“Consider it pure joy, when you face trials of many kinds”

“It works when you work it.”

This is a truth from AA I learned is always true.  It speaks to faith.  And simplest put, faith works.

One of the incredible things about the Bible is some of the things written in it.  Astounding things.  Think on this one: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds…” (James 1:2)

Pure joy… when facing trials… of many kinds.

Not ‘if’ but WHEN.

It’s an absolute absurdity, the receipt of joy when we are otherwise defeated.  Absurd perhaps but nonetheless true, situational on the moment’s turning.  Conditional upon the joy is the acceptance of defeat.  In other words, it’s only when we admit we cannot control what we feel we need to control that we gain access to a hope that feeds joy and peace.  As Oswald Chambers put it, it’s ‘strength for the minute.’

We don’t receive joy in the pit of our ongoing misery.  Only as we die to ourselves, only as our dreams die for a bigger goal.  The goal is tomorrow.  It is the horizon.  A hope; that’s hope.  

Hope has a way of carrying us over the thresholds
of the disasters that would otherwise destroy us.  

“Later on,” Hebrews 12:11 says, we receive a “harvest of righteousness and peace.”  Later on, we’re vindicated.

I think of the times of my deepest pain, seasons that lasted months, even a year or three, seasons that were unrelenting in their tyranny, yet seasons where hope carried me.  Hope beyond the horizon—faith to step fuelled by hope.

Those seasons I would not have gotten through without faith in Jesus, seasons so replete with suffering, day after day of fear, periods so punctuated with all kinds of grief, times fully defined by despair—yet with a choice each day, to turn toward Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith, a moment’s hope is an ever present option.

When I’m suffering the typical bouts of fear and doubt symptomatic in hardships and trials, it can seem impossible to make the choice for joy; but as soon as I turn toward Jesus, in that same action I’m reminded I cannot control the situation I’m in other than to accept what I cannot change and have faith through it.  A smile can form even as I face the truth of my pain; a teary smile so many times.  

There is joy because the Bible says it’s possible. 
Believe it’s possible and suddenly belief turns to reality.

There is one clear thing about, “Consider it pure joy… whenever you face trials of many kinds…”  We know in our humanity that we cannot maintain it without continually turning back to our Christ.  Nobody could maintain such an adroit relationship with suffering other than Jesus, Himself.  But as disciples we’re committed to following the way Jesus lived.

The purest joy is knowing what Jesus
has done for each and every one of us.

It’s the purest joy to know
it’s possible to follow Him.

One last thing I’m learning.  Trials still come even when we’re in the seeming best periods of our lives.  Such is the average human life.

The Enemy’s Voice Mocks Obedience

Those who call God their Saviour in Christ Jesus are led by the Master’s inaudible voice (the leading of the Spirit); they may also hear the belittling, accusing, mocking ‘voice’ of the enemy of God—who mocks the obedience of the faithful one by discouraging them in their spirit.  

It can take some discernment to determine whether we’re being rebuked by God or mocked by the enemy.  But if we have acted in obedience—especially bold obedience—it is commonplace that the enemy will diminish our obedient acts.  

Our acts of obeying God’s spiritual direction—our being led by God’s Spirit—will often be audacious, so it’s easy for the enemy to say to our conscience: “Why did you do that… Did you not do it for your own glory?”  In these ways, our obedience is denigrated by the mocking spirit of the enemy.  

The enemy also uses what we think other people are thinking against us.  Of course, how can we ever know what other people are thinking?  Unless they tell us.  But we still commonly succumb to believing we know what they’re thinking, when we can’t.

Our obedient acts will often be instinctual—led by the Spirit Himself—done for Him, through His leading, by Him, through us.  There is no pride or self-seeking in these acts.  It’s in our flesh that we second-guess those instinctual obedient acts.  

Enlisting Psalm 139:23-24 (“Search me, God, and know [reveal to me] my heart, test me and know [reveal to me] my anxious thoughts.  See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”) is one way we can check our motives.  But oftentimes instinctive acts to bless others or situations cannot (or should not) be denigrated by anyone.

It’s easy to be discouraged into timidity by the threatened enemy for plain expressions of courageous faith.  It’s very important, therefore, to be sure that our obedience does indeed please God.  The last thing God wants are the obedient deeds of His people diminished by the accuser; for those God would wish to be encouraged be discouraged.

