Death is Defeated!

Adhesive tape from the 1960s did what it said. It adhered forever. No wonder it was agony to remove the dressing applied by the school nurse onto a scraped knee: a piece of gauze held in place by that powerful white adhesive tape.

Another aspect of adhesive tape was that you could write on it. And so, half a century later, the adhesive wrapped round the housing for the end pin on my cello, still says my name and address and telephone number as it was when I was a child. I haven’t removed it. I am still that person, still that child. And this is still my cello, an aspect of my identity in some weird and wonderful way.

God has wrapped us in his identity. He has written his name on us, and nothing can remove that identifying mark. He embraces us in his love. From before he created us in our mothers’ wombs, he knew us. He counts the hairs on our heads. He died for us.

I can’t visit my grandchildren in this wretched lock-down, but I am kept going by precious videos and pictures sent regularly by their considerate parents. Every one is viewed more than once, for sure. I just viewed, through tears, a short video of our eldest grandchild singing as she coloured in, ‘I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm. Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar. Up from the ashes, hope will arise. Death is defeated: the King is alive.’ She is five years old.

God has wrapped each of our grandchildren in his loving arms and put his mark on them. What a comfort in these turbulent times. We can’t visit any of them, but we remain connected in a powerful bond of love.

Death is defeated. The King is alive!

Old Music

The music is yellowed with time. Dog-eared and torn. Old Sellotape perished long ago, leaving a crusty swatch.

Pencilled in fingering, written above the notes by Mr MacKenzie, my cello teacher over fifty years ago. My goodness! Over fifty years ago. I performed this in an annual music festival in high school. I played much better then than I can play now, but still, it is strangely comforting to link with my younger self, with a life that faded long ago.

Then I remember a piece by heart. Tarantella. A speedy dance, full of life and exuberance. I start out robustly, confidently, but after a few minutes I hit a wall. I can’t remember that next bit. I can’t find the music. Maybe tomorrow I’ll remember it.

Because tomorrow I will unpack my old friend, my cello which has been with me since the age of 9, and I will try again.

I didn’t launch straight into Vocalise, though. First I tuned the instrument. Not bad, considering I hadn’t played in a few months. Then I warmed up with some scales, some arpeggios, various bowing styles. Only once I’d warmed up did I attempt the piece of music.

After a time of nostalgic wandering through corridors of half-remembered musical pieces, my fingertips, now un-calloused, began to sting a bit. My bowing arm ached a little. Time to wind up.

So, I let my spirit soar as I played through some of the current praise music, which can be so uplifting. I worshiped with my cello, struggling through a few I didn’t know so well, but ending with King of Kings, Majesty. My heart sang with my cello, praising my God and King.

I am so grateful to my parents for the financial sacrifices they made so that my sister and I could learn to play the violin and cello. I am so grateful to God for giving me a love of music and a slight aptitude in it.

Music is a tonic. It is a balm for the hurting heart and a comfort in times of trouble. It is a joy which brings a smile to my face even now as I think of the unalloyed pleasure it brings. I first encountered Jesus through the heartfelt singing of believers who loved their Lord. There he was in the midst of their praise, and I met him.

May your day be filled with music, lifting you out of fear and frustration, anxiety and sorrow, and filling you with the peace of God which passes all understanding. May you sense his love and joy as you warm up by reminding yourself of who he is, the faithful, everlasting Lord.

And then may your spirit soar in praise and worship.

The Detail

Don took away the broken picket fence that divided vegetable patch from grass and flowers. The acer tree which has grown there for thirty-five years can now be appreciated from my bedroom window, and when I rise each morning, I look out and am astonished at its beauty, particularly at that time of day. The light sits gently, subtly, on the sides of the branches and twigs facing eastwards. It’s not spectacular or breath-taking, and yet I am blessed by the beauty of this detail. Every morning I pause and gaze, and am blessed by this detail.

I always thought the acer was an expensive tree because of its glorious show of reds in the autumn, when the leaves blaze forth before dropping. But now, as I look at its still-bare branches, I appreciate the grace of slender branches as they reach upwards, bending here and there only slightly, twisting occasionally in a sort of arboreal dance. Because we rarely prune, there are many branches, intertwining and resting on one another. I am loving the beauty of the bare branches, and am blessed as I gaze. I am blessed by this detail.

Soon there will be leaves. Leaves which will obscure these exquisite branches, I suppose, but I anticipate that I may appreciate a new revelation of another kind of beauty. I will be blessed by a new detail.

‘I have loved you with an everlasting love,’ God declares to us. That is incredible. That he says it to each one of us individually, wherever we are, whatever our history.

Just as the picket fence obscured my view of the acer tree, so my sin obscures my view of God. I am so grateful that Jesus’ redemption has made me dead to sin, so that as he helps me tear down the picket fence of negative and critical thoughts, of perverse and selfish attitudes and ideas, of fear and doubt, my eyes can more clearly discern the beauty of the Lord. I am blessed by the detail.

