JESUS OF THE SCARS (Edward Shillito 1872-1948)

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;
We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow;
We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars we claim Thy grace.

If when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;
We know today what wounds are; have no fear;
Show us Thy Scars; we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong, but Thou wast weak;
They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;
But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,
And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.

Are we asking the gods of hinduism, which will tell you that your suffering is the result of sin in a previous life?

Are we asking the god of Islam, who will tell you “don’t question. Submit.”

Are we asking the god most people think of, who sits in heaven on a comfy throne peering down through binoculars at us little ants crawling around?

Or are we asking the God of the Bible.  The God who hangs on a cross, naked, whipped, abandoned, bleeding, dying.

We might walk up to the comfy-throne God and say “what are you doing?  Don’t you care?  Are you so removed from us that all this pain is nothing to you?”

But we wouldn’t say that to God on the cross.

Those who have read John Stott’s The Cross of Christ may remember ‘The Long Silence’ – a short story showing that God has entered the very depths of human suffering.  I’ve posted it here for your use, after the break.  Like most illustrations of biblical teaching, it is open to mis-use. In particular, this story could give the impression that God really is in the dock, and has no claim over us unless he suffered. That is not the case.  Note who is silent at the end of the story: we are.

The Long Silence

At the end of time, billions of people were seated on a great plain before God’s throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before them. But some groups near the front talked heatedly, not cringing with cringing shame – but with belligerence.

“Can God judge us? How can He know about suffering?”, snapped a pert young brunette. She ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi concentration camp. “We endured terror … beatings … torture … death!”

In another group a Negro boy lowered his collar. “What about this?” he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. “Lynched, for no crime but being black !”

In another crowd there was a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes: “Why should I suffer?” she murmured. “It wasn’t my fault.” Far out across the plain were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the evil and suffering He had permitted in His world.

How lucky God was to live in Heaven, where all was sweetness and light. Where there was no weeping or fear, no hunger or hatred. What did God know of all that man had been forced to endure in this world? For God leads a pretty sheltered life, they said.

So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because he had suffered the most. A Jew, a negro, a person from Hiroshima, a horribly deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child. In the centre of the vast plain, they consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case. It was rather clever.

Before God could be qualified to be their judge, He must endure what they had endured. Their decision was that God should be sentenced to live on earth as a man.

Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted. Give him a work so difficult that even his family will think him out of his mind.

Let him be betrayed by his closest friends. Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured.

At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly alone. Then let him die so there can be no doubt he died. Let there be a great host of witnesses to verify it.

As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the throng of people assembled. When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long silence. No one uttered a word. No one moved.

For suddenly, all knew that God had already served His sentence.

Anon (written before Summer 1982)

First of all,I have on many times used the illustration of a tapestry; we can’t understand why our life is full of frayed ends and dark threads, but we should remember we only see the underside of the tapestry.  I didn’t know there was a poem about this, so here it is:

The Weaver (B M Franklin 1882-1965)

My Life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.

Not til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him.

Okay, now it’s safe to think about our own prayer life.  In Isaiah 62:6-7 Jesus says he has posted watchmen to pray ceaselessly.  We are encourage to “give ourselves no rest” and “give him [the LORD] no rest” until the Church is the praise of the earth.

(Note, see Hebrews 12:22 on why followers of Jesus are the true Jerusalem.)

For a good illustration, taken from my most recent sermon:

One group of Christians took this seriously, and made a huge impact for the growth of Christianity.  In the 1720s, in Germany, Count Ludwig von Zinzendorf had established a community of refugees on his estate, a real mix of Christians.  He called this community Herrnhut, meaning ‘The Lord’s watch’ after this chapter.  There were a lot of tensions between the differing Christian groups, and Zinzendorf’s response was the set up a round-the-clock prayer watch, with the Moravian Christians praying in one hour shifts.

I’ve been in prayer meeting that were several hours long, on this principle.  But this prayer watch lasted over 100 years!

The Holy Spirit came with power upon these Christians, resulting in missionary teams being sent out across the world.  John Wesley was converted through a Moravian missionary.  Some felt called to be missionaries to Caribbean slaves – and the only way to reach the slaves was for the missionaries to sell themselves into slavery.   William Carey, known as the father of the missionary movement, was in fact inspired by the Moravians.

Here were Christians, watchmen on the walls, who gave themselves no rest, and gave God no rest, and the church exploded with life bringing thousands into the Kingdom of God.

