A religious and a secular basis for society. (Part 3)

A religious and a secular basis for society

Part 3: Perfectly clear vision, perfect assurance

Let’s return to why being a “wretched sinner” has been turned into a positive rather than a negative. It’s because it intrinsically goes together with, “who is loved by God”. Here is my foundation in life. I can ask for no more because there is no more. God, who is the ultimate in all goodness, loves me. It is the supreme love. If God is for us, who can be against us? I don’t need the approval of anyone else; I don’t need to prove my right to exist; I don’t need to justify myself; I don’t need to cling to some tribal identity group for support. The God of love, loves me. Full stop! I am on top of the world. I rejoice in the life that God has given me. The tension that could be destructive is tuned to always be positive. So, I might compare myself to God so unfavourably – miserable sinner that I am – that I hide away and never dare show my face to anyone, let alone God. Instead, God calls me into his glorious light and freedom and joy to live under his gracious blessing. Though I am loved and blessed so much, I am not in danger of becoming arrogant, superior, or self-righteous because I am a terrible sinner. Though I know God will forgive me, in his great love for me, I don’t therefore become blasé about my sins, treating them as though they do not count. I am regularly in distress because of the way I let down the God who loves me. He loves me, and though he is so complete and perfect in himself, he calls me to share his life with him, and he bestows blessing after blessing upon me – and still I betray him, ignore him, dishonour him – wretched sinner that I am. Yet every time that I am cast down in despair because of my failures, the Lord, who is perfect in all goodness, comes alongside and calls me to walk along with him, because he loves me – and so, all is well.

Can you see what an invincibly powerful and positive force this is to imbue our human psychology with unconquerable, utterly resilient, never-ending confidence, security, assurance and hope? “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine”, go the words of the old hymn, and it is this assurance that modern society so fatally lacks.

A religious and a secular basis for society. (Part 2)

A religious and a secular basis for society

Part 2: The modern concept of identity is used to escape responsibility and challenge

However, as those who promote the pernicious identity politics ideologies have raised the question about my identity, I will try and answer it, to show where my confidence comes from. Many people today are too afraid simply to say, “I am me”; they fear that is not enough. So, why am I so confident in being me?

If I am forced to express my identity – I say “forced” because I see no need to, but if I am challenged to justify on what grounds do I stand as a member of society, or what is at the very core of my self-understanding, then I can do that easily: I am a sinner, loved by God. That is who I am! This gives me an invincible confidence, inexhaustible hope and unconquerable optimism.

It sounds like it might suggest the opposite – “So, you’re a sinner are you?” Yes, though I prefer to say, for effect, that I am a “wretched sinner!”. However, this does not make me feel down, a failure, or inadequate. What it does do is allow me to freely accept my faults, limitations and mistakes. This is in total contrast to the ideologies of the identity politics movements where an utterly bizarre development has happened. Even though we are now in a secular society, however a person happens to have turned out – down to the tiniest detail – must be considered as though it was ordained by a higher power from all eternity that the person should be exactly like that. This is far more than simply the frailty of those who lack the personal resilience to cope with challenges or disagreements. It expresses the core principle that modern ideologies have adopted that they cannot bear the possibility that anything in their life is contingent rather than necessary.

A necessary thing is something that cannot be otherwise. If you claim everything about your life is necessary then you cannot possibly have got anything wrong, and there are no possible grounds for anyone to criticise you, for nothing about your life could possibly have been otherwise. There are, in reality, relatively few things in our lives that are necessary (being born and dying would be two examples), so this stringent assertion that absolutely everything in a person’s life is necessary is a terrible sign of the insecurity and lack of confidence that so many people today suffer from. In contrast, something that is contingent is something that happens to be the case but might easily have been otherwise. It could be an accidental cause that has had a significant influence on our life. We often say, “that’s just the way the cookie crumbled” to express our correct analysis that this is just the way things turned out. Other things in our lives are definitely down to our conscious choice – often due to passionate conviction – but they are still contingent or “accidental” – they might have been otherwise, except that we chose this course.

