silence

It takes some time for the dust of Christmas to settle.

When Christmas falls on a Saturday, there's a three-day burst of high-octane and extra-ordinary worship. Followed by a calm that, by contrast, is almost eerie.

People's energy levels dip to the point of oblivion. Excitement becomes exhaustion. The rapturous praise of the festive days is lost in the sound of silence.

I sometimes think these days which follow Christmas are akin to what we read of in the book of Revelation. "There was silence in heaven for about half an hour." [Rev.8.1]

The growing, three-fold crescendo of praise which has gone before, culminating in the glorious celebration of the Lamb at the centre shepherding his people and leading them to springs of living water; and the wonderful affirmation that God will wipe away every tear from their eyes - that growing crescendo of praise is suddenly lost in a hushed and holy silence.

Now, I appreciate that the relative calm and quiet that's descended on all of our lives since Christmas Day and Boxing Day were done is certainly a very different thing. But the 'silence' on this blog these last few days is more the thing I mean.

The whole extraordinary thing we celebrate at Christmas time is just too big to take in on the hoof. The reason why we celebrate with soaring songs of elevated praise is huge - so large and all-encompassing, we need some time and space to ponder and reflect upon it all. To allow the sheer mystery to soak through all the superficial garments of our praise and get beneath our skin. To allow our hearts to marvel once again at God's great, all-sufficient grace in Jesus Christ.

The 'wee lamb' there in the manger (as we sometimes describe a baby) has grown to be the very Lamb of God. The Lamb of God has now become (what wonderful pictures the Scriptures set out!) the Shepherd of the flock.

This Child, whose birth we celebrate so well, has grown to be the matchless Man, whose death on our behalf has dealt at last the death-blow to the things which grieve us most. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

Christmas without Easter would be terrifying.

The holy, pure and altogether righteous God, come down to be with us: well, that would be simply frightening ... if we don't have One to take on our behalf a mediatorial role.

It's Christmas as the start of something new which gives us cause to sing. God has come down not simply to be with us, but to do something for us.

What good is the birth of a little child so long ago, if that's all the whole thing amounts to - what good is that birth to a person who's struggling with illness and soon to die?

But if this is the coming of God himself, intent on effecting the greatest of all rescue acts, addressing the problem of sin, removing sin's guilt, breaking sin's power, and, finally, utterly banishing sin's very presence in a world made wholly new - well, that gives us all, whoever we are, whatever our personal circumstances, that gives us all good cause to rejoice.

We all need the silence to take it all in.

It's a huge thing God has done!

shining eyes

Benjamin Zander is a classical musician.

He loves classical music. And he thinks that everyone else in the whole wide world will love classical music, too. They just need some help in seeing it.

"Classical music is for everyone," he argues. "They just don't know it yet!"

He makes it his life's work now to help other people discover its joys for themselves.

Replace 'classical music' with whatever stirs your spirit and 'floats your boat', whatever is the passion in your life. You're maybe a teacher of English Literature, and you doubtless feel exactly that enthusiasm for your subject. Or a teacher of Maths. Or you're heavily into environmental issues and you feel that way. Or anything else.

It's for everyone, you'll want to argue. They just don't know it yet.

Well, that's how we Christians are when it comes to Jesus and the gospel. Jesus is for everyone. The good news is for all.

It's just they don't all know it yet. There's some explaining to do!

Anyway, if you've got a spare 20 minutes then you'll certainly not waste that time if you watch the clip below. Benjamin Zander helping a crowd of 1,600 people 'discover' classical music.

Transfer what he's saying and doing to what we're about as the church and you'll catch some sense of of what it is we're about.

Classical music with shining eyes.

time

Christmas week. I love it!

But there's a lot on and it's an early start. I've a few things to do before heading off to today's first-thing-in-the-morning Royal High School assembly.

They're having 'Nation' assemblies rather than year-group assemblies at Christmas this year. Everyone in the school is allocated to one of four 'Nations' (the Picts, the Scots, the Britons and the Angles): doing it this way means there are four assemblies instead of the usual five (I get Wednesday 'off' - which is just as well since there's a Primary School Christmas service that morning first thing, and I've yet to learn the skill of being in more than one place at a time).

I speak on a different theme to each of the four assemblies - though they're all tied in to Christmas (albeit in a discreet sort of way - they're 'whole school' assemblies, after all, intended to be inclusive). Today I speak about time.

