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Associates & Refresh Ministries Support Manager (2 years fixed appointment. Salary: £26,250 per annum; Location: home-based in the UK, able to travel to London, Belfast and possibly other UK locations for occasional team days) Living Leadership is a dynamic network of people providing training, support and resources for disciple-making leaders and spouses of leaders in the UK, Ireland and beyond. Alone and in partnership with like-minded ministries, we provide training, pastoral care and mentoring for leaders in churches and organisations across the evangelical family. A key development has been our Associates Network, launched in 2020, which sees experienced leaders investing in future and present leaders according to their gifting and experience. Could you serve God in our growing ministry? We are looking for one person full-time or two people part-time to fulfil the role of Associates & Refresh Ministries Support Manager, which includes two aspects: Associate Scheme development – managing, administering and developing our Associates Scheme, developing resources, online booking systems, team days and conferences, ministry support for Associates. Management of other Refresh Ministries – administering and managing Refresh Network Online, online bookings, liaising with speakers, managing Zoom calls, recording sessions, regular communications. The successful candidate or candidates will be an evangelical Christian with proven abilities to work with a team and to innovate, plan, prioritise and deliver in order to achieve exceptional results in one or both of these aspects. You must be in full sympathy with the aims and objectives of Living Leadership as outlined in our Statements of Faith and Ethos. Download the Job Description Closing date: Friday 14 January 2022. For further details, including how to apply, please contact info@livingleadership.org

Ministry with the actions and affections of Christ This post is based on Philippians 2.25-30. If possible, have your Bible open at this passage as you read. He’s one of the Bible’s most attractive characters, but many barely know his name. Epaphroditus, meaning handsome. Literally ‘above Aphrodite’. One who might surpass the Greek goddess of beauty. Parental hopes, it seems, of a child of exceptional charm. But his attractiveness was not in his name or his physical attributes. His was the deep beauty of godly character. For Epaphroditus is one of the most Christlike people we encounter in the New Testament. He was, according to Paul, the kind of Christian worker who deserves great honour (Phil. 2.29). A man to be treasured immensely. A minister to be greeted warmly. A ministry to be celebrated with great joy. What made Epaphroditus such a model minister? Was he a serial church planter? A dynamic preacher? A worker of miracles? A pastor par excellence? If he was any of these things, Paul didn’t see fit to tell us. In fact, by modern standards, Epaphroditus wasn’t much to write home about. He started well. He was the embodiment of the Philippians’ contribution to Paul’s mission team, bringing their material support (Phil. 4.18). He was, literally, their ‘apostle’ (Phil. 2.25), sent as their authorised representative just as Christ had sent Paul with His authority. And Epaphroditus became more than a courier. His practical contribution to the needs of the imprisoned apostle engendered a deep affection expressed in three terms (Phil. 2.25). He was Paul’s “brother.” A brotherhood forged in the fire of affliction. He was Paul’s “fellow worker.” A valued member of the team using the gifts he was given. He was Paul’s “fellow soldier.” They fought together against Satan’s schemes and for the cause of Christ. Epaphroditus: exemplary brother, worker and soldier alongside Paul. If you’ve had a ministry partner like that, you’ll know how grateful Paul was. Not coldness but compassion. Not competition but cooperation. Not conflict but co-belligerence. But it was not primarily in his service that Paul saw Christ’s likeness. Rather, it was in his suffering. Paul writes that he must send Epaphroditus back to Philippi (Phil. 2.25). Reports had reached them that their envoy had been ill. Paul confirms it was true. Epaphroditus had been ill. In fact, he’s had a brush with death. “But God…” – two transformative words! God saved Epaphroditus from death – a divine intervention Paul received as a gift of mercy to both his friend and himself. We don’t know if he recovered fully. Was he unable to continue in service for Paul? Paul gives three reasons for sending him back. Epaphroditus’s longing to be with the Philippians. The joy his return would bring them. The relief of sorrow (anxiety) for Paul (Phil. 2.28). That last point suggests that this brother, who had been such a support, was now a burden, if not materially, at least emotionally. It doesn’t sound like ministry glory, does it? Strong man brought low. Promising start, humiliating ending. Once a useful minister, now a bit of a wreck. Not the kind of bio you read in the handbooks at big conferences or on the back of bestselling Christian books. But maybe it’s your story or that of someone you know. Humanly speaking, it’s an embarrassment. Something to whisper about. Someone to pity. But God! God had another purpose. It was precisely in his weakness that Christ was revealed. Twice Paul’s words indicate the likeness. We read that Epaphroditus came “near to death” (Phil. 2.27) and “nearly died” (Phil. 2.30). Coming just after Paul’s famous “Christ hymn,” in which he says Jesus “humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2.8), the parallel is obvious. Jesus died in obedience to his Father. Epaphroditus came close to death in the work of Christ, “risking his life to complete what was lacking in your service to me” (Phil. 2.30). We don’t know if Epaphroditus’s illness was a direct result of gospel ministry. He could have been assaulted or perhaps he picked up a disease. Or maybe he just ran himself into the ground. We don’t know and speculation will get us nowhere. All we know is that he became sick in the context of sacrificial service for Paul in the name of Christ. It’s a story that’s been repeated many times, and we may be prone to ask, “Why didn’t God preserve him from illness and save Paul the worry?” As ever, we cannot second guess God’s mind. But this we can say: faithful and sacrificial service for God carries no guarantee of safety, wellbeing or longevity. Put more bluntly, ministry might kill you. It will do that quicker if you’re foolish, but even if you’re wise, you might die in service. Weakness in ministry is no source of shame! For it is in weakness that we come closest to Christlikeness. That was true in the physical weakness of Epaphroditus, but Paul’s second verbal clue is more remarkable still. Paul writes that “he has been longing for you all and has been distressed” (Phil. 2.26). The word translated “distressed” is only used of one other person in the New Testament. It was, of course, the Lord Jesus in Gethsemane (Matt. 26.37; Mark 14.33). Epaphroditus came close to Christlike sacrifice when he nearly died, but he also experienced Christlike sentiment as he reflected on the anxiety his illness had brought his sending church. There is no more Christlike quality than to be so invested in the spiritual wellbeing of others that we long to be with them in their pain. Epaphroditus was Christlike in his actions and his affections. That’s the kind of worker who should be honoured. Not the endlessly resilient, seemingly invincible and inexhaustible. Instead, we should honour faithful servants who will follow in their Master’s footsteps, bearing the burdens of others, and offering their resources in the mission of God. What about us as modern-day workers and soldiers for Christ? Perhaps you often attempt to hide your troubled emotions, put on a brave face, or try to be strong when you aren’t. Please don’t walk that road alone. Find a co-worker like Paul who will hear your heart, and commend you to the care you need. If don’t already have that support, our Associates are here for you. Perhaps you’re not that close to the line, but you know your affection no longer resonates with Christ’s heart. You’ve developed a host of self-protection mechanisms because of unhealed wounds and past hurts. Please hear what Paul tells us of Epaphroditus. You are no source of shame, but one to be honoured, for you have shared in the sufferings of Christ. Let that truth seep into the depths of your heart. Don’t let your wounds define you, or become calloused. Rather, discover again the joy of the Lord. Meditate deeply on Christ’s wounds, and let your own sufferings take on a fresh perspective in light of his redemptive sacrifice for you. Perhaps you’re happy to be Christlike in your giving of self, but you feel shame when you groan in anguish for those you serve. Epaphroditus shows us that deep emotions are not shameful, but honourable when they echo Christ’s heartbeat. Some emotions are just negative and should never be expressed except to God. Festering bitterness and envy have no place in Christian community (Phil. 2.14). But there are other emotions - the longing for purity in the Church; the heartfelt sorrow at sin; the sense of being burdened for those lost without Christ. Epaphroditus felt these and so did Paul. He calls them “the affection of Christ Jesus” (Phil. 1.8). To have the mind of Christ is to serve in humble obedience. To have the heart of Christ is to suffer in deep affection. Through that service and suffering comes the joy of celebration. It’s a joy that comes through fellowship with others who share our sorrow at sin and our hope of glory. For Christ, it came in his glorious reception into Heaven’s eternal joy. For Paul, it came for a season through Epaphroditus. For Epaphroditus, when Philippians was written, it could not come through Paul, imprisoned in Rome, but came through a warm welcome from the community of believers of Philippi. Where will that joy come for you in your service and sorrow? Find ministry brothers or sisters who share the affection of Christ. Express it together, saving each other from cynicism, praying for God to continue His work in and through you, and rejoicing in the Lord. You might find that partnership in a colleague or ministry team, your spouse, a fraternal, a retreat, a Living Leadership mentor, a group in Refresh Network Online, or even in your church community. But don’t neglect it. And perhaps even today you can be the bringer of joy to another as you honour someone who serves humbly and loves deeply.