It is at the heart of secular identity politics ideologies to refuse to face up to this simple truth. Even while people are making revolutionary, bold choices – choices that they might wish to take credit for as a principled decision – they cannot accept that they have made a choice, because that would open them up to challenge that they could be mistaken. Yes, they feel such and such a thing strongly, but they may lose a reasoned argument with those who think differently. However, if they assert that however they happen to be has an objective, absolute reality to it, and is an intrinsic expression of who they necessarily are, then there are no grounds for questioning, challenge or rejection.

Having made this ideological commitment, it leaves people with nowhere to go. If others do now want to say, “I disagree with you” it is understood to be an ontological rejection of who the person inescapably is, rather than a questioning along the lines of, “Yes, this is how the cookie has crumbled for you, but I see things differently”.

A religious and a secular basis for society. (Part 1)

(An analysis in 7 parts of the ideological foundations of today’s secular society, as opposed to the former religious basis. It doesn’t fall easily into my usual three categories, but I have put it in the faith stream as being about fundamental values.)

A religious and a secular basis for society

Part 1: The emptiness of secularism, disguised by clamour over identity

In recent decades the UK has moved decisively from having a religious basis to a secular one. A key impact of this development becomes ever clearer in the distressing emptiness at the heart of society, as people desperately thrash around trying to find some alternative for what they have lost. The essence of what they have lost is the confident assurance that faith in God imparts. Having kicked God out of the picture, secular society was confident that it would usher in a brave new world of freedom and fulfilment. Instead, without God, there is an aching emptiness at the heart of society – because, of course, so many individuals feel an aching emptiness. The void, like any vacuum, does not, of course, remain empty. All sorts of bright, new alternative ideologies rush in, screaming for attention, but it is increasingly clear that society has searched for a beneficial alternative to religion – and failed.

As evidence for this I will cite many things. There is the epidemic of mental health problems; the intense anxiety and depression that so many feel, the absence of meaning and purpose. There is also the hollow falseness of the alternative ideologies being promoted – an emptiness that is obvious to anyone not brainwashed by the constant propaganda desperately trying to assert that true is false and false is true. The very extremism and fanaticism with which these ideologies are asserted is evidence that they could not survive if people took a clear, deep look at them, and so anyone who does not conform to the supposed new orthodoxy must be coerced into silence.

The religious view – so disparaged by the self-confident secularists who have taken power in the key centres of authority – is so much healthier than the secular view – yet this simple truth falls on deaf ears. Nevertheless, we must keep speaking until people rediscover truth.

The failure of modern ideologies is shown by their intense focus on “identity”. I have never had the slightest doubt about my identity. I have an enormous confidence that, “I am me” – and I use my name as a label under which I gather my lifetime of experience and actions and relationships. That is who I am. I have no need to agonise over it. Or assert my identity. Or get into conflict with others to prove who I am. I am just me. I am here. I deserve to be here because I am here. And nothing else needs to be said.

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm. (Part 5)

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm

Part 5: His shed blood transfers God’s grace to us

And you say you are changed? Yes, but forgive me, not changed enough. Yet changed completely, and certainly sufficiently. How can you say that a drop of Christ’s blood fell into your soul but you are not changed enough? Is God not God? Is Christ’s blood not as effective as you claimed? He is God – and so is Christ – and his blood is effective, but we still need to understand that we are still human. A drop of divine pure love has infused our souls – a truly precious receptacle, holding pure holiness. But we are still human and if we think we can now manage, because “I have God inside me!” then we are still lost in confusion. That drop of blood is working, but most of all it is a promise – given and received – that, at the end, when still, after all that God has done for us, we still need to kneel in confession, that the word of God will come to us, “Life is always my gift to you. You do not earn it. You either live it as my gift to you, or you don’t truly live it at all”.

So, at the end, as always, it is grace that we need to enter God’s presence. The drop of Christ’s blood, falling into our souls is, to us, pure grace. That is what happened when we passed beneath Christ’s outstretched arm; we received the gift of grace that he was offering. God’s freely-given loving kindness, his forgiveness – his amnesty and promise of forgiveness – his quashing of the charges against us, his redemption of the preciousness of life that we squandered, pawned to purchase delusions, his willingness to embrace us even after endlessly shunning him: all this is, to us, pure grace. And it has made us whole.

