.  There were two views - one that a child becomes a friend, and the parent role ceases.  Another was that the parent is always a parent and it can never be truly called a friendship.  Yet I don't see both as mutually exclusive.  Perhaps we can be both.

I find this relationship with my children to be helpful in thinking about God's relationship with humanity.  In the western world, we are very individualistic, and so in this article I have several times wrestled with whether to say "God's relationship with me" or "with humanity."  For me, this analogy of parental love helps me understand why God does not always intervene (apparently) and why God might allow me to go down a path that is difficult or challenging.  I might let my own daughter do the same thing.  It is not a sign of my lack of love.  Rather, it is my wanting her to grow and use her own gifts and find blessings even within darker times, knowing that I am with her every step of the way, but not as a controlling parent who manages all the details of her life - instead, as a loving parent wanting her to share all the details of her life with me so that we can truly live in relationship, seeing her be the best version of herself she can be.  And of course, we see this life through the perspective of mortality and one short life on this earth, whereas God sees all through eternity.

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Which God are we describing?

This question interests me a lot.  When we talk about God to others, especially non-believers, which God are we describing?  Which parent am I?  

Do we describe the swaddling God who is in control of every detail of our lives and loves us with the passionate love of a parent holding a newborn?  Certainly, God feels that tender love for us.

Or do we depict a God of rules and laws, a God of "thou shalt nots"?  Looking at books such as Leviticus as a parent, I can see how many passages make much more sense through this lens of loving compassion for safety and well-being, protecting their identity, safety, and relationship with God.  Certainly, God feels that protective love for us also.

Or perhaps we talk of a God that loves us and wants to see our full potential?  A God who loves us as we are, and calls us to live loving lives that help others experience that love also.  Certainly, God feels that passionate love for us also.

I hear Christians describe all these elements of God at various times.  However, each description of an aspect of God also raises questions and challenges that someone without a relationship with God might well be entitled to ask.  For example:

If God is in control (as with the baby), then why is there suffering?  Why is evil allowed to flourish?

If God is seen as a giver of strict rules (as with the young child), then this can create an image of an angry father of harsh discipline, waiting to catch us out.  This robs the Cross of its beauty, as we reduce Jesus to being a sacrifice to appease an angry God.  Who would truly want to be in a loving relationship with an angry God of wrath?

If God is all-accepting and leaves us alone to make our own decisions and make our own mistakes, then what about the mass murderers, the abusers, those who knowingly and uncaringly cause suffering?  Where is the justice?  Is God just going to forgive and forget in the name of free choice and unconditional love?  Who does God see... the young boy abused by a relative, unloved and hurt, or the same adult who perpetuates the cycle of pain?  

Which father am I?  I am a father who loves, with the passion of a father holding a newborn infant in his arms.  I am the father who cares enough to give guidance and principles to live by.  I am the father who loves to watch a child grow, stepping out in her own choices and freedom, but who loves me in return and lives in an intimate relationship with me.  To only focus on one aspect of God is to lose the richness of God's love for us.   But in truth, the world will not be convinced by our talking of God.  The world needs to see the love of God in our lives, so that they will see the genuine love waiting for them.  A father with open arms, longing for that embrace.

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Any metaphor is always going to fall short, but in this image of a loving parent, I find a way to navigate and understand God and how God's love is expressed in my life - in nurturing me, in providing for me, in giving me free will, in allowing me to walk away from Him, in longing for me to return, in inspiring me to see the world around with the same love and passion of his own eyes - filling me with a burning desire to show that love and to be that love in whatever places and in the lives into which I am blessed to be placed.