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.

Is alcohol a problem for you?

I know it’s a deeply personal question, please forgive the intrusion.  My only qualification for prying is I’ve been there.  

In August and September 2003, and for many periods for months before this time, I seriously toyed with giving up the drink.  As it worked out for me, the choice was taken from me when my first marriage ended – on Monday 22 September 2003 at 8pm.  Only then was I motivated to stop drinking.

I am confident I would never have been motivated to end my drinking had I not lost my first marriage – I was clueless as to where that marriage was at.  And yet, there was only one way forward for me – and I seriously haven’t looked back.  Not that my life is perfect – I have my down days too!  But I know that picking up a drink would be the worst thing I could do!

We underestimate the power for our wellness in doing the simple things well.  Getting good sleep, eating well and not overeating, and exercising enough to work our bodies.

Alcohol contributes little to our lives, whereas, if we have a problem with it, it takes so much away.  All these 21 years I’ve lived without it, and have never missed it.  7,768 days without a hangover.  Never needed to worry if I’d had too many before driving.  Always had the faculties of my mind in tricky social situations.  No embarrassing gaffs.  Nothing to hide.

I can imagine that there are many reading this that have a loved one with a massive drinking problem.  Someone important to you that you cannot get through to.  Until THEY see that they have the problem it’s hopeless.

Some people are motivated if they’re told that the drink is a life-death decision.  But for many, even the threat of death or the death of a marriage or relationship isn’t enough to motivate them.  Don’t be that person.  Live your life.  You can end the tyranny.  Be a miracle.

My advice if you’re serious.  Get to an AA meeting, be ready to listen and to share your story honestly, and commit yourself to whatever it takes.  I know you will succeed.  All it takes is a wholesome commitment to honesty.  

The key is being consistently honest with ourselves and others.

Honesty within the construct of a program of making amends.  The best life is a life of making amends.  Deal honestly with your resentments.  Be open to God working in your life.  Give it your all for three months, and I know you won’t look back.

What have you got to lose?

I suspect if you’re considering this, you (like I had) have done enough drinking for one lifetime.

22 years ago I used to smoke cigarettes.  It wasn’t until I noticed my brother who had never smoked that I realised people can live happily without cigarettes.  It’s the same with alcohol.  We can live without it!

IMAGE – myself with my three daughters in 1999.

Forgive and Live

This life is like mountains to climb.  Not one mountain, but several mountains.  A plethora of mountains over the lifespan.  Look at that scenario and it’ll knock you down every time.  Just one mountain itself is too much.  But take it as one step up the grade at a time and it’s doable.  That’s life, and that’s the only way life works.

Likewise, though seemingly unconnected, if we don’t forgive, we don’t live.  If we cannot forgive, we cannot live.  Forgiveness is a mountain, and we attain life one step up the grade at a time as we maintain our attitude of grace toward others and situations that grieve us.

Forgiveness is Wise – it is “yes” in life

Forgiveness is like gradually climbing one mountain at a time.  Forgiveness is a one-wise-decision-at-a-time activity.  Forgiveness is a choice to say “yes” to the right way to live, to another chance, to affirm a precious creature, to life itself. 

Forgiveness is the epitome of wisdom itself.

Nothing else like it fortifies our lives for life.

We cannot control a large degree of what life throws at us.  And life will overwhelm us if we let it — if we take it as a bunch of huge Everests before us (which is what it really is).

But what we can do, and that which is wise, is to take each step with good grace, chin up, looking each climbing step in its eye as we stride with straightforward belief — “I can do this one thing right in front of me with my ‘yes’.”  I can, and therefore I do.

Each step in life is either a “yes” or a “no”.  Each succeeding “yes” is a pass to a higher grade.  But each “no” is an indecisive pause at best — or it can be a backward step that debilitates our ascendency up the grade.  Importantly, to forgive yet to also take steps to step wisely away from danger is a very nuanced and poignant “yes” — a “ninja yes” if you like.  The paradox of life is there are times when it is only “NO” — that “NO” is indeed a “ninja yes”.  We forgive but we depart.

Forgiveness is a metaphor for life because
it is the prized pinnacle of yeses.

Forgiveness is good for us

When we forgive, we say “yes” to faith, a risk to believe for a better future, for trust to be given another chance.  And whether trust dies on that mountain because the choice to forgive falls foul to betrayal or not, the choice to forgive is GOOD for the forgiver.