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm. (Part 4)

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm

Part 4: It is reality

And the blood? How are we to make sense of this? It does not matter that Jesus was just one man, living in one place, at one time. He is a universal person because he embraces and embodies all that is human and all that is divine. Although his blood in my soul is just a metaphor, it was real blood that fell, and my soul is truly the very heart of me. By faith, by love – I mean his love so much more than my own – I am included, we are included, in what he did, for us. Whatever else is in my soul – and there is much good alongside with much that I wish was not there – it is the drop of Christ’s blood that transforms the whole. Some say that the soul is given by God as a part of the divine within us, but I fear this is too optimistic. Looking at humanity, I would say that the soul is a receptacle capable of holding the divine, but not in itself divine. It needs a drop of the divine to fall into our souls and activate its potential. There are too many barriers between us and God – a gulf growing bigger with each move of mine that separates me from him. But the drop of blood in my soul becomes the magnet that draws me back to him. A gravitational critical mass has taken residence at the centre of my being and, with the inevitability of the laws of the universe, it will overcome all resistance and land me gently in his presence. I am a marked man. We all are, all who have passed beneath his outstretched arm. God knows us all, and he loves us all, and only he can say what he will do with those who laughed in his face rather than bending before him and passing beneath his arm – though I am hopeful, because he is hope. But what I can say, is that we who receive his blood into our souls have been changed. It is clearly beyond me; I am grasping, floundering to explain how, but I know that I am changed, and that everything is potentially changed because he has been lifted up, and shedding his blood – for us, for me, for you. God loves us all, but to those of us who have received a drop of his blood into our souls, God says, “I know you. You are one of mine”. And I know in the modern age some people hate this sort of talk, but truth is truth, and in God we find ultimate truth.

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm. (Part 3)

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm

Part 3: Changed forever

That look of love, if you caught it, if you chose to pass through rather than turn aside, and if you paused to look as you passed through, rather than simply rushing into freedom regardless of the cost paid for your freedom – though perhaps anyone who did not look would discover that they have not truly passed through – that look of love is indelibly marked into our souls. Whatever happens afterwards, it remains true that once we shared a look of love with him who is pure love. And, I have to say, if you press me, that I think that is enough. It is that shared look that has redeemed us. I want to say that it is Christ’s outstretched arms that have redeemed us, but that is what has made possible the opportunity to be redeemed. True redemption happens when we look, and see that he is looking at us. That should be enough – and perhaps it is, but there is more, so much more – needed because of our immense weakness.

As we passed beneath his arm, a drop of his blood fell into our souls. An antidote against the poison? Immunisation from the disease? The elixir of life? The savour of life touching our tongues? The scales falling from our eyes? The kiss of love that wakes us? How may we even begin to express what is happening? It could be as simple as a drop of dye transforming the whole colour of life. Or the stamp of authenticating entry on the reveller’s wrist. But if a look should prove insufficient, this drop of blood will not. It was too costly in its pouring to ever be valueless or ineffective. The receptacle that holds it is too precious for the effect of the falling to fail.

It was real blood that fell, and our soul is a real chalice into which it falls. It must be real blood that was shed. If we were more principled, then perhaps a principle of love, falling from Jesus’ lips might have saved us. But we are not. I understand the horror of blood – but it is blood that makes us live. And talk of sacrifice and transactional debts that must be repaid is offensive to modern ears, though it was a fair attempt to understand. But really all this is beyond clear explanation, beyond full understanding – but not beyond us. What has happened is within us.

If you do not believe you have a soul, you have nothing to hold out to catch your drop of his blood. Or rather, if you have a soul you have one whether you believe it or not, so perhaps for you the image is that you have turned your chalice upside down. Inverted, the drop of blood cannot be caught and so you lose your invitation, and anyway, you did not draw close to stoop beneath his arm. But still his blood was shed for you.