I loved my Grandpa Donaldson. He loved me and I know he cherished my interest in the Bible, and my love for Jesus. He was a wonderful story-teller. We grandchildren particularly enjoyed his stories of the “Magic Saddle” and “The Wee Red Bus.” His talent for engaging the young was honed at what were called “Children’s Meetings.” They were evangelistic gatherings and were all the rage when I was a wee lad in the early 1960’s. We sang choruses from a flip chart – “Goliath of Gath,” “Climb, climb up sunshine mountain” (!) or “The Bible is God’s Telephone” were some of my favourites, now consigned to history. Bible memorisation, quizzes, and Bible stories came alive on the flannelgraph or via home-made artefacts or domestic props like a bobbin of cotton thread. I loved these meetings – held al fresco in the summer months with upwards of a hundred children in attendance. But, back to Grandpa. He joined the Royal Army Medical Corp (RAMC) on 28 April, 1915 when he’d just turned nineteen. The oldest child of the family, he had been a coal miner for five years. He requested a non-combatant role due to his conscience regarding taking up arms, and was deployed to the Dardanelles as a stretcher-bearer, managing to survive the slaughter which took so many lives. He was redeployed eventually to France but on the War Office Daily List 5565 of 14 May 1918, he was reported missing. An anxious wait followed in the family home until 8 November 1918, when he was reported as a Prisoner of War. Grandpa didn’t talk much about his time as a PoW, though he used to regale us with some German he’d picked up in the camp. He even brought back a loaf of bread from Parchim German Prisoner of War Camp in N.E. Germany. One thing he never mentioned was the loss of his younger brother Duncan (named after his father). I only discovered in October 2021 that Grandpa had lost his brother. I found out that Duncan was the third of four Donaldson boys in a family of seven children. He was born in 1900, enlisted in the Royal Scots in 1917, and was posted to France on 31 March 1918. On 21 April 1918, he died from wounds received in action. Duncan was only 18 when he died and I had never been able to pay my respects because I didn’t know of his existence. I have since discovered his gravestone in the cemetery of Aire-sur-la-Lys in the Pas de Calais. My poor great-grandparents had lost their third child in April of 1918, followed by the news that their oldest boy – my Grandpa – was missing in action in May 1918. Imagine their relief when they found out that he was a PoW in November of that year, just before the end of the war. During my research, the most moving discovery I made was a picture of my great-uncle Duncan’s gravestone. The inscription (at a cost to his parents of 3 ½ d per letter) included this text: “The Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” Galatians 2.20. As a testimony to the faith of a young soldier, it is such a fitting text. For the grief, sorrow and pathos of his godly parents, who held on to their faith and hope in Christ, it speaks of their sincerity and faithfulness. For a brother who lived on, it is a tribute to his life, because the whole text (beyond the number of letters permitted on the headstone) says: “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.’ For Grandpa Donaldson, this was deeply personal. This Remembrance Day of 2021 will be very special for me as, for the first time, I will remember great-uncle Duncan and his faith. I will also reflect on the value of leadership in the home, on sons whose faith has passed down through the generations. These are men for whom I am eternally grateful. As it is written in Hebrews 13.7, “Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith.”

Zeal Without Burnout: Seven Keys to a Lifelong Ministry of Sustainable Sacrifice, Christopher Ash, Good Book Company, 2016, 123 pages, ISBN: 9781784980214, List price: £7.99 “Sacrifice is not the same as burnout” (p.23). That is the crucial distinction Christopher Ash seeks to make in this beautiful little book. Beautiful both in its presentation – the hardcover and attractive design give it a real feeling of quality and it is a delight to hold – and its content – it is well written and follows a clear and engaging order. Ash writes from experience as a pastor and a trainer of others for ministry and he understands the drive that many younger men feel to be sacrificial in ministry but how easily this can tip them onto a path of self-destruction that is far from honouring to the God they want to serve. Ash opens Zeal Without Burnout with ‘Stories from the Edge’, recounting his own experience of coming close to burnout on at least two occasions and the serious burnout of one of his ministry heroes. Similar stories written in the first person are interspersed throughout the remaining chapters of the book. Having established that burnout is a serious threat to people in ministry, Ash proceeds to explain why it should not be confused with sacrifice and then lays out his foundational theological principle, that “We are creatures of dust” (p.35) – we are human and not God. The “seven keys” to lifelong ministry that occupy a chapter each, forming the bulk of the book, are outworkings of this principle. The first four describe four needs we have that God does not: sleep, Sabbath rest, friendship and inward renewal. The remaining three constitute a warning to beware celebrity, an encouragement that our labour for the Lord is not in vain, and a call to delight and rejoice in God’s grace rather than in gifts. The book concludes with a suggested four-step process of self-reflection, a chapter in which Steve Midgley explains what burnout is and then a short list of further recommended reading. This little book is possibly the best single book I have read on the subject. It masterfully weaves together real stories with practical wisdom grounded in a clear theological conviction. It is coherent and engaging throughout and its greatest strength compared with other books with similar aims is its balance of dealing with heart issues and practical advice. Ash’s grasp of Scripture and his commitment to the glory of God and the centrality of the gospel are evident on every page and his concern for younger pastors emanates from every chapter. He is also sensitive to the diversity of his readership, putting advice specifically intended for married couples in a postscript to his chapter on friendship rather than assuming that it will be relevant to all. The inclusion of recommendations for further reading and questions for self-reflection enhance the usefulness of the book. Judged by its intentions, Zeal Without Burnout is virtually flawless. It is hardly a criticism to say that it is not a detailed exploration of the themes it introduces – how could it be in so few small and well-spaced pages? It is also worth remembering that it approaches the issue of burnout from one specific theological premise, albeit an immensely helpful one, and that choice limits its focus. There are some areas Ash does not address, including healthy eating and exercise or accountability and teamwork (these last two are suggested by one of the contributors of personal stories, Dennis – p.93), and the addition of group discussion questions might make the book more useful for ministry teams. For readers who want a rounded perspective on this subject, this book should be read along with Pablo Martinez’s Take Care of Yourself and David Murray’s ReSET. In conclusion, I highly recommend Zeal Without Burnout to every Christian minister. I agree with Ash that our failings often come from forgetting our humanity. That is inexcusable because at the root of this issue is the idolatry that says that I can be like God. I need that rebuke and the tender caring advice that Ash follows it with. I am sure I will need it many more times if I am to finish the race well and I intend to return to this book occasionally to be reminded and encouraged once again. You can purchase a copy of Zeal Without Burnout from the publisher, or most other bookshops The links in this post are affiliate links. This means if you purchase the book through these links we will receive a small commission from that sale which we can use to further our ministries. This does not add anything to the price of the book you purchase.

