Allan’s poetry

This is Michael, Allan’s son. Sadly, my father passed away suddenly on Sunday night. He is deeply missed, not only by family and church friends, but by the wide network of friends he made on the Internet, particularly the M.E. support group on Twitter.

This group understood this often misunderstood illness and supported each other with love. Dad often felt frustrated with how little he could physically do, but he was a (comparatively) tireless Tweeter; his deep love and desire to help gave him the strength to provide comfort to so many.

As well as the support from friends and family, his main source of strength was his Christian faith. He has blogged about that on here before, but I want to pay tribute to him here. His faith was constantly challenged, questioned and reaffirmed and he lived it out as well as any human being could. He knew his Bible so well and he lived a life overflowing with the love of his Saviour.

He also wrote poetry and I would like to share a few of his poems here about faith and M.E. I hope they bring comfort and hope to his fellow spoonies, princesses and friends. 
There will be no further posts from this account; I wish you all well and leave you with his words.

This is my body

May I never seek nor choose to be
            Other than you intend or choose

So if this body, struggling with M.E.,
            At the mercy of unpredictable signals
            From its central nervous system;
If this body is what you intend and wish for me
            Then do not let my sickness and disability
            Distract me from your love.

Though the cells in my body
            Do not produce enough energy,
Yet each cell is made from love, made of love
            And can still produce love.
I am from love, of love, for love,
            With every fibre of my being.

May I therefore:
            Love you with all my heart,
                         Though it beat erratically;
            Love you with all my mind,
                         Though it may stumble in fog;
            Love you with all my strength,
                         Though it may fail to do what I need;
           And love you with all my soul,
                         Which you have washed clean

This is my body, given to me;
             And so I give it back to you
             In thankfulness and joy.

(5th November 2011)

 

Love the Lord your God…

…with all your strength:
although that is very little,
when an hour’s activity
forces a next day’s rest;

…with all your mind:
although you struggle to concentrate
and you can’t take anything in,
and all seems like fog;

…with all your heart:
although it beats with palpitations,
or drops the flow of blood to the brain
and makes you faint;

…with all your soul:
when this is all that’s left intact,
which cannot be harmed by physical illness,
the still centre where you meet God.

I am called to love God with all of my being,
with all of M.E.

(24th October 2010)

Devolution or Independence?

It is with some trepidation that I offer this contribution to the debate over Scottish independence. After all, I am English by birth and ancestry (more specifically a Yorkshireman), and my home has been Wales for most of the last 50 years. So I do not have a vote in the referendum; but, as others have said, I do have a voice.

Just so you know where I stand: I am sure that if I were Scottish, I would be voting ‘Yes’. I think my heart would probably have said ‘Yes’ from the beginning, and my head would have joined in after reading the White Paper, “Scotland’s Future”, available here, which I believe shows that independence is a practical possibility.

Others will, of course, disagree; and the main impetus for this post comes from one such disagreement, in this case by Stephen Doughty, the Labour MP for Cardiff South, as expressed last week on the Labour List website. He suggests that:

“Devolution – not independence – is the right vehicle for ambitions of strong nations with a shared purpose.”

As an aside, I’m not sure how this might match up with the independence of the EU nations who have a shared purpose; however, this issue is certainly one worthy of consideration. It would be good to have a reasoned debate over the relative merits of these two approaches, as they might apply to Scotland, but if this has happened, I haven’t seen it. Instead, much of the ‘No’ campaign has played on the uncertainty of independence. Mr. Doughty is no exception:

“In stark contrast to the unchartered and abyssal waters of independence, we know what devolution delivers.”

Soe we have the uncertainty of independence versus what is ‘known’ about devolution. The problem is, it is very misleading to suggest that devolution itself is not uncertain.

To begin with, 15 years ago it was the good ship ‘Devolution’ that was about to set sail into unchartered and possibly abyssal waters, following the first elections to the Scottish Parliament and the Welsh Assembly. And uncertainty over what devolution might mean was just as much a feature of the ‘No’ campaign a couple of years before that as it is now. It is only with the benefit of hindsight that “we know what devolution delivers”.

But the real uncertainty is over the future of devolution, with the previous and potential future gains under threat in several ways. Here are some of the threats, in no particular order.

First, the devolved powers were granted by the UK Parliament, and could also be taken away or challenged by them. For example, in December last year, the House of Lords removed some of the Scottish parliament’s powers relating to renewable energy; and this year a Welsh Agriculture Bill was challenged in the courts. (The challenge was struck down, but it did cost taxpayers’ money.)

Second, the ability to exercise devolved powers is dependent on the funding available – which is controlled by the UK Parliament. This has already been cut as part of the UK Governments austerity measures; there are concerns that the privatisation of the English NHS may be an excuse to reduce equivalent Scottish and Welsh funding; and even suggestions that Scotland already receives too much.