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm. (Part 2)

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm

Part 2: Born again

Jesus said we must be born again, and no-one is quite sure what that means, certainly not me. But perhaps it means this action. That, as once we entered the world through such a confined channel, to the pain and joy of our mothers, so now, if we are to live, we must pass through this narrowest of channels, beneath his arms, barely enough room to breathe, yet in agony and exaltation, the path between hope and despair, peace and fear, compassion and hatred, forgiveness and anger, life and death is open, and somehow we squeeze through. But we do not realise till we are through that this path is only open because Christ is exerting all his force of love against the forces of fear and hatred and anger and death. As his life ebbs away, he gives his all to ensure that the way is open for us.

So, if we will let go of our dignity – as though we had any of that – and bow our heads beneath his arm, under his gaze, if we will squirm and wriggle and scream in fear but still struggle through, and most of all, if we pass beneath his arm and look upwards into his face of love, then we pass through, and the whole of life opens up to us. A new life, unimaginable if we had not seen the look of love on his face, as he looked at us. Christ’s arms are stretched out, and we must pass beneath them if we are to live.

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm. (Part 1)

(A devotional reflection in 5 parts, taking up a thought from “Jesus holds open a door”)

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm

Part 1: A look of love

Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm, a drop of his blood falls into our souls and this, to us, is pure grace.

The life of Christ, in agony, drips away, but with each drop he imparts life. Aching with pain I look upwards, desperate for hope, or maybe relief of my suffering, or, if there is nothing else, a peaceful end. I don’t know why this man means so much, yet, when there is nothing else – and everything in my life tells me there is nothing else – I am drawn to him. Perhaps that is why he was lifted up, so that through the crowd, through my despair, I would see him. And as I look up, surely in vain, to my amazement, beyond all hope, he is looking down at me. I cannot bear his gaze, yet neither can I draw my eyes away. The exercise would have been pointless, my hope futile, if he had not looked down at me, but look he did. His suffering never left his face, but that did not prevent him looking at me with love. And that is all I needed; it is everything. It is that look that has set me free, that even in that moment, he should look at me with love. Yet that is why he chose that vantage point, that he should be able to see us all. But not all look at him.  But if you do, you also will see him looking at you with love.

Trembling on the brink : A devotion for Easter  

Trembling on the brink   :    A devotion for Easter                    

(This Easter devotion is being published all in one go. Happy Easter!)

Trembling on the brink of life and death, the last breath ebbs away, a sigh of loss so heavy it cracks the earth, and darkness slams shut on all who were looking in love and sorrow, till the last. Now, only crushing weight of despair remains; all else is lost.

Trembling on the brink of life and death, looking in, not daring to enter, an empty tomb means desecration not hope. Running away in fear, to tell, to seek help, leads running friends to also come and see, and slowly entering, to understand the emptiness, but not to understand.

Trembling on the brink of death and life, what can be thought, for being dead leaves less room than a grave, and none for thinking or feeling anything? Yet somehow, one moment there was void, and next there was consciousness. Did he think, “Ah yes, as I always knew”, or, in shock, gasping for a first new breath, did he grope in the dark for something to hold onto?

Trembling on the brink of death and life, he must have left, into the light, abandoning the grave, yet composed enough to wrap up that napkin separately by itself – the one, that coming to, had obscured his sight, and covered his mouth and nose, wrapped around his head, as it was. Where was he those first few hours? What did he do? What do you do when once you were dead and are now alive? Though it is all very peculiar, and the accounts don’t make clear sense. Is he still in time and space like us, for he can still be seen and touched? Or is he simply present when and where he wishes now? There is a strong scent of him being in between in these days – not trembling between death and life, but between humanity and divinity. Knowing he will be one with the Father, yet still there are things to do with us, for us.