Oath-maker or law-keeper. Which are you? Last time, I introduced you to Uhtred, a Saxon raised by Danes, the hero of the Saxon series by Bernard Cornwell. Uhtred is a warrior. He is bold and brave, impulsive, volatile and extremely violent. He is a brilliant tactician, noble, fiercely loyal, capable of great and awful deeds, supreme on the battlefield. So what makes him a hero? LOVE Why is Uhtred brave? It isn’t because of romantic love. Certainly, he loves Gisela, one of his wives, but he has no respect for the institution of marriage. He does not fight for his wife. Instead, an enduring theme in the books is the brotherly love he has for his friends. The bond forged with his brothers-in-arms is created by facing death together, by standing side by side in the shield wall. Sihtric, Leofric, Finan, even Osferth, these are the people he loves. He risks his life beside them over and over again. It is a truism in war that soldiers fight not so much for the cause as for the brother by their side. Forget freedom or patriotism or the regiment, a soldier will risk all to save his friend, who’s dying in a hole a hundred yards away. That is self-sacrificial love, the kind of love we associate with God. And Uhtred has it in spades. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. John 15.13 Courage and brotherly love are admirable, but it’s the following character trait that portrays the strongest connection with Christian belief. He is an oath-maker. OATH-MAKER What binds a warrior to his lord? What ties a great warrior to his king? Oath-making. In the ninth century, everyone had a lord. Each person was bound to that lord by their oath. And Uhtred was no exception. Everything about Uhtred screams chaos. He is a wild animal who detests King Alfred. He thinks his religion is absurd and ridiculous. He has no respect for priests or monks. You expect him to abandon Alfred at the earliest opportunity. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Because he has made an oath. In fact, he makes at least three oaths to Alfred. He says, I had given Alfred my oath and without oaths we are no better than beasts. It is oath-making that underpins everything that happens in the Saxon series. Without oaths, Uhtred would abandon his king, and Wessex would be lost. Without oaths, Uhtred would have no warriors bound to him, men who follow him into battle time after time. Without oaths, there is only chaos. Oaths are the foundation of society, the invisible webbing that holds the whole structure in place. Not laws. Oaths. LAWS By contrast, Alfred, while relying on oaths, values law. He’s forever making laws for the England of his dreams. Indeed, Alfred believes it is laws that civilise a man. Uhtred says, The law says I own that land, and the law, we are told, is what makes us men under God instead of beasts in a ditch. Is it laws or oaths that make us men, make us human? Who is right, Uhtred or King Alfred? Certainly, a country cannot prosper without laws. A country without institutions and the rule of law becomes engulfed in corruption. However, laws come with a cost to us personally. They are impersonal and rigid. They are used by others to condemn us. They have no feeling, and they cannot save us. They do not give life. In Galatians, St. Paul tells us that the law was added because of transgressions. It is a light illuminating our weakness, our need for a Saviour. It is a means to an end, not the end itself. For God did not make us for law, but for relationship. How tragic, then, when we misunderstand the law, for in so doing we misunderstand God himself. The Pharisees were condemned by Jesus for their hypocrisy, for loving the law without loving God. Instead of drawing people to God, they hindered the people’s ability to enter into relationship with a loving God. Laws can do that. They can hinder our ability to connect with God, because they are never a source of grace. And only when there is the possibility of grace is there life, for grace gives life. When we see only law, instead of the grace to which it points, our hearts become hardened. It happens even in the church. What do law-keepers look like in church? Since law-breaking is often external, law-keepers are more interested in how things look than in what’s going on inside a person. Respectability matters a lot. It’s important to project an image which is highly regarded by the group. That indicates law-keeping. They make judgements about others based on their own ideas of what is acceptable. Behaviours outside cultural norms are signs that a person is not “one of us.” They often lack grace. They value behaviour over relationship. The law cannot impart life. And law-keepers, those who value the keeping of laws, are looking in the wrong place for their salvation. When they use laws to judge others, they find themselves judged. Laws may be necessary for society, but they are not where life is found. Because for life, we need grace. That’s why we should look to oaths. Promises. OATHS In Uhtred’s world, oaths are promises. The equivalent biblical term is “covenant.” At his best, Uhtred is a covenant-keeper, a promise-keeper. In Cornwell’s books, that’s what oath-making is all about. A covenant is a promise. And promises require sacrifice. Just ask Uhtred. He is bound to a man he hates. He can’t stand Alfred’s stuffy, law-making, religious attitudes. He hates all of it. He is a man of action and decision, but an oath is an oath. Well . . . I write that, but in reality, Cornwell knows how to spin a great yarn. There are times when Uhtred’s most cherished beliefs clash. Like swords crashing into shields, Uhtred’s belief in fate crashes into his oaths. That’s why, at times, he wavers. He says, Making an oath is like steering a course, but if the winds and tides of fate are too strong, then the steering oar loses its power. Under severe pressure, he struggles to hold onto the steering oar, and sometimes he cannot stay true to his oaths. Not so our God. Our oath-keeping God. A covenant with Noah. A covenant with Abram. A covenant with David. Through the Abrahamic covenant in particular, he is bound to the people of Israel, who betray him over and over again. They break the covenant repeatedly, yet he does not flinch. He does not pull out. He goes all the way, making the ultimate sacrifice through the Lord Jesus. He is the ultimate promise-keeper, whose promises are rooted in his great love for us. That’s why Uhtred’s oaths remind me of my God. The Lord keeps his oath, his promise. It is a sign of his great love for us. And like Uhtred’s love for his brothers-in-arms, our God’s love leads him to sacrifice himself for his friends, to rip himself asunder for the sake of relationship, not law. For grace can only be birthed by a promise-keeping God, who stays the course, who risks all to gain all. To gain us, his beloved people. So when Uhtred does keep his promises, he reminds me of my God. The psalmist speaks of him as a fortress. In Uhtred’s world, his family home, Bebbanburg, is a fortress built on massive piece of solid rock. A solid rock. Unmoveable. Unshakeable. Unchangeable. Just like our God. As the hymn writer, Edward Mote, writes, On Christ, the solid rock, I stand, All other ground is sinking sand, All other ground is sinking sand Our God is faithful, reliable, a solid rock on which we stand. He never changes, never veers from his goals, never lets us down. Because his promises are rooted in his character. And when he says he will be with us to the end, he means it.