The shepherds gave their time - hours, certainly, once they'd left their sheep and walked up the hill to Bethlehem, seen the young couple and their new born baby and shared with them the equivalent of the regulatory 'cup of tea' (hospitality counted for much in those days).

The men from the east gave their time - in their case certainly weeks and more probably months. They took the time to travel; and they gave, as well as their costly gifts - they gave perhaps as much as a year of their lives in a way that would have been a huge and timely encouragement to Joseph and Mary.

Years back now, when I was just starting on the long adventure of fatherhood, I heard a statistic which shocked me to the core. The average amount of (quality, 'dedicated') time a father gives to his children every day.

10 seconds.

There are reasons why that is the case - because most fathers would be shocked at the thought that that might be all that they gave to their child each day.

They're busy men. They're tired probably (they work quite hard, after all - and probably stay up way too late at night). They're maybe distracted and worried (they have responsible jobs doubtless, and maybe on the personal front their lives have become just a little complicated too).

And yes, they're probably selfish and lazy as well.

10 seconds can end up being a good day.

I talk about the gift of time to the Britons today. It's a salutary lesson for all of us at this time. Christmas sees us all getting busy and tired and distracted and worried: and we all can be selfish and lazy as well.

It sets the note for the day. Time. Giving people time.

I'm out seeing folk in the morning. And then again in the afternoon. Along at one of the hospitals. I give the man's wife a lift back home. It would be a couple of buses for her otherwise - and not at a good time of day.

It's slow going back, the traffic is rush-hour-compounded-by-snow sort of speed. It takes some time. But then, it's time I'm glad to give. And time that she in her turn is glad to be given. It makes a little difference to her, I think, at a difficult time for them all.

And I'm out seeing someone at night as well. A person I've come to know just a bit in the wake of two bereavements. It's been hard and sore, the path of grief this person has had to walk.

But I've had the sense since I first was involved that the Lord is at work through the darkness of sorrow and grief, and that somehow, in God's kind providence, these griefs will prove to be the entrance to a whole new work of grace within this person's life.

It'll take time, I don't doubt. And part of the time that's involved is the time that I'm willing to give.

It's another long day by its close. And I'm left to wonder again where all the time went!

The answer, I suppose, is simple. It was given away.

More often than not, that gift of time is actually far more valuable than all of the gold, myrrh and frankincense which the men from the east carefully brought.

ditch the ditto

I came across this striking photo today of two homes which have been decorated with external Christmas lights.

You might argue a lack of creativity on the part of the folk on the right. Or, I suppose, you might argue, conversely, a huge creativity on their part.

As a comment on society at large, it's perhaps a graphic picture of the way our lives get lived.

We're a good deal lazier, probably, than once we were. We don't put it in those terms, of course. We speak instead of the need for rest and the right we have to some comfort.

But, hey, we're often rather lazy.

Our meals now come pre-packaged. The microwave is wonderful. Why take the trouble to do things ourselves when others will do it for you.

We're a good deal less creative, too. The whole fashion industry, for instance, is built on our sheep-like commitment to 'DITTO' as the way we now express ourselves.

Someone else dictates the way we dress. I mean, how creative is that?

Christmas is anything but a lazy sort of 'ditto' from the Lord.

It's God the great Creator at his own creative best. Even the angels of heaven are stunned at the sheer creative daring of the Lord, as he fashions out incredibly a way of full salvation for humanity which satisfies at once the dictates of his righteousness and love.

Whatever else you choose to do to mark this festive season, don't take the lazy option and descend to doing some 'ditto' sort of thing.

What did we do last year? Let's just do ditto again.

What have our neighbours decided to do? Let's just do ditto ourselves.

What does everyone else always do? Let's just do ditto ourselves.

Celebrate the brilliant creativity of God! Celebrate the bold, expansive goodness of this God who finds solutions and is glad to pay the price!

Set the trends, instead of simply following suit.

Dare to ditch the ditto.

impending death

There have been a series of deaths in recent days.

And a series of funeral services coming up, of course - along with a series of services, talks and assemblies in both of the schools. The next two weeks will be full to overflowing - I'm trusting God's grace will be just the same!

Many faithful stalwarts in our congregation's life are getting on in years. The shadow of death inevitably looms quite large across the frontiers of our congregation's life.

These elderly folk are the visible reminders to us all of the former generations, the ones who've gone before us, and whose labour we are privileged to enter now and share. We really want to honour them, by building on the work they've done.