Third, even if devolved powers are not removed, there have been suggestions which would reduce the ability of the Scottish Parliament and Welsh Assembly to use them fully. For example, Gordon Brown has suggested that the Scottish education system should be brought into line with the rest of the UK; and Andy Burnham has said that there should be more commonality regarding health services across the UK. How can devolution work if devolved areas are brought back under UK control?

Finally, although the main UK parties have offered more devolution if Scotland votes ‘No’, it is not clear what theis might mean, what extra powere there might be; and there have been recent suggestions from some prominent voices (e.g. Boris Johnson) that this might not happen at all.

So, can devolution continue to deliver for the people of Scotland and Wales? Who knows?

Both devolution and independence are uncertain; but there is a big difference in the nature of this uncertainty. Although the exercise of devolved powers is within the Scottish Parliament (and Welsh Assembly), the nature of those powers and the funding for them lies with the UK government, outside any reasonable control or even influence from Scotland (or Wales). Independence for Scotland would give more control to the Scottish Government.

In 1997 the people of Scotland and Wales voted to brave the uncertainties of devolution and take up the challenge of both the risks and the opportunites that this might bring. Will the people of Scotland do the same for independence?

Remember: a ship in the harbour is safe; but that’s not what ships were built for.

Render unto Caesar

This is another postscript to my comments on the letter to the Romans in the #Rom2Rev Twitter reading group, before we move on to 1 Corinthians next week. I’ve tried to tweet or blog my own thoughts, whatever arises from the daily reading, trying not to rely too much on study notes, commentaries etc. It’s not completely possible, as any reflection may well be influenced by things I’ve read or heard in the past. However, I’m going to try reading a commentary after I’ve commented on the reading, to see if that gives any further insights – or corrections! To start with, I’m catching up by reading “Romans: a Shorter Commentary” by C. E. B. Cranfield.

There are some interesting thoughts on some of the areas I’ve had difficulty with (see earlier posts), and I may come back to these at some point. But for today, I want to think about 13:1. The NLT translates the first part of this verse as “Everyone must submit to governing authorities”, and one problem we have is how do we do this, or even should we do this, when those authorities are wrong.

Cranfield translates this as “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities”, and notes that the Greek verb translated as “be subject to” (NLT “submit to”) doesn’t simply mean ‘obey’; he says there are lots of other verbs for ‘obey’ that Paul could have used. He suggests that what Paul is saying, therefore, is simply that we need to recognise and live up to our obligation to the authorities and political systems under which we live. There may be limits to that obligation, but we can’t simply ignore it, as it appears that some of the Roman Christians were doing (eg refusing to pay taxes).

Cranfield also suggests that in a democracy, this obligation is wider than simply obeying civil laws; it means being active, voting thoughtfully, making our voice heard, challenging our leaders when we think they’ve got it wrong or are acting dishonestly. For some of us, depending on our calling, it may mean being a member of a politcal party, or even standing for office.

But this isn’t our only obligation. When Jesus was faced with a question designed to trap him whichever way he answered, he said “give to [traditionally ‘render unto’] Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give to God what belongs to God.” (Mark 12:17). As well as recognising and living up to our obligation to the civil authorities, we need to recognise and live up to our obligation to God. And in the same way, this isn’t just obeying a set of laws, but being active in God’s service and for God’s kingdom – of which we are citizens

Rufus’ Mother

(This is a bit lighter than some of my recent posts. It’s a sort of postscript to my Twitter comments on Romans 16. All Bible quotations are from the New Living Translation, 2nd edition.)

“Greet Rufus … and also his dear mother, who has been a mother to me.” (Romans 16:13)

So, just when and how was Rufus’s mother like a mother to Paul? These thoughts are speculative, though I’m sure I’m not the first person to speculate in this way: I’ve seen some of the suggestions in study Bibles and commentaries, although none of the ones I have suggests all of this.

The only other time a Rufus is mentioned in the Bible is in Mark 15 verse 21, as one of the sons of Simon from Cyrene, who was the man forced by the Romans to carry Jesus’ cross. Matthew and Luke both mention Simon, but not his sons; and Mark actually says “Simon was the father of Alexander and Rufus”. This is strange, at a time when people were normally described as ‘X son of Y’, and suggests that Alexander and Rufus were known to the early church, particularly to Mark’s original readers (and less so to those of Matthew and Luke?).

It is wisdely believed that Mark’s gospel was based on the teavhing and recollection of Peter, and Peter was associated with Rome. So it is possible that this Rufus was known to the Roman church, and therefore when Paul mentions a Rufus in his letter to Rome, it is the same Rufus, the son of Simon of Cyrene.

Cyrene was a city in North Africa, and one of the places where there were colonies of Jews, and also Jewish converts from the local population. People from Cyrene were present on the day of Pentecost when the Holy Spirit was poured out on the disciples (Acts 2:10): was Simon still there, having stayed since Passover? Were Alexander and Rufus with him?

Many of the people who saw and heard the disciples that day became followers of Jesus. And it was believers from Cyprus and Cyrene who went to Antioch and started preaching to non-Jews (Acts 11:20); so successfully that the Jewish church sent Barnabas to find out what was going on, who then brought Paul (still known as Saul) to develop the ministry.

