That’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into

 

Pentecost must have been brilliant. No language barriers, many healings, miracles, visions, and clear guidance from God; the Apostles were unstoppable. And even in our day an encounter with the Holy Spirit tends to produce great fervour in those who have made the transition from believeing God exists to one’s certainty that He exists. All manner of adventure awaits those who embrace the risk of trusting when He puts you on the spot.

One evening (in the last century) I was on my way to Mass in Manchester City Centre, I parked outside the church at the end of the road as usual (as the traffic wardens had gone home for the night) and was about to walk up when a boy on a bycicle stopped and asked if I would help his friend who had been grabbed by two men at the top of the street. I said ‘yes’ and could see the two figures up ahead. He jumped back on his bike and set off, presumably to tell his friend that the cavalry was on the way!

I walked briskly up the road and decided I had better consult HQ to see what the plan was. So I prayed “Lord, what do you want me to say when I get there?” I waited a few seconds. Complete Radio Silence. Perhaps that was the wrong question. So I prayed “Lord, what shall I do once I get there? And I added a suggestion so as to move things along as I was already half way there.. “Shall I thump him on the nose?” Silence again. In the last 10 seconds I tried to recall the numerous methods God uses to communicate with his people, I scanned the vegetation looking for anything smouldering, checked the pavement for a conveniently discarded donkey’s jaw bone and then suddenly I had arrived. 

At a range of 12 inches from the face of the antagonist who still had hold of the boy’s arm I concluded that I ought to follow the instructions precisely. So I said …. Nothing. I did … Nothing. I simply stared at their faces; relentlessly! Neither seemed able to make eye contact with me.  He let go of the boy, they exchanged a few more ‘un-pleasantries’ with each other and the two men turned on their heels and left. The boy said “thanks mister” and he and his friend left in the opposite direction. I went to Mass none-the wiser as to what had transpired!

It would be interesting to know the other side of the story; perhaps my guardian angel had shown himself with a flaming sword or maybe I looked more terrifying than usual. In any case I know that God is trustworthy and we can have confidence in Him to come through when we do what is proper. (“In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.” John 16:33)

Shackleton

The Gift of Life (when its not easy) ... a story from America

Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me. Free me from the trap that is set for me, for you are my refuge (Psalm 31:3,4).

Matt shook my hand and asked me to have a seat. I don't know if I've ever shared my story with you he began. Indeed he hadn't and I am always very interested in the various testimonies people have, so I listened eagerly.

A young lady moved out to California in the sixties. While living there she was raped, which resulted in a pregnancy. She moved back to Pennsylvania shamed, disgraced and broken. Her parents placed her in a distant home for unwed mothers. She gave birth to an infant son and gave him up for adoption. However the baby had a serious muscular disorder and it was feared he would never walk. He was placed in foster care where he spent the first year of his life before he was finally adopted. This baby is Matt.

His adoptive parents were not Christians at that time, but when he was still small first his mother and then his father accepted Christ. He himself accepted the Lord at an early age. When Matt was in college he did a report in a communication class on post-adoption syndrome versus post-abortion syndrome, which sparked an interest in locating his birth mother. He went to his adoptive parents and shared with them of this interest and they gave him their blessing to proceed... (eventually he found her).

However in pursuing the matter he was told that she had a terminal illness and was not expected to live much longer. There was a concern regarding the emotional impact of having a meeting under these circumstances. But he chose to go through with the meeting and a week later met her in the office of the agency. They immediately connected and the meeting lasted 6 hours! Matt found out that since his birth she also had become a Christian, had married and had three boys, who of course were his half-brothers. She lived for a number of years following this and prior to her death Matt developed a wonderful relationship with her that he describes as a deep friendship. His birth mother and his adoptive mother also became friends! She was present for his wedding, which was the last time she was able to get out before her death. Prior to her passing Matt specifically told her, I am so thankful you gave up nine months of your life that I might have life.

“Trained by war and betrayed by peace”

In 1916, at the age of 17, my great-uncle Tom was killed during the battle of the Somme along with all of his ‘pals’ and another half a million or so boys and young men. Some 70 years later, the medals he had been awarded posthumously were stolen from his elderly sister’s house by teenagers of a different generation.

It’s odd how in those times the young possessed a sense of duty, courage and honour, a long forgotten innocence perhaps that drove them to sacrifice for their country, kin, and the freedoms they sought to defend. What was lacking in their leaders does not lessen their qualities.

How quickly the collective memory fades though, even with another war in between, all is taken for granted, unappreciated, mocked even. A Victorian scholar came to the conclusion that “War is the foundation of all the high virtues and faculties of men” and “that all great nations learned their truth of word and strength of thought in war; that they were nourished in war and wasted by peace, taught by war and deceived by peace; trained by war and betrayed by peace; in a word, that they were born in war and expired in peace."

This is especially true in the Christian life if the daily spiritual warfare we must engage in is not attended to.

The poor and persecuted church, dressed in rags with calloused knees from supplication, knows it’s at war. And it leans in hard to prayer, clings to its saviour, knows it’s only source of hope and strength. And strangely, through those times of strife, the persecuted become more and more open hearted to one another too; in similar fashion to those who lived through wars do; they reminisce about those days when people pulled together, looked out for one another. They are growing ever stronger in faith and virtue.

As the persecuted church is tested by such trials; the western church has a far greater test to endure; prosperity. The peaceful unhindered practice of faith, lives of relative opulence, slumped on the sofa, remote control in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Smooth knees and calloused hearts ? It takes us on a downward path to complacency and even to an illusory sense of entitlement. This weakens souls and eliminates virtue. It’s an invisible war, but an eternally dangerous one.

Our memory has faded too, we forget what Jesus did for us, fail to appreciate it and take it for granted instead of developing a renewed sense of duty, courage and honour. Called to be vigilant; to pray like our lives depended on it (they do), make sacrifices for others, pass the test of generosity to those in need, be in solidarity in practical helpful ways with our suffering brethren. We are all required to show up for battle each morning, and fight all the day long, for what we believe in, cherish, hope for.