Perhaps we can benefit by knowing God is saying to us when we obey Him, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” (Matthew 25:23)

The mark of a “Good” Christian

There is one easy way of telling followers of Jesus apart from those who otherwise call themselves “Christian” but always fall short.  The “good” Christian knows they fall short and this is what sets them apart.  The “good” Christian is, of course, a devoted disciple, a follower of Jesus—in other words, they do what Jesus commands:

“A new command I give you: love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” (John 13:34-35)

The mark of a “good” Christian is not their quoting of Bible verses but it’s their doing the will of God; loving others is about maintaining mutually beneficial relationships, especially reflecting over times when we have wronged people (even in small ways) and repenting of these deeds through apology, repentance, making restitution, seeking forgiveness. 

Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4)—in mourning our own sin, living truthfully before God, we receive God’s compassion because we have done what is right.  “... a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise,” King David prayed in Psalm 51:17.

The mark of a “good” Christian isn’t having one’s theology all squared away but it’s the genuine commitment to identify the idols in one’s own heart, and being humble enough to see them rising up and harming our relationships.

The mark of a “good” Christian isn’t being able to “win” a person to Christ as much as it is to be a true loving and trustworthy example of who Jesus is to the one being won to our Lord.

The mark of a “good” Christian is not “adding” something “impressive” to the cross and resurrection of Christ—for nothing of ourselves is sufficient for salvation.  The mark of a “good” Christian is seeing in others that God delights in them, and treating them the same way, as bearers of His glorious image.

The mark of a “good” Christian is the capacity to quickly own the wrong thing we do, getting the log out of our own eye (Matthew 7:3-5), but if a Christian prefers to judge another person rather than seeing their own sin, how can they please God?

How do we love one another more than relating well with one another, proving that we are safe and reliable to relate with, proving that we are worthy of another’s trust, capable of holding the other person’s interest as importantly as our own?

The mark of a “good” Christian is the constant commitment, in fact, to repentance, to constantly turn one’s face back to the face of the living God who has cast His grace on us.

The mark of a “good” Christian, therefore, is the fruit of their repentance, which is the fruit that they rely on God, that they take God seriously in terms of the grace that’s been given to them—that free gift we cannot attain otherwise.

The mark of a “good” Christian is that, in your deeds, you can “value others above yourselves.” (Philippians 2:3)  The only way we can assess ourselves on this metric is by putting ourselves at the mercy of others, like, “Do you actually feel I value you above myself?”  This is a reality that other people feel is real for them, or not.

Above all, the “good” Christian is noticed by the world (i.e., “everyone will know that you are my disciples”) for the way he or she treats their fellow Christian, and how they treat all people: their commitment to love God by loving all people, being quick to live humbly, love mercy, and do justice that brings peace.

The “good” Christian appreciates the equal but opposite truths: they are saved by grace through their faith (Ephesians 2:8) yet they realise that God sees everything they do.  They know they need do nothing to “impress” God yet they live in the cognisance of His omniscience.  Saved by grace for the opportunity to truly follow Jesus.

For the “good” Christian, if a venture or status falls, it falls and they let it.  That is hard, for anyone truly feels the sting of betrayal or rejection.  But “good” Christians strive to let their ego fall away.  It certainly isn’t worth what most of us are prepared to do to fight for the injustice bestowed on us.  Yes, it is hard.  But doable, for the “good” Christian.

The way I look at age

For at least two years now, I’ve said to people that I am such and such an age next birthday in preference to mentioning my actual age.  

My whole outlook about age has been transformed over the last few years. 

I now see the older I get the more blessed my life is.  It’s a reverse of the typical trend but I also see more people my age embracing it.  

I see so many who have died before the age I’ve arrived at, today.  Many many good people.  And I look at my own life and simply celebrate that I’m alive still. 

As I approach my 60th birthday in a few years, I feel I’m entering a phase of transitioning into retirement.  But for me that transition will take a course of 15-20 years.  Indeed, I really do sense that I may never retire, given that my work these days is simply about talking to people, listening to them, helping people through relationship challenges and opportunities, whether it’s involved in assisting people on their mental health journey, with their trauma, or with their relationships with family, or pastoring: it’s all relational work that I find that I want to do for the rest of my life.  As long as I’ve got the mental and physical capacity to do what I do.  (I don’t feel I will ever burn out from this work.  My boundaries are too intrinsic now.  I would rather fail the workload, and yes even fail people, than collapse.  Finally, wisdom for the long game.)