ReSET: Living a Grace-Paced Life in a Burnout Culture, David Murray, Crossway, 2017, 100 pages, ISBN: 9781433555183, List price: £11.99 David Murray writes as a pastor whose ever-accelerating ministry drive was brought to a shuddering halt by an unexpected medical crisis. Reflecting on his experience and that of other burnt-out pastors, he concluded that the root issue is “deficits of grace” (p.12) in their experience. Despite being committed to a theology of grace, many leaders, he argues, lack the motivating, moderating, multiplying, releasing and receiving power of grace in their lives. In ReSET, Murray aims to correct these deficits for Christian men, whether pastors or not. A second book, co-authored with his wife Shona, entitled ReFRESH, is written for women. The content of the book has been developed through a period of supporting men through an informal process to reset their lives “by establishing patterns and rhythms that will help you live a grace-paced life and get you to the finishing line successfully and joyfully” (p.23-24). Using the image of repair bays in a garage through which we, like conked out cars, can move in a process of resetting, Murray leads us through ten words beginning with re-. His first two chapters are about assessing our current health (1. Reality Check) and seeking to understand how we reached this point (2. Review). He then moves through several disciplines for healthier living – sleep (3. Rest), exercise (4. Re-Create), patterns of regular breaks from work (5. Relax), healthy reflection that reorders our thinking in line with truth (6. Rethink), decluttering and simplification (7. Reduce), healthy nourishment for both body and soul (8. Refuel), and restorative relationships (9. Relate). In each of these chapters, Murray provides practical suggestions and personal illustrations as well as some insights from sociological and medical research. The final Chapter, entitled Resurrection, summarises the ways in which working through the preceding repair bays have hopefully changed the reader’s perspective as they leave the ‘Reset garage’. Murray’s recognition that grace must be more than a theological concept is surely a vital insight for people in Christian ministry. Too readily, we reduce grace to the means of our salvation from sin rather than embracing every aspect of wholeness in life as a gift from our gracious God. Murray is right to recognise the importance of what may seem to be simple or even ‘unspiritual’ things – sleep, food and exercise – for our overall wellbeing. ReSET is an exercise in correction for unhealthy dichotomies between body and soul and unbiblical notions that faithfulness in ministry is a purely spiritual matter that has no relation to physical health. Murray writes engagingly, with frequent illustrations from his life or the media, and he is constantly attentive to the practical, proposing many concrete changes that can be made to redirect life in a healthier direction and away from burnout. When we consider the issue of burnout, as well as making practical changes to our lifestyles, it is undoubtedly vital to correct the wrong ways of thinking about ministry that feed into the problem. Murray pays less attention to these in ReSET. Perhaps this reflects his decision to address the book to a more general readership rather than specifically to pastors, and it must be acknowledged that he briefly indicates some of the destructive ways we can think about ministry in the Introduction and the Chapter entitled Rethink. Still, it will be important for Christian ministers to explore each of these in more detail and work harder at the root issues of motivation and identity so that their ministries will be fully glorifying to God. Pablo Martinez’s book Take Care for Yourself, which pays more attention to heart issues and less to practical advice, may be a useful supplement to ReSET and vice versa. Another addition I would have liked to see to the book is tools for self-assessment and questions for discussion, as much of the advice will be more likely to be beneficial if it is worked out in relationship with supportive others. Inevitably, a book that covers so many areas in under 200 pages will lack depth of analysis in at least some areas. Murray includes theological insights along the way, but he does not present a fully developed theology of humanness or the aspects of it that he addresses. His “theology of the body” based on 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 (pp.74-75) is illustrative of this weakness. This deficiency could be overcome by pointing the reader to fuller theological and biblical sources, but Murray’s footnotes seldom do so, and he has not included a list of recommended further reading. Unfortunately, he also includes a couple of examples of high-profile pastors that have not aged well in the four years since the book was published due to subsequent developments and would be best removed in a revision (pp.32 and 38). Reading as a medic, at times I felt that Murray’s comments on scientific perspectives were a little superficial too – his sources are generally popular-level media reports rather than original research and, in a few places, I was not convinced that the medical evidence was as strong as he suggested. Having said all of this, I still admired what is a thoughtful attempt to integrate biblical truth with scientific understanding. In conclusion, I would recommend ReSET to any Christian man and especially those in ministry. The book is aimed at preventing burnout, but it is a helpful read for every man, whether he seems to be at risk at present or not. Its down-to-earth advice, if followed, will save many ministries and marriages and may even save some lives. It is also the kind of book that could be useful read multiple times, perhaps as part of a periodic review of life and especially for those in life’s middle years, or returned to as a reference (helped by the useful Index) when specific issues arise. If we want to survive in ministry for the long-haul we could do with periodic visits to the ReSET garage. Purchase at the Good Book Company | Purchase at Ten of Those Some of the links in this post are affiliate links. This means if you purchase the book through these links we will receive a small commission from that sale which we can use to further our ministries. This does not add anything to the price of the book you purchase.

Let me introduce you to Uhtred, a Saxon raised by Danes, the hero of the Saxon series by Bernard Cornwell. Uhtred is a warrior. He is bold and brave, impulsive, volatile and extremely violent. He is a brilliant tactician, noble, fiercely loyal, capable of great and awful deeds, supreme on the battlefield. He is truly a wonder to behold. During the ninth century, life in Wessex and Mercia was hard. Very often, it was also short. Few lived to old age. Cornwell describes a world in which no town or village was secure; at any moment, Danes could invade and kill you and all your neighbours. Imagine that. Eking out a living from the soil, trying to survive, knowing that each day could be your last. Imagine the fear, because from the fear rose a blend of superstition and religion. In this world, religions clashed as on a battlefield. Pagan Danes worshiped the Norse gods, Thor and Odin, and fought for superiority over the God nailed to a tree, a god they saw as weak and helpless. While Alfred’s devotion to the one true God anchored him, sadly Christianity was distorted by superstition (relics were popular) and hypocritical monks and priests. Cornwell is an atheist, so one of his favourite tropes is religious hypocrisy. What drives Uhtred? What makes him heroic? Certainly, it isn’t his belief system. He is a pagan. He clings to the Norse gods, especially Thor, and believes that his fate is decided by the three spinners – the Norns – who sit at the base of the tree, Yggdrasil. Wyrd bið ful āræd. Destiny is all! Uhtred believes that warriors will feast together in the great corpse-hall after death, but only if they die in battle with a sword in their hand. These beliefs may make him brave and reckless at times, but they do not make him a hero. Nor does his violence. In several scenes, he loses his temper. The heroic leader from the battlefield becomes a merciless warrior who kills priests in a rage. This creates the impression that he’s just wild and unprincipled, and that is not heroic at all. However, this is only half the story. Uhtred is certainly a flawed character, but he possesses something which all heroes need. A moral core. Once you’re able to get past the paganism and the violence, it turns out that some of his beliefs – and consequent actions – overlap with orthodox Christian faith. These are the things which turn him into a hero. Reputation The preachers tell us that pride is a great sin, but the preachers are wrong. Pride makes a man, it drives him, it is the shield wall around his reputation... Men die, they said, but reputation does not die. The Last Kingdom In this quote, we see his distorted view of pride, but also the immense value he places on reputation. It matters hugely to him, because without it, he cannot build the wealth he needs to take back his home, Bebbanburg – stolen by his uncle. A warrior’s reputation is built on bravery, physical prowess and tactical skill. It makes him a leader. But more than that, Uhtred values reputation because he believes that while life is transitory, his reputation will outlive him. His name will live on. He says, Men die, women die, cattle die, yet reputation lives on like the echo of a song. The Burning Land As Maximus says in Gladiator, “Brothers, what we do in life echoes in