But just as forgiving is a “yes” at its defined step up the grade of the mountain, the choice to keep moving upward in belief for better or to dwell on the betrayal is also a choice of “yes” or “no”.  Although that might seem hard.  Although the choice to dwell on the betrayal seems justified, it is not.  To dwell on the betrayal is a “no”.

Forgiveness is always first and foremost a test for OUR character, not a test of the other person’s character whom we’re forgiving. 

Whether they will honour our forgiveness is THEIR test.  Whether they have the character to reciprocate (their forgiveness of us does not equate to them trusting us).  But that they fail or succeed their test is irrelevant to us. 

If their choice to honour or betray us affects us,
the integrity of our forgiveness remains questionable.

Our forgiveness of anyone or any situation must stand a momentous test.  It always does.  This is a constant throughout life, at every forgiving step at those defined grades.

When we determine that the truth is “forgiveness is good for us,” we align to a universal truth of God — something that never changes whether we believe or not (so we might as well believe!) — we stand on what many phrase as “the right side of history” (however controversial a term that is). 

It means that whether our forgiveness is honoured or betrayed, we stood soundly before our own test and were found true, guiltless, integral, without case to answer. 

We stand by our choice to forgive — wise by its own decree.  The proof of which was and is our integrity to say “yes” when we were required to choose “yes” or “no”.

EACH STEP, A TEST, TO SAY “YES”

Each step up the grade of the present mountain we are on is a test.

If we know it’s a test, and we know that passing it is doable, that all we need to do is say “yes” (and forgiveness is the epitome of the range of choices open to us), we pass.

Each step, each “yes,”
each forgiveness, is a pass,
another step up the mountain. 

And life is full of steps,
of yeses, of choices to forgive.

At differing points along the upward road of life we come to junctures that seem impossible to climb — we see no other way, but the present way seems impossible, but there is always a way.

Especially at these points of our journey, where the test seems impossible, a poignant “yes” is required.  This takes fortitude backed in an attitude that leaves only room for “yes”.

To say “yes” when it feels impossible
is the very nexus of faith,
and it is the wisdom of life.

Yes, to forgive and live.

Forgive and live.

7 Questions to Ask Your Dad Before It’s Too Late

I was asked by my eldest daughter to ponder these questions, a set of questions any of us parents or children could answer before it’s too late. We both saw it as a golden opportunity. Our encouragement is for this to pique your own curiosity.

1.     What’s your happiest memory of us?

My happiest memories of my children are the times they laughed with and loved each other, like times in the backyard or at the park when they would run around and play (remember the Monster Game?), or when they imagined living together or close to each other or spending time with each other as adults (and now that’s a reality). Times they just got lost in their own sense of enjoyment with and of each other.

I’m a very fortunate father that I have three adult daughters and one son who is still a child who all deeply love and respect each other, who hurt when a sibling is hurting. This is the father’s wish; that your kids are genuinely sisters and brothers with each other. Another happiest memory is of us pulling together in crisis, and how supported I was when I was devastated by divorce nearly 21 years ago, and how much my children—11, 8, and 5 at the time—got me through those dark early months, and how we re-invented our relationships as father and children.

2.    What were those first few days of fatherhood like?

As three of my four children can attest, being parents now, those first few days in each of my children’s lives were such a polarised mix of the best of joy and amazement combined with dreadful fear that I wouldn’t be enough for the responsibility of fatherhood. It’s that feeling that things have really changed now. And changed in such a significant way that there is no turning back, not that you would want to, but for comfort’s sake sometimes you perhaps would! Those earliest days as a father to my eldest daughter, I just could not believe how this one little baby had won my heart so incredibly and unfathomably.

Time is a funny thing; I can go back to that hospital theatre room and remember like it was yesterday, the birth of my first daughter. There is no drug on the planet (and I have taken a few of them in younger years) that even comes close to the euphoria that I experienced when she was born—(when all my children were born, apart from Nathanael who was stillborn)—when I cut her cord, and when I held her for that first long hour as they were stitching her mother up. All those days are very vivid in my memory still, and I would go back in a flash for a 5-minute sojourn. These memories fill me with the greatest joy.

3.    What have you learned about love and what has it taught you?

The most penetrating lesson I have learned about love is that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. And sometimes you don’t know how important things are until it’s too late.

What I’ve learned is that nothing compares to love; no achievement, no possessions, no approval of others even comes close. Without love life is meaningless, and we know this when we are supposed to experience love and there is a void, because life without love is a void.