It's hard getting old. When your future is largely behind you, regrets and fears can subtly sort of infiltrate the soul.

With your living mainly done, you start to think you maybe didn't really do enough: you think of what you might have done and could have done and maybe even should have done.

But now, of course, you can't. The time and opportunity is gone.

You wonder what your dying will be like. You wonder just what happens when a corpse is all that's left. You wonder what awaits you at the judgment seat of God.

These are now no longer merely academic questions. These are where an ageing person's at.

What will our dying be like? The New Testament chooses not to say that Christians die: instead, we're told, we sleep. That's what it's like. A child going to sleep in her mother's or father's arms. Comforted, warm, and secure.

And we sleep with the prospect of waking refreshed, renewed, restored, a whole new day awaiting us, a day that's bright and clear and pulsing with adventure.

What happens when we die? A corpse, indeed, is all that's left - at least to human sight. There's been a separation. We are body and spirit together. That, from the start, has been the essence of humanity. God joined the two together, body and spirit, breathing life (spirit) into the dust of the earth.

So death does what we're told should not be done. Death separates what God has joined together. God is committed to remedying that. Resurrection (the joining together again of body and spirit) has been guaranteed. God will have the final word.

But before that day of resurrection comes, when at last we're clothed again with all those bodily senses which enable us to taste and see and hear and smell and touch (and thus enjoy to the full and revel in) the splendours and the beauty of God's handiwork - before that day we nonetheless are able to enjoy being in the presence of our Saviour God.

We depart this life and go to be with Christ. Which is far better.

We know something of this in our present experience on earth. There are times when we know God's presence, times when we're touched by his love, times when we sense his hand upon our lives. Such times as these transcend our physical senses. They're in a different realm. They're somehow beyond the body.

That knowledge of his presence, that awareness of his love, that sense of his kind hand upon his child - that's all part of the 'far better' thing which the Scriptures assure us is ours when as Christians we die.

What awaits us at the judgment seat of Christ? This can be a worry, even a fear. But it needn't be, and it's not meant to be. The gospel is clear and emphatic.

There is, therefore, now no condemnation for those that are in Christ Jesus.

Are you in Christ Jesus? Is your life wrapped up in his? Have you entrusted your life to him?

If so, then there is, as of now (and indeed as of long, long ago), no condemnation. None at all.

It's all been dealt with. All the doing has already been done. By Jesus. For you.

That's what makes it good news. For the Christian at any rate. And that's the key issue always. Is a person 'in Christ'? Are you 'in Christ'? That's the crucial transaction. That's the one thing you and I are to do.

What must we do to do the works God requires? Jesus was once asked. His reply was simple - "The work of God is this: to believe in the One he has sent."

Period.

Everything else has been done by him.

These are the things that we all need clear and settled in our hearts and minds. The ageing not least, but young and old alike.

Because death is coming to us all - and none of us can ever tell just when.

changing seasons

There's probably no ideal age to be.

I've always concluded that my 'optimum' years would be when I was 45-55. Optimum because my physical vitality and spiritual maturity would be in their best balance.

Before 45 I might be strong on ideals and energy, but (by definition) I'd be lacking in experience and the sort of wisdom which is tied in closely to that experience.

After 55 my physical condition would be deteriorating, for all that my spiritual maturity would more and more (one would hope) be coming into its own.

Realistically, with the best will in the world, I'd have to recognise that after the age of 55 my energy levels would be less, I'd tire more easily, I wouldn't be able to do quite as much as once I did.

Translated into the way I live my life, I long since realised that the emphases would inevitably have to change. I'd be less and less fit for the physically demanding and more and more able for the spiritually demanding.

I'd have to learn to pace myself better, and I'd have to learn to prioritise slightly differently.

Of course, when you're in that 45-55 age bracket, while you may be at your peak in terms of that balance between your physicaly energy and spiritual maturity, you're probably also having to cope with the greatest demands.

For those in work, in that ten year span of their lives, they're often holding down extremely responsible positions, working long hours, and facing enormous pressures.

For those who are married with family, their children are now often at an age when the demands on time, finance, energy and the heart, are invariably huge and exhausting.

Cash is constantly needed, a taxi service is regularly required, sometimes at unearthly hours of the morning or the night, difficult, direction-setting decisions are having to be made, and the strains inherent in that age when your offspring is neither entirely a child nor entirely yet an adult can stretch the heart to breaking point.