eternity.” Don’t be put off by the word “reputation.” Uthred may state that pride is a shield wall around his reputation, but the word has little to do with vanity or pride. Instead, it’s a word which expresses a heartfelt belief in significance. To gain reputation through battle is a way of saying “my life means something.” Let me put this in Christian terms: our choices have eternal consequences. We all leave a legacy that matters. Hugely. We’re not just sitting in a lifeboat waiting to go to heaven. We’re not just “saved from,” but “saved for.” We are significant because of the part we play in God’s Big Story. That’s why we must live bravely and faithfully. Throughout the books, Uhtred faces death many, many times. The descriptions of the shield wall are enough to turn your stomach – the blood-soaked horror of sword thrusts, the flesh-ripping, jaw-breaking battles. What a contrast to our 21st century lives. How comfortable it is nowadays with our password protected online banking, Facebook likes, and regular Amazon deliveries. I wouldn’t want to live in ninth-century Wessex, fearing warring Danes who might kill me in my bed. I’m not looking back romantically wishing I could fight beside Uhtred. Not at all. I am, however, asking these two questions: What does it mean to live bravely in today’s world? What will be your legacy? Battles are highly revealing. It is no place for a coward. Osferth – Alfred’s illegitimate child – wants to be warrior. During a ferocious battle, he grabs his opportunity. He’s physically weak, yet he jumps off a wall and attacks the huge Danish warlord, Sigefrid, seriously injuring him. His sword thrust turns the tide. When it came time to risk everything, he delivered. He was bold and brave. As Uhtred says, To gain everything, a man must risk everything. Are you brave? Will you risk all for the Lord Jesus? Or will you play it safe? And how will you inspire courage in your people? Without courage, how can we follow a Lord who calls us to give up our lives for him? Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. Luke 9.23-24 For a church leader, what does it mean to be brave? A few thoughts. No more avoiding conflict. Feel the fear and address your broken relationships. Today. (See post on handling conflict). Address your fears by stepping out in faith. Fear of failure. Fear of others. Fear of offending those who pay your salary. Apologise when you mess up. Do it publicly if you have to. What does it mean to be bold and brave? Well, it doesn’t require a cape, does it? (If you watch the movie, The Incredibles, you’ll realise that capes are dangerous.) Instead, courage is the daily act of following a Saviour who followed the path of obedience. It may mean standing up for the unborn or marching for justice. But it may equally be the simple act of serving coffee or chatting with a lonely person after church. The antithesis of fear is courage, but it’s also love. As the Apostle John writes, Perfect love drives out fear. 1 John 4.18 (partial) Because our Saviour always acted in love, courage is the ability to act in love when we’re fearful. So feel the fear. And follow Jesus. Respond with love. Trust him to be there with you when obedience is demanding and love is painful. For the sake of his glory.

“We need to reach the marginalised!” The socially and economically deprived? Immigrants? Ethnic minorities? All worthy groups, but not my focus today. There is a different group of marginalised people, and it’s one you might not have considered. The religious. They come to church frequently. They put money in the offering bag. They smile at you at the door, and are polite and friendly. They offer you encouragement – “lovely sermon, vicar/pastor!” – and perhaps most challenging of all, some consider themselves to be important members of the community. But, in reality, they’re not. Because they’re not Christians, they’re church-goers. The religious, the ones who hear the message, but have never actually responded. The ones who, though they have heard the gospel hundreds of times, have never given their lives to the Lord. I call them marginalised because we often ignore the religious. They just seem to blend in. We know they’re not responding, but we give up on them. A person becomes marginalised when we don’t pay attention to them. Who are they? Surely only God knows their names, but I can guarantee you they are attending your church this Sunday. And they are often lovely people. Well-meaning people. Yet they are people who have never experienced the grace of God. They have heard of grace, but it has never brought them to their knees in repentance and faith. So for them, it’s all happening “out there.” Not “in here.” Not in the heart. I sound a bit judgemental, don’t I? I don’t mean to be. I am merely pointing out an uncomfortable truth about many church congregations. The wheat and the tares are all mixed up, and I hope our hearts break for the tares. They need Jesus just as much as the wheat. This should bother you. People who desperately need Jesus, they’re sitting right in front of you every Sunday! Yet the gospel leaves them cold. They remain tares, while surrounded by growing wheat. That should bother you. And it should also excite you, because the harvest is right there in your building. So while it is good to go out and reach the world, the world is also turning up each Sunday to listen to you. What to do? How to respond to this challenge? Lack of clarity First, it is necessary to do some soul-searching. Is the gospel I preach a watered-down version? Is the grace of which I speak a cheapened version, which makes light of sin, judgement, commitment, sacrifice and love? Is my preaching of the gospel clear enough? No, more. Is my gospel so crystal clear that even the religious can identify what it is? Clearly. Do I offer this good news in a way that challenges people in the way that Jesus used to challenge his listeners? Or have I softened it for my culture so that my audience brushes past it each week without really understanding its true meaning? Identify the needy Know your people. Don’t just let Mrs. Davis brush past you each week without finding out more about her. Be deliberate in inviting Mrs. Davis to events which specifically give opportunities to share faith. Perhaps invite her to Alpha or Christianity Explored (or whichever course contains the gospel message.) In fact, you could do more. You could ask Mrs. Davis to lunch and show her that you love her. And her husband and children. At some point, however, you must be sure that she – and others like her – have heard and understood the gospel. But more than that, you need to know her response. Perhaps she has trouble trusting God, because she was let down as a child. Perhaps it’s all about performance, because she is a perfectionist or someone who relies on external validation. Maybe she can’t believe that she’s worthy of love. How will you know what’s blocking her path to the cross, where her loving Saviour can lift her up and give her life, if you haven’t taken the time to find out? Have compassion on all the religious, for you do not know what has led to such beliefs and behaviours. Until you find out. They may be desperate to respond, but they don’t know how. That is not a problem. It’s an opportunity. Bold messages Don’t be shy about the evil of religion. Jesus wasn’t. He was quite free in calling out the religious, because religion blocks our path to God. The Pharisees were preventing the poor and needy from connecting with God. So we too should call out the deception and lies which lie behind religious observance as a substitute for true devotion to our Lord. No religious person should be able to sit comfortably week after week in a church where Jesus is sovereign. Religion should be called out, and any religious person should be made to feel the inadequacy of religion regularly, and the wonderful alternative that is life in Christ. Grace freely given. Freely received. So don’t be coy about the truth. Don’t be shy about a gospel, which changes lives and offers hope even to those who seem removed and aloof, clinging to religious observance. Not your burden Remember, this is not your burden alone. It is the work of the Spirit to convict, to draw people and to reveal the truth. You are simply the messenger. Your responsibility is to bear witness and to preach the gospel boldly and clearly. God does the rest. So don’t feel burdened by the challenge of religious people coming through your doors. Instead, see opportunity. Be deliberate in seeking out those who tuck themselves in at the back, and scoot out quickly. Don’t let that happen. The evasive, the flustered, the ones who attend infrequently perhaps. As well as the ones whose hearts are hard. They all need the love of a Saviour. We all do. And Jesus was especially compassionate towards those who struggled to connect. The woman at the well, Zacchaeus, Mary Magdalene, these broken ones were offered grace, and grace to overflowing. So should we towards those who seem to stand forever on the threshold of life, yet refuse to enter. Why don’t you get ready for this Sunday by praying for some of the religious who attend your church? Select just a couple and seek them out at the end of the service. Give them time. Show them love. Show them the love of God by your actions and your words. For the love of God extends to all. The religious, the zealots, the prideful, the disconnected, the desperate, the fearful, there is no one beyond his care. Ask him to guide you this Sunday to the ones who are on the edge. He hasn’t forgotten them, nor shunned them. He loves them. So be a conduit of that love. In the power of his Spirit.