Losing my first marriage taught me most about love and prepared me for what I really desperately wanted, and that was to be married again and to make family the absolute centrepiece of my life. Most of all I know this about love: it is a verb. Love is truly about service, about giving, about kindness, and patience, and the fruits of the Spirit.

4.    When was the moment you felt most proud of me?

This is such a hard question because there are so many moments that could qualify for answering this one. I have felt most proud of you when you were the kindest person and I got to witness that kindness as it was received by another person, whether it was a family member or someone else, and particularly when I can see that the kindness was coming from you, without any input from me. There are many memories of you as a child like this, and these carry through to today.

There have been key times of achievement where I have been astonishingly proud of you, especially when you studied to become a vet nurse, and succeeded in that field for years. I was also so proud of you that day when you said to me you were making your own decisions around your life partner, and you had the confidence in our relationship to assert your right to make your own decision. And of course, I’ve been proud of you every step of the way in becoming the mother you are today, through the losses and tragic moments of waiting patiently for your beautiful baby, and then to see all this come to pass. I can assure you my darling I have a very, very full heart.

5.    What do you want or wish most for your kids?

It’s always been the same answer to this question, I want you to be happy, grateful with your life, doing what brings you fulfilment and contentedness, and hopefully into the mix, the things you want pivot around family, and I can say with all my heart, I am so proud to be a dad who can see this working in all my kids’ lives.

All I wish for (and this is true in all my kids) is that they contribute to society and are a blessing in others’ lives. I could not be prouder that my kids are living this out.

6.    What’s the nicest thing I’ve ever done for you?

Without question, the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me is consider me, praise me regularly, think of me in so many ways, and to allow me to be your father.

I can remember a time when you were 17 and wanted to go your own way, and it was about the only time that I had to put my foot down, or even needed to, and you respected me, whether it was begrudgingly so or not is beside the point.

The nicest thing you ever did for me was to respect me every step of the way, but I sense this was always a reciprocation, because I always felt you were worthy of respect for the beautiful heart you possess.

7.    What’s one thing you want me always to remember when you’re gone? 

Remember that poem you read at Gran’s funeral, that is what I want you to remember when I’m gone: that I’m not really gone, but I’m still with you in spirit, and one day you’ll get to come to be with me and others you have lost along the way.

I want you to remember that God is for you and can never be against you. I want you to know and relate with God, because without God life is meaningless and lacks any sense of purpose.

God is in life and life is in God. Beginning, middle and end, and everything between. And the only pity is we sometimes only see this or recognise this when God is all we have. In the end, in death, God is all we have. Please remember this.

IMAGE: Photos of my eldest daughter and I in 1993 on the left and 1997 on the right.

When it’s time to say goodbye

My dear ones, a letter to leave you, when it’s time, for who knows, tomorrow or a morrow decades beyond, surely one between.  One of these days…

I love you and have always loved you.  I’ve not always been touched by eternity, but eternity has touched me right now, sufficiently to write this, sufficiently for me to know I can and need to communicate this to you.  Now.

One of the saddest things of life — loss — has occurred because of love.  Loss consequent of a compulsion to love.  Loss, because we were compelled to love.  Our love for one another leads to a chasm of loss.

Love would mean nothing or would
certainly be a thin concept without loss.

Loss is deepened and widened and 
broadened and thickened because of love.

When I’m lost to you, know it is love that speaks loudest in your pain.  When you are lost to me, I know and will know it is who I no longer have that mars the life that that moment could be — for all moments thence to come.  Yes, loss is never really reconciled which is why we need to cast our minds and hearts to heaven.

When it’s time to say goodbye, know that loss’s pain is the mirror reflection of love.  The more we love one another the more the sting of loss condemns.

Please know without a shadow of a doubt just how deep and wide and long and high my love is for you.  Mine is but a fraction of the love that God has for each of us, but you know how much you love me, so you know how much I love you.

When it’s time to say goodbye, I may not be able to utter the words — take it that I have said it from these words.  I think I have left you plenty of words, plenty of sentiment, so please believe.

My encouragement for your life is dare to touch eternity yourself.  Avoid the entrapments of this life and learn to let go of everything you can’t keep so that you can gain what you cannot lose.

It is our thoughts and words and deeds that we take into eternity with us, so take account for each one and don’t fret anything else.

And simply know how deep and wide and long and high my love is for you.  Don’t ever doubt it.