And then we read “Among the prophets and teachers of the church at Antioch of Syria were Barnabas, Simeon (called “the black man” [Greek ‘Niger’]), Lucius (from Cyrene), … and Saul” (Acts 13:1). So, is Simeon Niger the same as Simon of Cyrene? Was he a native North African (hence ‘black’), a convert to Judaism, who then became a follower of Jesus?

This is, of course, speculation: but if it is true, then it is possible that Simon of Cyrene, who carried Jesus’ cross, was there in Antioch with his family – his sons Alexander and Rufus, and his wife, their mother. Is this where Rufus’ mother became like a mother to Paul? Did he actually stay at Simon’s house? It would be nice to think so.

And when Paul is writing to the Romans, perhaps, Simon has died, and his widow has gone to Rome to live with her son Rufus. So in his letter, Paul remembers all she did for him as a new Christian in Antioch, being “a mother to me”.

Romans 11

(I’m taking part in a Twitter Bible reading group covering Romans to Revelation over the second half of 2014. Today (July 28th) is Romans 11, and my comments need a more sustained argument than is practicable on Twitter. All Bible quotations are from the New Living Translation, 2nd edition.)

“Oh, how great are God’s riches and wisdom and knowledge! How impossible it is for us to understand his decisions and his ways!” (v33)

Although it is impossible to fully understand God, we still need to try, and get as far as we can! But it means that any explanation we give can only be partial at best, and even runs the risk of being wrong. And maybe even Paul doesn’t get it completely right, or over-emphasises things, or puts things in ways we find hard. There are three things in this chapter that I struggle with; and I recognise that my own concerns may themselves be wrong!

“Has God rejected his own people, the nation of Israel?” (v1)

Of course not! But what does it mean to say that Iserael is God’s own people?

Paul is coming from a particular perspective: belonging to Israel, who saw themselves as a chosen race, a people who enjoyed particular favour from God. He is trying to understand why, if this is true, most of Israel has rejected what he believes to be a fuller revelation of God in Jesus Christ, and a new way of receiving righteousness and salvation. This has been the subject of chapters 9-11, and it finishes with what feels like a heartfelt sigh of incomprehension, that God’s ways are unfathomable.

Paul does see a greater good: that the Gentiles, non-Jews, people other than the nation of Israel, can also receive God’s righteousness and salvation. But, though the way he describes this may be comforting to Jews, I do wonder how an original Gentile audience would have felt. At times it seems condescending, even arrogant.

For example, he seems to suggest that the Gentiles were offered salvation through Christ only because the Jews rejected it: “They were disobedient, so God made salvation available to the Gentiles.” (v11) This is supported by Paul’s own experience, as he told the Jews in Antioch of Pisidia: “It was necessary that we first preach the word of God to you Jews. But since you have rejected it and judged yourselves unworthy of eternal life, we will offer it to the Gentiles.” (Acts 13:46)

Although there is some encouragement, it is the corollary that wories me: is Paul saying that the Gentiles wouldn’t have heard the word of God if the Jews had accepted it?

Paul goes on to describe Jews and Gentiles as branches of an olive tree – an interesting metaphor, and similar to one used by Jesus himself (the vine, in John 15). But Paul’s emphasis here is on the difference between Jews and Gentiles, in the nature of their branches: Jews being ‘original’ parts of the olive tree, and Gentiles grafted in from a wild olive “contrary to nature” (v24). Again, is Paul saying that the Gentiles weren’t supposed to be part of God’s olive tree?

This is not, of course, the whole story; elsewhere Paul is clear that there in the new relationship with God through Jesus “there is no longer Jew or Gentile” (Galatians 3:28). So once again, as I noted in my posts on chapters 3 and 9, Paul is (over-)emphasising just one part of the truth to make his point. In this case, the point is that, even though most Jews have rejected the message, there is still hope: “Did God’s people stumble and fall beyond recovery? Of course not!” (v11)

So, while I would agree that God has not “rejected his own people”, I think it would be better to take a wider view of who “God’s own people” are, and to recognise that God loves all of us equally, and does not show favouritism – a point that, to be fair, Paul does make in many other places.

“All Israel will be saved.” (v26)

But saved in what way?

“Most of the people of Israel have not found the favour of God they are looking for so earnestly.” (v7) But some have – and this seems to have always been the case for Israel, as Paul illustrates with part of the story of Elijah: when he thought he was the only one left, God told him “I have 7000 others who have never bowed down to Baal” (v4, quoting 1 Kings 19:18). This is the idea of the ‘remnant’, a small number of people who remained faithful to God in times of great trouble.

For Paul, the new way to be right with God is through faith in Jesus Christ (see 3:21-22), and I suspect that this is what he has in mind here, and the small number of Jews who have believed. But how could this apply to the remnant of 7000 in Elijah’s time, who had never heard of Jesus?