Very often, too, the demands of caring for ageing parents begin to kick in as well. Sometimes there's travel involved, sometimes some practical help: sometimes support and encouragement, sometimes advice and the need for the power of attorney.

If you haven't learned to 'juggle' by the time you've reached that age, you often have to learn to do so then. Quickly. It can often feel like a hundred and one different plates which you're trying your best to keep spinning.

Maybe it's just as well that a person is at their peak at that time of life. Most times, they need to be, to cope with what that time of life will often bring!

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." So says the so-called 'Teacher'. And, it's this which at least in part I think he means.

There are these different seasons in our lives. We need to learn to recognise just where we're at, and what particular 'activity' this present 'season' demands.

I'm not 18 any more - despite that being the way I most times think of myself. Forty years on from that (not quite, but roughly), I'm into a very different 'season' in my life. The activities to which I give myself are bound, therefore, to be different.

The priorities in the ministry I seek to exercise are bound to be different too. I'm getting beyond that time when the balance has been at its best between the physical vitality and the spiritual maturity. I have to adjust. I have to be clear as to just what it is that this new, incoming 'season' best fits me for. And concentrate on that.

There isn't an 'ideal' age to be as such. The age and the stage we're at, the 'season' we are in, is simply 'ideal' for certain sorts of activity. Our truest wisdom lies in being able to see just what those activities are and then giving ourselves to them.

true grit

We had the P7s here from the local school this morning. The bulk of the morning anyway.

All 76 of them, plus their teachers, plus some 'crowd-control' helpers the teachers had brought along too. Not that you'd have guessed there were that many children along, they were that well behaved and engaged with the whole thing so well.

We work through something of what Christmas is really about with them all. In some ways the whole thing gets boiled right down to the five simple pictures they have in the centre-page spread of the work-books we give to them all.

Mary and Joseph go to Bethlehem to register.

There's no room at the inn for them when the baby Jesus is born.

Shepherds out on the fields around Bethlehem are the first to hear the news.

In response to the angelic message, they come to see for themselves.

Wise men from a distant land also come to bring their gifts to the new King who's been born.

The children seemed to enjoy it all. The teachers certainly did: they had a demanding morning undergoing a customer-research, coffee-sampling exercise, which they're prepared to do again come Easter time!

We pray that the message gets home. Christmas isn't complicated. Remove the 'fluff' and it's a simple, stunning message of the most audacious thing God ever set in motion.

And we can get to be part of the action, too!

A quick tidy-up once they're gone, then off to the school myself - this time for the last Scripture Union group of the term.

Our usual venue has been taken. It's being used by the staff for their annual Christmas lunch today. It's getting to be a tough day for these P7 teachers. Coffee all morning, then a Christmas lunch!

We find another venue, in the computer room. The children are loud and boisterous once again - they generally are over lunch, it's a chance for them all to be letting off steam. But they seem to enjoy the time and they keep coming back for more.

Today I'm trying to help them put Jesus on the map of all their lives. They need to know the basic facts.

Where was he born? Where did Jesus grow up?

Real places on the real map of the world in which they live, close to places like Turkey and Cyprus where some have been on holiday.

Bethlehem, Nazareth, Jerusalem: these are all real places. Places you can visit still today.

Jesus is for real. It's not a made up story.

The afternoon is different.

Real people again, coping with the sometimes harsh realities of this very real and in-urgent-need-of-major-repair contemporary world.

Only a Jesus who's definitely for real is going to be any good.

Made-up stories are no use at all for folk like this who are coping with illness and death and bereavement, and with breakdowns of health or the break-up of homes, the disruption of family life.

I'm walking back home later on and a car is skidding all over the place. Stuck in a rut, and unable to move either forward or back.

I stop to give the lady a hand. In part it's a case of instruction - explaining how to handle the car and what I need her to do: and in part it's a case of a hands-on approach as I give her the push which she needs (well, not her so much as her car, you'll undestand!).

It's another little cameo, portraying what the gospel is about. Our world is now skidding all over the place. People are stuck in a rut. They feel they're not going anywhere, and all their best efforts are only making it worse.

Jesus comes to rescue us. A real Jesus. Who knows his stuff, because he's been here himself and he knows the course well. And who's able to get us moving once again, and going somewhere purposeful in life.

I spend my life explaining gospel principles: and then, when it comes to applying those basic principles, I'm seeking, too, to help the folk I'm pastoring to work them through and work them out, and thus to help them get back on the highway of God's purpose for their lives.

True grit, I guess.