The pastor at my mother’s church was wonderful. His name was Bill. His capacity was endless. On Sunday, he welcomed people at the door. He then marched to the front of the church and welcomed the congregation to the service. He read out the notices. During the hymns, he stood at the front, and sang extremely loudly. He then said the prayers, and on occasion followed that with the Bible reading. Finally, he always delivered the sermon. At the end, he said the benediction and marched to the back, where he would greet everyone, charming many of the elderly ladies who comprised the congregation. It was quite the performance. Bill was a star. But you can see the problem, can’t you? Remove Bill, and the whole thing collapses. Which it did on occasion. Who could follow such a superstar? How would anyone else measure up? Yet that is not the most serious problem. The real issue is something I call “being too priestly.” What is a priest? A priest is a person who communicates with God on behalf of the people. By contrast, a prophet communicates with the people on behalf of God. During the Protestant Reformation, the “priesthood of all believers” was a clarion call to the faithful. No longer would Christians rely on a man in robes to speak to God for them. Luther’s story led many in Europe in a different direction. Perhaps the most pertinent verses are these from Peter’s first letter. As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him— you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. 1 Peter 2.4-5 A holy priesthood. That’s all of us now, as followers of Jesus. We’re all priests, because through Christ, we all have access to God. All well and good. But what about Pastor Bill? He certainly seemed to be acting in a very priestly way. In church, he did almost all the speaking and he spoke to God on behalf of the people. Surely you can see the problem. It can be summed up with the word “vicarious.” (I don’t think there’s a noun.) When we experience something vicariously, we ride on the back of another’s actions. It requires the other person to act or speak in order for us to gain the experience we seek. It happens a lot in parenthood. Just take a look at the touchline every Saturday morning. Hundreds of parents cheering on their kids. See Peter Parent there? See the look of absolute delight as he watches his son score a goal. He used to play football until his gammy knee ended his career. Now he plays football through his son. And what about the pride filling our hearts when our children perform in a play or win an award at the science fair? Vicarious delight is a sweet joy for parents. In our church life, however, we all stand in danger of leading vicarious Christian lives. For though we each have access to the Father through the Son – a vicarious experience? – we must all approach God on our own. My pastor’s spiritual life is not my own. My wife’s is not mine. My home group leader’s is not mine. I alone must approach God and I do so relying on his grace. As someone once said, “God doesn’t have grandchildren, only children.” And that’s why Bill’s performance, as magnificent as it may have been, was doing a disservice to his congregation. He may well have thought he was leading people to Jesus – and perhaps some did find their way to God through his words – but many others simply sat and rode piggyback on his words. Bill was talking to God for all of us. We had become redundant. So where do the dangers lie? And what should be our response? Too much you As I’ve written many times on this blog, one of the primary roles of the leader is to equip and release the followers of Jesus. In my mother’s church, there was far too much Bill up there. The intention to equip and release his people was totally absent. So think carefully about how prominent you are in your church life. How much effort do you put in to develop lay leaders, releasing gifts within your community? Why not invite someone else to preach once in a while? What about ensuring that others lead the weekly prayer meeting? Still others could visit the sick, or well, do most of the things we do in church. Equip, equip, equip. Then release, release, release. Step aside and let the saints flourish. Miscommunication What are you doing when you utter public prayers? You are modelling intimacy with Jesus. Talking to your heavenly father, who loves you. Your prayers aren’t “on behalf of the whole community.” Each of us, as we hear you pray, approach the throne of grace in our hearts, echoing your words. We don’t just sit back and let you do it for us. If we do, we haven’t understood public prayer. So ensure that your people understand what’s happening when you pray publicly. Avoid leader worship In some churches, the leader is such a strong, dominant character that people can come to believe that the leader’s success is somehow conferred on them. That’s why humility is so important. Leaders aren’t there to succeed. They’re there to serve. Post-Reformation, priests are there to lead people to Jesus. Their role is to make disciples – individuals who each in his/her own way are growing more and more like their saviour. If, at any point, you as the leader suspect that your people are using your expressions of faith as a vicarious means of connecting with God, then something has gone seriously wrong. Modelling, yes, but a priestly function which substitutes for someone’s own devotion to God, no. Absolutely not. Why not preach on 1 Peter 2 in the near future? Sometimes it can be helpful to insert a circuit breaker. Equip and release lots of people who can do public prayer. Step back and let others lead. Have others preach for a while. Seek to make your church a place where many have the chance to express their own devotion to God. The more people who speak to God and about God, the more the priesthood of all believers is visible. It becomes the air that you all breathe. When I and my wife were raising our children, we used to pray at mealtimes and before bed. As they grew, I was very conscious of the dangers of raising young people whose faith was dependent on their parents. That wouldn’t do at all. At some point, they would need to trust in Jesus for themselves. I made very clear that each of us – all five of us – come before our heavenly father, who loves and cares for us. Mum and Dad are not the priests. Mum and Dad may be praying, but when we close our eyes, we’re all talking to Jesus. That’s also true on a Sunday as you step forward to pray. Think, I may be praying, but when we all close our eyes, we’re all talking to Jesus. May my church be a place where everyone knows that . . . When the leader prays, and when we close our eyes, we’re all speaking to Jesus.

A frequent topic of conversation I have with my teenage children is the unreliability of emotions as a guide in life. Maybe I wasn’t as different as I imagine at that age. In the contemporary world, however, the pressure to “follow our heart’s desires,” and be “true to our inner selves” seems greater than I can remember. My children need deep roots if they are to be resilient through a lifetime of challenges. My wife and I can help provide those roots with a stable family life, but that is not the place of ultimate stability. For that, my children need a father far greater than me. Or should I write Father? These thoughts weren’t far from my mind recently as I joined our Living Leadership staff meeting. My colleague, Jess Coles, led our opening devotions by reading from Jeremiah 17, where the LORD presents his people with two contrasting images (verses 5 to 8): “Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the Lord. He is like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see any good come. He shall dwell in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land. Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.” This contrast between two ways to live – a cursed way leading to death and a way of blessing and life – is a familiar motif throughout the Bible. It struck me afresh as I related it to my parental conversations. The key question these verses confront us with is, “Who are you trusting in?” At Living Leadership, we use the word “Refresh” to describe our ministries that support leaders and their spouses to serve in God’s grace. The word resonates with this passage. We want to see leaders who are like trees with deep roots, drawing deeply from the water of God’s grace and bearing fruit for his glory. But we know that leaders are often more like wizened shrubs in a parched place. At Living Leadership, we’re convinced that’s often because leaders aren’t adequately cared for or well-nourished spiritually. It’s our motivation for providing opportunities for leaders to be fed, prayed for and mentored. We also provide churches and organisations with resources to help them fulfil their responsibility to care for their leaders. Take another look at these words in Jeremiah. When you look at them closely, they seem to speak of a deeper reason why we may be dry: it’s because we aren’t trusting in the Lord, but in human beings. That could mean trusting in other people, of course, but it’s more likely in our “me culture” that we’re trusting in ourselves. I can do ministry from my own wisdom, thinking I have the ability or strength to do it, rather than realising my need for God’s wisdom and a recognition that all my abilities and energy are gifts from him. Ultimately, when I allow the flesh to lead me, I end up giving in to its hunger for recognition and praise. When I do that, I lose my connection with the Spirit of God, and I become dry. Then I wonder why I don’t see any good come! Why do others seem to see so little of the glory of God in my ministry? The simple answer is that I won’t see lasting fruit because I’ve lost my connection with the source of life. To use Jesus’ metaphor in John 15, I’ve lost connection with the vine. Tragically, as I drift into this shrivelled state, I’m able to convince myself that all is well by telling myself that my motives are still pure. How do I manage this? Jeremiah 15.9 is very clear. It says: The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it? This famous verse exposes just how dangerous the modern confidence in the inner self really is. I am prone to self-deception. I do not truly understand my own heart, and my sinful nature is expert at finding a million ways to justify actions that are self-interested. In addition, I could win an Olympic medal at blaming others. I would prefer to blame others for my lack of fruitfulness - in fact, I will cast around to blame anyone or anything rather than confess my own lack of connection with the Lord. This topic – the deceitful heart - relates to a podcast series we released over the past few weeks, entitled Ministry Motivations. In those episodes, I