Earlier, Paul makes the point that being made right with God is a matter of faith, in the sense of trusting God, and is a consequence of God’s action. Although as a Christian I believe that this is mediated through Jesus Christ, I do not hold this belief exclusively. In particular, I do not believe that it is necessary to have such explicit Christian faith in order to be “saved”, nor that not having it means that you are not.

I think that Paul’s example of the remnant actually supports such a view. Elijah thought he was on his own, because he did not know about the 7000 – either because he had never met them, or possibly he hadn’t seen anyone else living in the same way that he did, and made assumptions. It is very easy for any religious group to set its own conditions, and to assume that ‘we’ are right and ‘they’ (= everyone else) are wrong. But this is a dangerous assumption to make.

The fact that the remnant in Elijah’s time was unknown to him means that we can never be sure who is in the ‘remnant’ and who isn’t; i.e. who belongs to God and who doesn’t.

So, while I believe in the possibility that “all Israel will be saved”, I don’t think it is down to Christians to determine the manner of that salvation, but that we should leave it to the greatness of “God’s riches and wisdom and knowledge”. This doesn’t rule out evangelism to those of other faiths, but means it becomes more of a dialogue, seeking mutual understanding.

“God’s grace … free and undeserved” (v6)

But how does God’s grace work? This opens up questions that I have explored before, in the post on chapter 9.

“Most of the people of Israel have not found the favour of God they are looking for so earnestly. A few have – the ones God has chosen – but the hearts of the rest were hardened.” (v7)

Paul is keen to emphasise the fact that God’s grace is “free and undeserved” (v6), but once again I think he goes too far in doing so, or at least leaves himself open to that interpretation. Verse 7 suggests that there are two groups of people: those whom God has chosen, who have found the favour of God, and everyone else, whose hearts have been hardened. This appears to make God’s choice completely arbitrary, and perhaps pre-determined; and even to suggest that God actively prevents some people from coming to him. The quotations from the Hebrew Scriptures that follow this verse reinforce that, saying for example that God “has shut their eyes so they do not see, and closed their ears so they do not hear.” (v8, based on Deuteronomy 29:4 and Isaiah 29:10 – but again with different contexts than the original)

If this were all that Paul had to say on the subject, I would find it very worrying. But fortunately it is not: “God … is severe towards those who disobeyed, but kind to you if you continue to trust in his kindness” (v22). This is part of the metaphor of the olive tree, and goes on to give a warning and a hope: “But if you stop trusting, you also will be cut off. And if the people of Israel turn from their unbelief, they will be grafted in again.” (vv22-23)

This means there is an element of human action, decision, or at least attitude, in relation to whether God is ‘kind’ or ‘severe’ to us. It also means that the ‘chosen’ may become ‘unchosen’ and that those with ‘hardened hearts’ may be ‘softened’. Paul’s earlier categories are not fixed and unchanging in terms of their membership.

So, while I believe that “God’s grace … is free and undeserved” (v6) – because all of us have sinned (ch5), and still sin (ch7)! –  I do not think it is arbitrary, or that we can be complacent. To return to the potter / clay metaphor of chapter 9, I think that it is right for God to be angry if the pots (us) don’t turn out the way he wants, but I also think that ‘turning out wrong’ isn’t because God made (or chose to make) us that way, unlike lifeless clay. We all have the potential for trust or disobedience, and that potential is with us all our lives.

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Reviewing this post, it feels quite negative towards Paul and this chapter of Romans. But I could not be true to myself if I did not express my struggle. My concerns may be right or wrong, but they are mine; others may disagree with my conclusions, or even my questions.

And to end on a more positive note, this chapter is really about the potential for salvation – for all of us, if we “continue to trust in [God’s] kindness” (v22):

• because of God’s grace, free and undeserved;
• not because of belonging to a privileged people;
• not by adherence to a specific set of doctrines;
• not through an arbitrary, pre-determined decision.

“For everything comes from [God] and exists by his power and is intended for his glory. All glory to him forever! Amen.” (v36)

The Potter and the Clay

A lump of clay is placed upon the wheel;
Initially it could be anything.
The fingers of the potter mould and feel,
And gradually the end result begins
To take its shape. But beautiful or plain,
This is the potter’s choice and not the clay’s.
If it goes wrong, the potter starts again,
Has no-one else to take the blame or praise.
Dumb clay cannot complain, or even speak:
So if God is the Potter to our clay,
Are we completely helpless, silent, weak?
Or, once created, can we dare to say
What’s on our mind, and try to understand
How free will complements the Potter’s hand?

Romans 9

(I’m taking part in a Twitter Bible reading group covering Romans to Revelation over the second half of 2014. Today (July 24th) is Romans 9, and my comments need a more sustained argument than is practicable on Twitter. All Bible quotations are from the New Living Translation, 2nd edition.)

I have to admit that I struggle with some of the ideas expressed in this chapter, but I suspect I’m not alone. This post will explore that struggle, and perhaps some of it may help others in a similar struggle. Once again, I apologise that it is longer than most of my posts.