Trembling on the brink of death and life, his friends are confused, puzzled, disbelieving. They hear messages, but they are afraid. It cannot be true, so they do not accept it. Till she hears her name called. And suddenly the truth that could not be recognised is embraced, as she embraces him. Till he breaks the bread and the penny drops. “The penny drops!”. What an understatement for the astounding revelation that blows their minds away. But that was it, in a moment they step over the threshold from not seeing, to seeing, from having no clue to understanding it all, from grief to joy, from despair to hope. No longer trembling on the brink, they enter life; they choose life. Till, still huddling in fear behind locked doors, he is there with them, in the midst of them, saying, “Peace be with you”. And, when empowered, they will throw open the doors and burst onto the streets to declare their faith: “He is risen!”. But even then, there was one left behind, left out. Tormented for a week, surrounded by rejoicing, but not giving in. Till he was invited to touch the scars. But to him was given the ultimate message, the truth to cap all truths: “My Lord and my God!”.

Trembling on the brink of life and death, death and life, we hear the story. A good story? A ridiculous story? A story? Confused and puzzled and disbelieving, it cannot be true. Do we want it to be true? But just wanting it, isn’t enough. It must be true for me to stop trembling. It is too late for me to touch your scars – that in-between time is over. He is now fully once again with the Father – yet somehow never losing hold of us – or so they say. Please, can the penny drop for me? I want to understand, for it to make sense. I want the hurricane to clean out my mind, for new life to flood in. Though, it was never a hurricane that carried anyone over the threshold; it really was, is, just a moment of revelation – a little light going on in the mind, that expands in a “Big Bang” moment to complete clarity to the furthest horizons, to the deepest depths, to the highest heights – to the inmost place where only I can go – unless he joins me. Trembling on the brink of death and life, I wait for you to call my name.

Jesus holds open the door. (Part 8)

Jesus holds open the door

Part 8: Do not be afraid; this cannot be taken from us.

That is Jesus, but what about us? Yes, Jesus has played his part, but we acknowledged that we are too weak to take advantage of it. The door may be open, but we will not go through it. Not left to ourselves anyway. And this is the final act of grace. Those who would otherwise have stepped aside at the last moment, knowing, rightly, that they have no right to go through, gaze at Jesus in love, and he invites us through. We pass beneath his arm and are redeemed. As we do, we can see the effort he is exerting to keep the door open. All the weight of human hate and fear and greed is pressing on him, but he is able to bear the pain of suffering and loss to maintain the way clear and free for us to pass through. That is what makes him God. We will fail. We will collapse. We will surrender. But Jesus, filled with God’s love, rejoices in the act of stretching out his arms. His pain and suffering is even greater than ours, we must not doubt that; this is not easy for him. But it is his choice, because the grace of God has filled him and he is intent that we should know grace. Passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm, a drop of his blood falls into our souls, and this, to us, is pure grace. So, in him, all our failures are turned to victory. Without him, we could not pass through; we would not pass through. But through him we accept the gift and enter. Those who have learnt to love Jesus know at least this one thing, that you come where he calls you; you forget what you want and live to please him. So, in joy, forgetting our failure, we pass through. The door is open. And it remains open, because Jesus is holding it open.

But, a clever after-thought of evil: you have passed through, but you did so possessing your human nature. Surely you will recreate hell even in heaven, let alone here on planet earth? And, again and again, we see that that has happened, for there is nothing so good in itself that it is not capable of being corrupted, and many who call on God inflict torture on others. Such people have not, in fact, passed through the door, for passing through is painful, like dying in order to be reborn. So, instead, they passed through an idol of the door, a theme park version to pass through casually, with a selfie to prove it. But we renew the cycle of Christ’s open door and declare that there is nothing so corrupt that it cannot be redeemed Those who have truly passed through beneath Christ’s arms, receive the gift that changes us. Human nature will always have the capacity for good and evil, that cannot be changed. But it bears repeating, for this is the very heart of the matter: passing beneath Christ’s outstretched arm we receive a drop of his blood into our souls, and to us, this is the pure grace of God. Those who do not qualify, who have not passed the test, who failed and will fail again discover that this grace pleads for them, against all accusations, including their own, and it is this grace that prevails. And, perhaps, agonizingly, Christ’s blood in our souls tips the balance a little more towards the good. Yet we do not agonize that the issue is still in doubt. We have passed through the door and are saved. The door is open. And it remains open, because Jesus is holding it open.