explore some key New Testament passages about motives in ministry. One of my points is that our motives will usually (if not always) be mixed. We need to recognise that fact. Even in our best moments of pure devotion to the Lord, there will usually be some element of selfishness. Awareness of mixed motives and the complex feelings of my heart can lead me to despair. The evil one will try to paralyse me, whispering, “If you are so mixed up, how can you serve God?” It all sounds pretty hopeless, doesn’t it? I want to trust in God, not flesh, but I know my heart is always divided and I don’t trust my own judgement. What a miserable man I am! But Jeremiah 17 continues to give me hope. In verse 10, God responds to Jeremiah’s question, “Who can understand [the heart]?”: “I the Lord search the heart and test the mind, to give every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his deeds.” I can’t understand my own heart, but there is One who can. Nothing is hidden from him. And because he has spoken his Word to us and given us his Spirit, we can learn from him to test our own hearts. As the writer of Hebrews says, “the Word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Hebrews 4.12). As I read and meditate upon the Scriptures and allow the Holy Spirit to convict and teach me, I can learn to put the flesh to death and follow his leading. He can continue his work of writing the law of God on my heart as Jeremiah’s wonderful prophecy of the new covenant foretold (Jeremiah 31.33; see 2 Corinthians 3.3). So, in those moments when I feel paralysed by my impure heart, I can pray the words Jeremiah said shortly after God assured him that he searches the heart (Jeremiah 17.14): Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved, for you are my praise. Here is our hope. God, who knows our desperately wicked hearts, can save and heal us. He can nurture within us clean hearts. He can lead us in his service. So, let me ask you today, “Who are you trusting in?” Yourself or God? Will you follow the flesh or the Spirit? Will you live by your desires or by the will of God? Will your guide be your reasoning or his Word? Will you be a scraggly shrub in a desert place or a fruitful tree by the river of grace? Let the Lord expose your heart. That may be painful, but he cuts deep in order to remove the cancer of self-service and to implant in you a new heart – a heart that trusts in the Lord alone.

Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. René Descartes, heralded as the first modern philosopher, is one of my favourite historical figures. He gave a justification for knowledge that has engaged philosophers for hundreds of years. Knowledge: justified true belief. Without knowledge, we cannot send rockets to the moon, cure diseases, build bridges, form democratic societies. Without knowledge, we are back in the Stone Age. The history of the world can be seen as a series of events in which humankind has engaged in a desperate search for knowledge. This growth in knowledge has transformed the world. It is light in the darkness. Most important, however, is our yearning for knowledge of God. As a student of apologetics, I could get lost in a library, reading St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Luther, and Calvin, drinking in their thoughts and ideas. Perhaps you’ve done the same. I found, however, that it didn’t matter how hard I tried to seal up the argument for Christian belief, there was always a leak. I didn’t accept the leak – I thought the arguments for it were weak – but leaks formed where counter-arguments battered at my foundations. I wanted to know more, so I read more. But the more I grew in knowledge, the more I became aware of how little I knew. This struggle with knowledge has stayed with me my whole life. So, here is a list of things I don’t understand, and may never understand. Why a single act of rebellion has led to a curse on the entire human family. Why God chose to redeem us by creating a nation and setting that nation in conflict with other nations, a reality still played out on our TV screens. Why touching the Ark of the Covenant results in the death of one poor individual. Why the law requires blood. Why God chose Jacob and not Esau. Why Judas Iscariot seems destined for destruction. Why Ananias and Sapphira paid with their lives for their sin. Here’s the thing. I know how God has arranged things. I know that my sin has cut me off from God, but as for why one single act of rebellion leads to the guilt of all humankind, that is not clear to me. Why does Adam’s guilt transfer to me? Because the Bible teaches that it does (1 Cor. 15.22). Asking why, when you think about it, is a request for wisdom which God alone possesses, and it quickly becomes, “give me an answer that satisfies me.” (Think Genesis 3.) Because of my sin, because I am human, I will never truly understand why a man who touches the Ark must die. Nor why the entire human race – bar one family – was wiped out because of the severity of its sin. Just telling me that it’s because of sin may give me the right theological answer, but I still don’t possess the ability to understand it fully. Not really. It’s just too big. So I accept it, and I do so because I accept the authority of Scripture. I submit before my God, who knows vastly more than I, and who tells me that I will never have answers to all my questions. (Read Job.) Why does God require a blood sacrifice for sin? Oh, I know how the symbolism works, I’ve preached on it. But that just answers the “how” question. It doesn’t tell me why. So in the end, the answer is simply this: Because God chose to do it this way. He chose to reveal himself in this way. When my children ask, “why are we going this way?” I will sometimes reply, “Because this is the route I’ve chosen.” My four year-old son doesn’t need to know about the road works on the bypass or the B roads. In fact, that will just confuse him. He needs to be secure that his father is taking him on the route which I have settled upon, because he trusts his father. And that’s it. That’s why faith supersedes knowledge every time. And faith comes through revelation. Faith and knowledge aren’t like countries – where one ends, the other starts, like a border. Not at all. Instead, faith is informed and rooted in our knowledge of God. That knowledge comes by revelation through God’s Word. As Paul writes to the Ephesians, With all wisdom and understanding, he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure. Eph. 1. 8b-9a According to St. Augustine, it is once we believe that the skies clear. Credo ut intelligam - I believe so that I may understand. St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo (354 – 430 A.D.) Once revelation has come, we understand, but since it is God who reveals, he does so within his own purposes. We may wish to understand why, but so often we are only given how. Knowledge may explain how, but the why, well that resides deep in the mind of God. So, no I don’t know why that man steadying the Ark died. I just don’t. I can probably give you an answer, but I myself am not very happy with it. Perhaps that’s why we are ever struggling along with St. Anselm, who wrote, Fides quaerens intellectum – Faith seeking understanding. St. Anselm (1033/4 – 1109 A.D.) We seek it, yes, but it comes through revelation. It is a gift. We receive it. Revelation becomes clear when we understand that God’s revealed word, the Bible, is his revelation to us. Most of the current debates aren’t actually about . . . abortion, homosexuality, gender . . . but about the authority of Scripture. God’s revelation to us. The story that we’re in. His story. It’s a story dripping with revelation. Abraham – called to go by God. Jacob in a wrestling match with God. Moses – called by God from a burning bush. Samuel – awakened by God’s voice. Elijah outside a cave hearing the still small voice of God. Mary visited by Gabriel. Pentecost, the outpouring of God’s Spirit, and of course, God’s supreme revelation, the Lord Jesus Christ. God reveals himself in his story and we’re in that story. Have I given up my search for knowledge? Not at all. I read and enquire and wrestle with big questions the same as I’ve always done. But when I become anxious, I submit. I accept my own limitations. The other day, I came upon this section from Catherine of Genoa. It brought me to a place of peace. No more is given to us than is necessary in his plan to lead us to perfection . . . therefore I will not weary myself with seeking beyond what God wants me to know. Instead I will abide in peace with the understanding God has given me, and I will let this occupy my mind. If we are to see properly, we must pluck out of our eyes our own presumption. If we gaze too long at the sun, we go blind; in this manner, I think, does pride blind many of us who want to know too much. Catherine of Genoa (1447 – 1510) A couple more thoughts. Why is it important to understand the place of revelation in our lives? Because life can deal out some very hard lessons. The big one – babies die, terrorists kill, death and injustice runs through the world. Not why, but why so much? Why does God not answer my prayers the way I want? Why am I not healed? Why can’t I hear God’s voice? Why do Christians hurt me so much? Why do I have to wait so long? What will God do with all those who don’t believe? Every one of these questions is bashing on the knowledge door. When they do, we can despair or we can remind ourselves of Catherine of Genoa’s words. No more is given to us than is necessary in his plan to lead us to perfection . . . therefore I will not weary myself with seeking beyond what God wants me to know. Instead I will abide in peace with the understanding God has given me, and I will let this occupy my mind. Catherine of Genoa This is when a proper view of knowledge helps. God, by his grace, grants us revelation, which leads to knowledge. Not knowledge about – though that helps – but knowledge of. Knowledge of God is all about relationship. Hear the apostle John’s words. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. John 17.3 Know you. Eternal life is to know God. Not knowing about God, but knowing him. As we are known by him. Intimacy with our God. That’s the very purpose of his revelation to us. That we would know our Creator, and in knowing him, we would love and serve him. As you face questions that dwarf, frighten and frustrate you today, may you know that you are loved by your God, who has revealed himself to you through the Lord Jesus. He has all the answers, but he won’t give them all to you. Accept it. Submit to him, and give thanks for the revelation that he does give. It comes from his grace that pours out towards you in a constant steady stream. May you reach for him, enjoy him and know him today.