My starting point is verse 15: “God said to Moses, ‘I will show mercy to anyone I choose, and I will show compassion to anyone I choose.'” There are quite a few good things here:

• It emphasises the nature of God: mercy, compassion, love. Paul is quoting from Exodus 33:19, where God is offering to show Moses this nature.
• It reinforces the point that Paul has been making in earlier chapters: that being right with God is a result of God’s action, God’s decision, and not something we can earn by our behaviour.
• It shows God’s favour is not limited to the Jews, the children of Israel, again something that Paul has mentioned and will emphasise again later in this chapter.

But however good this is, it raises a darker question: does this mean that there are people to whom God does not show mercy and compassion, and if so on what basis? In this chapter Paul suggests that the answers are ‘Yes’ and ‘because of God’s choice, decision, even predetermination’.

Paul uses two examples to illustrate this:

• Esau and Jacob, the twin sons of Isaac and Rebekah, where “before they were born [Rebekah] received a message from God … ‘Your older son will serve your younger son'” (vv11-12, quoting Genesis 25:23). In fact, it can be put even stronger: “‘I loved Jacob, but I rejected Esau'” (v13, quoting Malachi 1:2-3; some translations have “hated Esau”)
• The Pharaoh who refused to let Israel go, and suffered the plagues: “God told Pharaoh, ‘I have appointed you for the very purpose of displaying my power in you'” (v17, quoting Exodus 9:16). Again, Paul puts it even more strongly: “God … chooses to harden the hearts of others so they refuse to listen.” (v18)

Is this really how God works – a God of mercy, compassion, love? Does God really decide before people are born whether they are going to be good or bad? Does God really raise someone up just for the pleasure of knocking them down? Does God really harden people’s hearts so that they don’t have a chance to listen and repent and receive mercy? Could Esau and Pharaoh have acted differently?

I don’t want to believe in a God who acts in this way. Paul seems to recognise the problem – or at least acknowledges that it’s a problem for some people: “Well, then, you might say, ‘Why does God blame people for not responding? Haven’t they simply done what he makes them do?'” (v19) Yes, I might well say this.

The trouble is, when Paul introduces someone else’s argument, it is usually to knock it down, and this is no exception: “Who are you, a mere human being, to argue with God? Should the thing that was created say to the one who created it, ‘Why have you made me like this?'” (v20). He goes on to use the analogy of a potter making different jars of clay for different purposes.

I think there are two things wrong with this:

• First, human beings are not lifeless pots. A pot cannot complain to the potter, but a human can challenge God – and they frequently do, throughout the Hebrew Scriptures: the book of Job, several Psalms, even Abraham himself (Genesis 18:20-33).
• Second, if God makes us for particular purposes, I think it is wrong if God then criticises us for not being different. If a potter makes a plain pot “to throw garbage into” (v21), it is ridiculous if the potter then smashes it just because it is not decorative.

So what can we make of Paul’s argument? The notes in the Study Bible I use simply say that this is how it is: that God has absolute sovereignty; that to say or suggest anything else diminishes our view of God; that if we deny this we are assuming that we are in full control of our lives. But taken to its extreme, this idea suggests that we are merely robots mechanically carrying out the instructions written by the divine Programmer. I think that this ignores the reality of free will, that there are choices we can make; and that it actually diminishes the freedom of God in relation to creation.

The relationship betweern God’s sovereignty and our free will is a complex one, and cannot be resolved simply by referring to these verses. But I don’t think that we can simply dismiss them; we need to understand why Paul uses this argument. Perhaps one approach is to recognise that Paul tends to emphasise some aspects of Scripture to make a point; in chapter 3, for example, Paul quotes several verses which say that all people are wholly sinful, ignoring other verses which suggest otherwise.

Is he doing the same here? This argument is part of Paul’s discussion on why most Jews have not accepted the gospel message. Part of this is to say that this should be expected: physical descent from Abraham does not by itself guarantee acceptance as ‘children of God’ (v 8), just as neither does trying to keep all the requirements of the law (v31, and in earlier chapters). Paul suggests that this rejection is itself somehow part of God’s plan – an idea he will return to in chapter 11 – so his use of Esau and Pharaoh as examples and his potter analogy simply emphasise this point without trying to say it’s the whole story.

So I finish where I started: “God said to Moses, ‘I will show mercy to anyone I choose, and I will show compassion to anyone I choose.'” (v15). Perhaps our emphasis should be to rejoice when we experience this mercy and compassion, and not limit God’s choices. Even Paul moves on in this chapter from the ‘bad news’ to rejoice in God’s compassion for all nations.

Romans 3

(I’m taking part in a Twitter Bible reading group covering Romans to Revelation over the second half of 2014. Today (July 16th) is Romans 3, and I have too many thoughts simply to share via Twitter. All Bible quotations are from the New Living Translation, 2nd edition.)