I look at my age now and I feel so blessed to have entered a time in my 50s where I’m enormously reflective, quite nostalgic, and indeed very thankful, for the wonderful experiences I have been blessed to receive.  

Not all of these life experiences were great at the time, indeed many of them have been extremely painful.  But I see God’s faithfulness to carry me through these arduous seasons.  And I look back with fondness at the life and family I’ve been given.  For the country that I have been born into, and the incredible opportunities I’ve had to experience life, and to be paid to do what I do.

I sense I have nothing left to ‘achieve’.  I feel free from the pressure of achievement, acquisition, and other people’s acceptance.  The ideals of the triple temptation—achievement, acquisition, and acceptance—hold much less allure.  If I want to ‘achieve’ now, it’s because I know the task is the right one to do—it’s not a quest to make things better for me.

 So my outlook on life, as far as age is concerned, is that the older I get the better life becomes.  Of course, I have an eternal hope.  I know the best is definitely yet to come, beyond this life.  But while I’m here and while I have my health, I aim to make the most of every single day, and by the way I will be the next number in just a few months.  And then I will call myself a person who is nearly such and such an age (the next number) and not my present age.

What a privilege it is to become a grandparent.  Proverbs 17:6 says, “Children’s children are a crown to the aged,” and it also says, “parents are the pride of their children.”

It’s a good thing to grow older. 
The older I get the more thankful I am.
And the older I get, the more prepared I am to die.

And as one final thought, I think of two occasions where I could have been killed before I was seven years of age.  I’m so thankful that both those near hits were misses.  Overall there have been several times in my life when I could have died.  Many, many have been far less fortunate.  I’m grateful that I’m here, at this age and time.

The Chaplain’s Presence

Wading into the choppy surf of a suffering humanity;
bearing witness of the last breath of the dying with their family;
peering into lonely bloodshot eyes of those devastated by loss; 
cherishing the sanctity of truth no matter how gut wrenching;
refusing to fill the liminal void with empty words;
sacred sittings in moments where nothing can be said;
there by their presence, not deterred by egregious pain.  

As Paul says in Romans 12:15, “mourn with those who mourn, rejoice with those who rejoice.”

Behaviours as these above are the chaplain’s presence, transcending word, a communication of empathic symbiosis.  A chaplain’s compassion comes from a place deep in the spirit, and as such, can never fail.  A presence that does no harm and helps simply because it has the audacity to ‘be there’ and not run away from the devastation.  

It is a language of love that speaks to every
suffering soul without uttering a syllable.

The incarnational tradition of the sacramental life is a “life that makes present and visible the realm of the invisible spirit.”   Chaplaincy brings about such a reality.  It is showing-up-and-shutting-up.  It is the only thing that works; the stillness of God in the temerity of an impossible battle.

It is power in presence and the more devoid a chaplain is of themselves, the more a moment’s spiritual power manifests intransigent love that can neither be trounced nor besmirched.

Incarnational chaplaincy augers trust because
it has nothing to prove and nothing to gain.  

It is a value-add with the sum of parts equalling a far greater value than the plain addition of the parts themselves.  A model of pastoral care such as this is full of “God” without having even a hint of religion.  It brings God into the space so God might do what only God can do.

There are some human situations that have no answer and make no sense no matter how much we try to explain them away.  Such spaces God is invited into without even mention of the divine.  And paradoxically, the divine ‘turns up’ each and every time.

The incarnational presence of a compassionate chaplain is peace to a soul whose circumstances overwhelm.  Such a gift of compassionate presence brings space to contemplate excruciating impossibilities head-on, meeting truth, bringing clarity, even amid the pain.

The chaplain’s presence is a resilience afforded to the one in pain by their raw experience; their pain cannot kill them, it can only forge in them strength for the minute and for the morrow, a moment and day at a time, through the constancy of faith, borne of a hope that one day things will be better.

[1] Richard Foster, Streams of Living Water: Celebrating the Great Traditions of Christian Faith (London, England: HarperCollinsReligious, 1998), p. 272.