At some times, I appreciate the light he shines on me and my circumstances. At other times, I appreciate the stark beauty of his sacrifice and love. Still again at other times, I anticipate that I will appreciate the poignancy of his compassion and the agony of his often unrequited love for the world.

As humanity writhes with the pain of pandemic, the confusion of how to combat the virus and how to keep people safe, the moral dilemmas presented by lock-down, may God help us take down the picket fence of sin so that as we stand in confident hope and assurance of a bright future, increasing numbers of the lost and the frightened can see the reason for our hope, can see who stands with us, and why, in the end, there is no need to fear.

In this world, Jesus said, you will have trouble. But take heart, for I have overcome the world.

May the eyes of all be open to this glorious detail.

Rest

The world is flooding with bad news. The pandemic is throwing up moral dilemmas demanding wisdom and courage in decision-making. What is right? What is wrong? What is reasonable? What is going too far?

I may be willing to risk my own health in order to see family and friends, but what if that risk puts me on a respirator which pressurises the over-worked, traumatised health care workers? Which leads to bereavement and guilt borne by those I love and long to help?

Tossed about in this pandemic storm and washed up on a desert island, I crawl up the beach to you, Jesus, my strength and my life. I don’t know what to do, Lord, but I trust you. I shelter in your loving, everlasting arms, drawing comfort from your presence. You help me regain perspective and clear the clouds of confusion so I can see the bigger picture.

The bigger picture is that whatever is happening in this world right now, the gift of God is everlasting life in Jesus. Everlasting. Everlasting and good, because it is lived in the presence of the God who loves the world so much he sacrificed everything to save it. We have been saved. We can’t see beyond the horizon, but knowing you, Lord, we trust that there is life beyond the horizon.

Everlasting life. No more sorrow; no more tears. I rest in the promises of God.

Better than porridge!

One of my favourite books as a child was about an old woman who had a magic pot that produced porridge. I don’t remember much about the story except that one day the pot went mad for some reason and would not stop. Porridge overflowed from the pot, filled the house, splashed out of the windows and doors and flooded the streets and other houses in the village.

I have just read Romans 5:1-5 in The Message, and it reminded me of this book! (I know I have a weird sort of way of thinking). To paraphrase a paraphrase, the writer is saying that as we shout our praise to God even in times of trouble, the troubles develop passionate patience in us which forges the tempered steel of virtue, ‘keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling short-changed. Quite the contrary – we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!’

Wow! I am praying that during these days we can all be like this, alert for whatever God is going to do next as we overflow with the Holy Spirit. May his Spirit overflow through our lives, through our homes and families, out the doors and windows and flood our streets and villages and cities. I am excited to see what God will do next.

He is with us. And he has a plan.

Rain Fire

There are times when it can feel that the things I offer to God become drenched in life’s vagaries. I do things because I feel led by God; I pray in faith for things in response to his direction; yet they sit in a puddle and don’t ignite. It can be discouraging.

Elijah watched as the Baal worshippers worked themselves into a frenzy in order to persuade their god to light their dry fire. Nothing happened. No response from their idol.

Then, instructing that the wood on the altar built to God be saturated in water, Elijah prayed a simple prayer. Lord, light my fire; accept this offering to you. A fire blasted from heaven, igniting and consuming the sacrifice.

There is a lot of worldly junk around just now, trying to quench the fire within us. The more drenching, the more prayer: come on, Lord, light the fire of revival here in this place, here in this nation, here in this world.

Start with me.

Those who trust in the Lord bear fruit even in a season of drought. May we all trust, and see others enjoy the fruit of the Spirit.

The Gift

Gifts. I have been so blessed in life, receiving gifts that were thoughtfully chosen, that required self-sacrifice. I have been blessed, too, in having the means to choose gifts for others.

There is such joy in giving a gift. It is so much fun when you find that gift which is just perfect for someone you love. Often that gift is found when you’re not really looking for it.

I received the gift of the Holy Spirit when I was not expecting it. The Giver knew, though, that I was really looking for it, and was in a position to receive, open, and value it. Even the faith to receive the gift, was a gift. I didn’t – don’t – deserve such a gift.

In The Message paraphrase of the Bible, a couple of verses in Romans are rendered, ‘Abraham entered into what God was doing for him, and that was the turning point. He trusted God to set him right instead of trying to be right on his own.’ ‘…it’s something only God can do’ ‘…Sheer gift.’

Sheer gift, which cost God more than I can even take in. A gift which he was prepared to give, despite the sacrifice. A gift which he was excited to give. A gift which gives him joy to give.

Part of the joy in gift-giving is seeing the surprise and joy in the person receiving it. How heart-breaking for God, to find his priceless gift, the gift of salvation, left on the floor, unopened, unvalued. Not received by so many. And yet, received by every believer, but sometimes taken for granted, forgotten about, unvalued.

I’ve still got the wee bleed spot on my wrist, a poignant reminder of the price of the gift, inspiring a thankful heart, a grateful spirit. I hope it doesn’t go away before I’ve made it a habit to thank Jesus every time I notice my wrist, marked or not.

What a gift. What a Giver.