There’s a lot going on in this chapter; Paul is making an argument for the Gospel, the Christian faith, and it’s worth spending a bit of time on the steps leading to this. So this post is a bit longer than my usual ones – sorry!

Verses 1-4

This chapter starts with an interesting question, and I want to explore the answer a bit more than Paul does here. In chapter 2, he says that God judges impartially, rewarding the good and punishing the evil, for both Jews and non-Jews (Greeks / Gentiles) – in other words, regardless of national or religious identity. He also notes that Gentiles may do what the (Jewish) law requires (i.e. in terms of doing good), without sharing the Jewish religion.

So he asks, quite reasonably, “what’s the advantage of being a Jew?” (v1). Or, as we might put it today, if it is possible to be good without religion, why be religious? Paul’s answer is that “the Jews were entrusted with the whole revelation [or, “the oracles”] of God” (v2).

In theological language, you could say that this constitutes a ‘special revelation’ to add greater depth to the ‘general revelation’ of God in the universe, which Paul describes in 1:19-20. By observing the universe, it may be possible to infer the existence of God, but what is God like? and what does that mean for us?

My understanding is that religious beliefs, practices, and experience help us to know more about God, and about how we should live.  This means that religious people should have more knowledge and greater motivation to do the right thing. The sad thing is that in reality we don’t.

However, just because people who believe in God are often not much better than those who don’t, this doesn’t mean that belief in God is wrong, or that God himself is somehow wrong. This is what Paul is getting at in vv3-4. It means that those who believe (like myself) have a greater challenge, otherwise as Paul said in 2:24 “The Gentiles [i.e. non-believers] blaspheme the name of God because of you”.

Our religious identity should therefore help us to live good lives, and that is its advantage, its point.

Verses 5-8

(These verses anticipate a more detailed argument in chapter 6, so I won’t comment on them here.)

Verses 9-18

Paul puts together a string of quotations from the Hebrew Scriptures (what most Christians now call the Old Testament) to support his case that “No one is righteous – not even one” (v10). I find it interesting that some of these verses in their original context are not about ‘everyone’, but specifically about ‘the wicked’, often in contrast to ‘the righteous’ or ‘the godly’.

For example, “Their talk is foul, like the stench from an open grave. / Their tongues are filled with lies.” (v13) is from Psalm 5:9 (the Greek version; Hebrew has ‘flattery’ instead of ‘lies’). Yet this specifically refers to “enemies”; the psalmist asks God to “declare them guilty” (Ps5:10) while noting that “you bless the godly” (Ps5:12).

Paul is making a particular point here. Having made the case in ch2 that everyone (Jew or Gentile) can be good or bad, what he’s saying here is that no-one is good all the time – and by using these verses which originally applied to ‘the wicked’, he’s saying, in effect, that all of us should be classed with them.

Verses 19-20

But there’s an issue here that it seems Paul has forgotten about: what about the good that we do? Does that not count at all? Only a few verses earlier he wrote that “there will be glory and honour and peace from God for all who do good” (2:10) and even that God “will give eternal life to those who keep on doing good” (2:7).

But now Paul writes that the purpose of the law “is to keep people from having excuses, and to show that the entire world is guilty before God” (v19). The concept of righteousness has shifted a little; it’s not about ‘doing right’ but about ‘being right’, and “no no one can ever be made right with God by doing what the law commands.” (20)

I think it might be helpful to fill in a bit of the argument here, which is that however much good we do, that in itself is not enough to be “right with God”. And if we rely on our good works, we’re almost in the position of trying to bargain with God, to reduce our relationship to a transaction; and that is the wrong attitude.

This is not to say that what we do is not important; much of the later chapters of Romans will show this – and see verse 31 below.

Verses 21-24a

Paul is now getting to the heart of the Gospel, having laid the groundwork. And I would like to suggest that what he’s doing here is to explain how God can “give eternal life to those who keep on doing good”, when at the same time “everyone has sinned; we all fall short of the glory of God” (23).

“God has shown us a way to be made right with him without keeping the requirements of the law” (21) – and note, again, that this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do good, it means again that doing good is not enough. Instead, Paul says that “we are made right with God by placing our faith in Jesus Christ” (22) and then “God, with undeserved kindness, declares that we are righteous” (24).

Being made right isn’t something we do – it’s something that God does for us. Actually, this isn’t something completely new. One of Paul’s list of quotations about ‘the wicked’ is from Psalm 5, and there in v7 the psalmist says “Because of your unfailing love I can enter your house”. He knows that he is considered fit to be in God’s house only because of what God does for him.

The new element in Paul’s argument is that this declaration of righteousness comes through “faith in Jesus Christ”. A couple of things to say about this:

First, when we read Romans 1 I tweeted on v17 (“it is through faith that a righteous person has life”) and made the point that faith here isn’t about doctrine, a set of beliefs, or creeds; it is about trust and allegiance. In fact, Paul was quoting from the prophet Habakkuk, who used a word that is often translated as “faithfulness”.