“Hi there. Pastor Bob here. I’m writing a sermon. How’s your day going? Sorry, just got to answer a text . . . so where was I? Oh yes, writing that sermon. I use, er hold on, I use . . . yeeees! England just took a wicket. BBC Sport, just love it. So about that sermon, yes, you can find commentaries at . . . I am so sorry, I just can’t let that pass. Gotta write a comment in Facebook. Who are these idiots? So yes . . . what we were talking about?” Last time, I looked at some of the challenges of digital technology. Today, one more. Let’s start with that monologue above. Recognise it? Of course you do. Unless you’re made of stern stuff, you are probably afflicted with bittiness, like everyone else. Not bitterness. Bittiness. (A word I made up.) No wonder the “bitty” effect of technology is so close to the word “byte.” Our technology has atomised our lives, dividing it into ever smaller chunks, until it almost evaporates into dust. So here is my final C (see last week’s post): Concentration Technology has exacted a heavy toll on us. Notifications constantly demand our attention. Information vies with entertainment for our affection. And as for how we communicate with our friends, we are always a few clicks away from forming lasting friendships. The problem is, we can never quite get there. We never quite measure up and while the dopamine hit from liking posts soothes the brain, it fades like a morning mist. Tap-tap-tap go our fingers, and our brains jump ever more quickly from one thing to another. That’s a problem. It’s a big problem when it comes to our relationship with God. Lack of focus If you have a teenager, I’m sure you’ve noticed that you’re in a competition with whoever is on that screen in their hand. They’re with you, but they’re also with the latest post on Instagram. They’re in the conversation, but they’re not always tracking. Perhaps you do the same. Glancing at your phone during dinner. Or if you’ve prohibited the phone from the table, then later on you’re desperately catching up with WhatsApp messages and texts that pull you this way and that. Maybe it’s time to stop polishing that halo simply because you abstain for half an hour. We’re here but we’re not here. Part of us is always somewhere else. So much so that a whole industry has developed to solve the problem. It’s called Mindfulness. One of the chief aims is to teach people the art of being present. That should pull us up short. We worship a God whose name is I AM. I AM WHO I AM. Being present is pretty much a description of his essential nature. I don’t wish to cajole or criticise, but may I encourage you to think very carefully about the use of your phone? Especially when you’re with others. Every time a phone distracts you from a flesh and blood person in front of you, then – perhaps unwittingly – you are telling that person they are less important than whoever might be texting/calling. That is completely unacceptable. And it’s got to stop. Christ was incarnated. He put on flesh and blood to be present with us, and we owe nothing less than our flesh and blood selves when we minister to those in front of us. Self-Control Remember Galatians 5.22-23? I’m sure you do. The last fruit listed is self-control, and it’s probably the most important fruit when it comes to using technology. It may well be that you struggle to change your environment – you need a laptop and phone for work, and the unmissable Line of Duty is on the BBC tonight – but these devices are tools, and as such, you are their master. You decide which tabs to open, which websites to visit, when to call, what to watch. That’s you, no one else. You can’t blame the tech when it’s your fingers pressing the buttons. If you find your life atomising into smaller and smaller chunks – five minutes here, three minutes there, one minute here, comment, scroll, click – then you have a responsibility to take charge. It may be difficult but it’s not impossible. How is God speaking to you today? What is he saying? Concentration In the Thesaurus, the following words are associated with “concentration.” • Contemplate • Consider closely • Meditate • Focus • Put mind to • Study None of these words sits comfortably with digital technology. The ability to resist the atomisation of our daily lives has a direct effect on our spiritual health. Having cleared a way through the distractions to sit quietly before God, what is going on in our heads when we finally close our eyes? A mind which has become used to jumping constantly from one thing to the next finds it hard to stop jumping. But somehow, we HAVE TO stop jumping. It’s essential. There are no shortcuts with God. You cannot download him, nor are there spiritual satnavs, revelatory icons or digital answers to prayer. We human beings are no more advanced than Elijah outside his cave, or David in the temple. We haven’t “evolved” into more spiritual beings. We are just the same. Alone in a room. Eyes closed. Sitting with our God in the silence. No data will ever change that. The great spiritual writers of the past talk about the journey of the soul. The spiritual disciplines – challenging and demanding though they may be – train us in meditation on the Word and intercession. They urge us to make sacrifices, to prioritise the inner life whatever the cost. Concentration is hard to master at first, but with practice, it can improve. Not only does technology not help us, it has the potential to damage our concentration. At some point on the road, it is necessary to assess how well we are able to concentrate and to discard whatever is hindering our progress. If John Bunyan were writing today, I have a hunch one of Christian’s challenges would involve a struggle with a digital giant! Should we shun technology? Not at all. In fact, as I end, I’d like to recommend a couple of apps. My favourite is Lectio 365. (Thank you, Pete Greig.) Ten minutes of quiet reflection which sets me up for the day. I have also used The Bible in One Year by Nicky Gumbel. You probably have your favourites too. I am not against technology. I am just conscious of its effects, especially on my inner life with God. I hope you are too. When I struggle to concentrate, I find my digital life challenged and sometimes found wanting. If you do too, then perhaps today is the day to make some changes. For a start, turn off those notifications. All of them. Consider each moment a precious gift from God, so that the very act of scrolling causes you unease. Remember, you are not your own. And you do not belong to the big tech companies, though they will do their best to drain you of every second you have. You are God’s child, called to serve him joyfully and gratefully each day. It’s incumbent upon you and I to make wise choices, since every second counts. Every second of the day, lifted up in worship to our God.