Second, this is one of the verses that is used to argue for the exclusiveness of Christianity, i.e. that it is only by “placing our faith in Jesus Christ” (explicitly) that we can receive righteousness, and that anyone who doesn’t, can’t. I have to admit that I struggle with this interpretation, as it would seem to write off much of the world – those who lived before Jesus, and those who never heard about him, for example; not to mention those who only hear in the context of ‘Christian’ teaching which puts a whole new set of rules and conditions in place which people don’t want anything to do with.

Is it possible that we can read these words as primarily about an opportunity, a way of expressing religious identity, purpose, experience that does what I suggested Paul meant in vv1-4? And is it possible that we can refrain from passing judgement on those who reject this message, yet still have some form of faith – in a concept of God, in the value of humanity, in the meaning of life – that drives their (good) behaviour; in other words, that we do not limit God’s declaration of righteousness?

Verses 24b-26

One of the issues that the New Testament writers explore is the question of how we can be made righteous by “faith in Christ Jesus”. These verses are one way of doing this, using the language of sacrifice, expiation, propitiation, atonement, paying the penalty. The ideas would have made sense to both Jews and Greeks, even if the application to Jesus himself was novel.

There are many Christians who look to this as the only, or at least the primary, way of describing how faith in Jesus puts us right with God; and some insist that those who don’t accept it are not Christians, do not have the ‘proper’ faith in Jesus, and hence would not be declared righteous. Put simply (and perhaps crudely), the argument goes: I have done wrong, i.e. commited sin; that sin has to be punished / paid for; I can’t pay the penalty myself; Jesus pays it by taking my punishment.

I sometimes think that there is a risk of being too literal with this picture. At its worst, I worry it actually goes back to a transactional model of God, and that it could be seen as limiting God’s ability to forgive. In the Gospels, Jesus frequently pronounced people’s sins to be forgiven, without mentioning payment or punishment.

So I think this image is not helpful for everyone, and isn’t something to be used as a test of ‘true’ faith.

Verses 27-31

Paul concludes this part of the argument by repeating the ideas that it is not our own efforts that achieve righteousness, so in particular it isn’t something we can “boast” about (27). He also says:

“If we emphasize faith, does this mean that we can forget about the law? Of course not! In fact, only when we have faith do we truly fulfill the law.” (31)

Again, faith here is not a set of beliefs, but is about trusting in God; and, especially for Paul and other Christians, putting that trust in Christ. It is where we put our trust that enables us to do the right things and receive the reward; once again “It is through faith that a righteous person has life.”

 

Holy Hooligans

The title of these poems comes from a Twitter conversation, where it was suggested that “Holy Hooligans” was an apt way to describe the behaviour of some people in church, especially children!

We want the children to be seen, not heard,
To treat our holy place with some respect;
We like our peace and quiet undisturbed,
So this is the behaviour we expect:
No running up the aisle; don’t stand on pews;
No talking, even when the prayers are long;
No giggling; no sweets to suck or chew;
Boys wearing baseball caps inside is wrong!
Jesus himself said, “let the children come”;
We suffer them, for they’re tomorrow’s church –
But wait: it’s possible we’ve got it wrong
And ought to recognise today their worth.
So let us open wide our hearts and hands
To celebrate our Holy Hooligans.

It also occurred to me that “Holy Hooligan” might even be used to describe Jesus himself, especially when we think of him cleansing the Temple (e.g. Mark 11:15-17 ,  John 2:13-16)

He sees, on coming to the sacred space,
The merchants and the money-changers there.
With anger and compassion in his face
He tells them this is still a house of prayer.
He does not share the views of those who say
True worship needs a gift that shows perfection;
A whip of cords he takes to drive away
And turn the tables: is this insurrection
Against those serving God? He calls them thieves:
And though we read the story and agree,
We make it hard for those who would believe
By other barriers, that we may not see.
The way to God requires no talisman:
It’s opened by this Holy Hooligan.

They also serve…

This post has been brewing in my head for a while now. It’s taken time to get into shape, and some of the ideas have developed while doing so. I’ve written before about the restrictions in activity that come with a chronic illness like ME, but this post explores the impact this has on our sense of identity and value. It’s also a bit longer than most of my other posts – sorry about that.

Restrictions

One of the main impacts of ME and other chronic debilitating illnesses on their sufferers is that we are restricted in what we are able to do. The more severe the disease in anybody (or at any time), the greater the restrictions. It means we can no longer do what we used to do, or what we want to do, or what other people expect us to do; and this can have an impact on who we see ourselves to be.

These things might be for ourselves. In the most severe cases, this will even include the basic care of our lives: washing and feeding, needing help from others. For others, it may  be the things we enjoy doing – walking, driving a car, going out with friends, when we have to make a huge effort to do something and be ready for the inevitable payback. Or it may mean limiting the time we spend doing things like reading, watching TV, listening to music, when we are sensitive to noise and light, or when our brains don’t let us concentrate.

Other things we are restricted in doing are for other people, especially when we have young children. Playing energetic games with them is likely to be out, or perhaps we can only last a few minutes; on bad days getting them ready for school and taking them there may simply be not possible. At times like these we may feel guilty, or even a failure as a parent or grandparent; and although we know deep down that that’s not really the case, and although we get lots of encouragement from others, and although we can concentrate on the things we can do for our children, this still hits us hard.

Or it might be work. Many people have given up work altogether, or can only work part time, or can juist about manage to work but at the expense of everything else. Work is also something that gives us a sense of identity, hopefully it’s something that we enjoy doing, and brings in money to support us and our families: so not being able to do this is a major blow.

Called to serve

And then there are lots of other activities that people do in their spare time: voluntary work in many different forms, helping out in the community, running sports clubs, being leaders of uniformed organisations, raising money for good causes, and many other things. Again these are things we might enjoy, and also help to shape our identity; but they also give us a sense of value, of self-worth. So what happens to this when we can no longer serve?

For many, this idea of finding worth through service is part of a religious faith (though of course it doesn’t have to be). As a Christian, I am reminded several times in the Bible of the call to service, to do whatever I can; and yet this is limited. I hear and read calls for volunteers and think, “I could do that” – and then reality kicks in and I know that I can’t.

I am currently part of a Twitter Bible reading group, reading Luke, John, and Acts from the New Testament, a chapter a day, and a couple of passages have emphasised this call. In Luke chapter 12, verse 48, Jesus says “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required” (New Revised Standard Version). I am conscious that I have abilities that have been used and appreciated in the past, gifts I believe have been given to me, which now lie dormant; that I am not giving in proportion to my gifts.

Or take the parable of the talents, in Luke chapter 19; those who use their gifts (in this case, money) to grow are praised, while the one who hides his away is criticised and punished. The New Living Translation puts Jesus’ comment quite strongly: “But from those who do nothing, even what little they have will be taken away.” (verse 26) – do nithing, and perhaps not just in relation to financial investment. Those who do nothing with what they have are held up as bad examples, not to be followed.

Or outside the Bible, there is the prayer of St. Ignatius of Loyola: “Teach us, good Lord, to serve you as you deserve, to give and not to count the cost … to toil and not to seek for rest …”. How can we spoonies, who have to carefuly manage our little packets of energy, live up to this?

Do what you can

But fortunately there are also other views, and one of my challenges is to listen to these rather than keep pushing myself. At some point in my illness, possibly when I had to give up practically everything outside work in an attempt to keep my job, I was reminded of the line “They also serve who only stand and wait”.

At the time I didn’t know where this came from, so I looked it up and found John Milton’s sonnet “On his blindness” (you can read the whole poem here). Interestingly, Milton also refers to the parable of the talents in this poem, and his fears of what might happen if he were no longer using his own talent.

So what does this mean when we feel called to serve?

Earlier in the #Luke2Acts series I looked at the staory of the widow’s mite (Luke 21:1-4). I have usually read this as a call to sacrificial living and giving; the fact that she gave “all that she had to live on” is supremely challenging. The contrast between her gift and those of rich worshippers is not on absolute but on relative terms: she pushed herself until there was nothing left.

But another way of looking at it is that her gift is valued in proportion to her means: she gave a little because she only had a little to give. This is also echoed in other parts of the Bible: for example, in 2 Corinthians 8:12 Paul (who is encouraging people to contribute to an aid programme) says “For if the eagerness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has – not according to what one does not have.”

So one way of dealing with a call to service during chronic illness, and the feelings of guilt and worthlessness that come with not being able to respond as we would like, is to focus on the things we can do, and be grateful for whatever opportunities there are.

…and wait

But there’s more. There are times when we feel we can do nothing – not just a little bit, but nothing at all. When the pain becomes harder to bear, when we have to lie down to stop the dizziness from making us faint, when even having a shower or getting dressed is too great an effort, when the brain fog leaves us completely confused and unable to think, when we cannot concentrate on writing or reading or talking to others… The severer the illness, the more this happens, and even for me there are times when I feel this way.

Can we really serve by doing nothing? By just waiting?

I’ve touched on this a couple of times in my Twitter contributions to #Luke2Acts, raising it in the form of a question; and often get the response “at least you can pray”. This is true – but again, only some of the time. Prayer is still ‘doing’, still takes some effort, and sometimes the emotional energy is simply not there.

I’m not alone in this. One of the best books from a Christian perspective on what it’s like to have M.E. is “A Year Lost and Found” by Michael Mayne. He also writes of times when he foundf it difficult to pray, and of his need to be prayed for. He refers to another excellent book, “The Stature of Waiting” by W. H. Vanstone, which explores this general issue in more depth.

One of Vanstone’s points, echoed by Mayne, is that we are still human, still having identity, worth, and value, when we are passive rather than active; when we need to be prayed for rather than pray; when we are served rather than serving. It’s not easy for me to understand an accept this, but I think that it reaches the deep meaning of Milton’s line:

“They also serve who only stand and wait”.