(You’ll find this information all over the web e.g. here and here.)

Not heard even one time in the last two decades:  “I am concerned about my poor performance in laying up treasure in heaven.”

[From Dan Edelen at Cerulean Sanctum]

1. Read the story

2. Explain the basic point

3. Re-read the story with the children making actions / sounds when they hear key words.

My main aim was that the children learn the story, as so many people these days have no knowledge whatsoever of the Bible.  Having the children listen for key words means they are paying close attention to the reading.  I used the Good News Bible (I think) but adapted it so that the key words were more frequent.  For example, at the end the father says “… your brother lived with pigs but now he’s home. He was lost but now he’s been found.”  Okay, it’s a bit dodgy to change the Bible – but I reckoned the children would enjoy another opportunity to oink!

The text (and a few suggested actions / sounds) can be found here.  If you use it for real, I suggest you ask the children to come up with sounds / actions but don’t hesitate to bring your own ideas in.

And for Glen’s comments on this parable: go here.

****************

All the best stories begin with “A long long time ago, in a land far far away…” so that’s how I’ll begin mine.

A long long time ago in a land far far away was a town, a largish town, with the usual inhabitants of fairy-tale towns.  A mayor, some soldiers, merchants and peasants.  Butchers, bakers and candle-stick makers.

A short distance from the town was a large castle, entirely surrounded by a moat.  There was no bridge over the moat, and only one door on the outside wall.  In the castle lived a Great King; he owned the castle, the land, the whole town- but hadn’t been seen for some years.

One day messengers came from the castle, proclaiming the King’s message.  “A Great Plague is coming,” they warned “And could strike at any time.  Even now your clothes may be infected.  Leave your town and head for the castle.  There no plague can harm you.  You will find new clothes, a place to live for you and for your families.”

Many thought the messengers were fakes.  “We haven’t seen the king.  How do we know he sent you?”  Others said, “Plague? What plague?  There hasn’t been a plague here for generations.  I don’t believe you.”

Some believed the King and asked the messengers, “how can we get to the castle?  There’s no bridge.”

“Through the water” said the messengers.  “At the edge of the moat you’ll find a rope, hold on to that and someone in the castle will pull you through the water. Don’t worry – there are new clothes waiting for you.  The water will make sure the plague isn’t carried into the castle.”

So they walked to the castle and, each in turn, grabbed the rope and were pulled across.  Some plunged in, looking forward to a good clean.  Fathers held little children on their back.  Others, especially those who had nice clothes, were less sure.  A few walked around the castle looking for a bridge, but there wasn’t one. “Isn’t there another way,” they asked. “A bridge, or a tunnel, or even a boat?”  “No,” said the messengers. “There’s only one castle, one door and one rope to pull you through the water.  You must all enter the same way.”  And eventually they realised it was the only way, so they gave in and were pulled across also.

Once inside the castle the people were amazed.  Each was given a new set of clothes to match their new job, and the clothes were exquisite.  No two sets were identical, because the King loved variety, but each carried the King’s crest emblazoned on the front.  Some clothes were for those tasked with looking after the sick.  Some were for those working in the kitchens, there was a huge variety of tasks to be done so that the new community could flourish.

Some of the grandest clothes belonged to the trumpet blowers.  They had the job of keeping time and making sure everyone knew where they should be and when.  Morning and evening, and before mealtimes, the trumpeters sounded their fanfare.

After a few weeks the trumpeters started to get arrogant.  “We’re the ones who really make the place work,” they said.  “We have the fanciest clothes, we’re always in the public.  Of all the people here in this castle, we’re the ones who really belong.”

Actually, they didn’t say that last bit.  But that’s how they behaved.  At meal times they sat together.  They started blowing trumpets after mealtimes and before every coffee break.  They tried to persuade others to join them; “we don’t need cleaners and cooks and water carriers.  The castle would look so much grander if you all joined us.”

Down in the basement kitchens, people were upset.  All they did was wash vegetables, cook the meat and serve it up.  They never had a chance to blow trumpets.  Their clothes, although far better than anything they had in their old town, were more practical than showy.  “Maybe we don’t belong” they thought to themselves.  “Maybe the castle really is for those who play the trumpet, and the King only invited us here to make sure the trumpeters were okay.”

Discontent and grumbling grew.  Divisions formed between different groups.  Eventually the King heard about it and called everyone together in the central courtyard.

What he said, is essentially what Paul says in 1 Corinthians 12:

• You all joined this castle community the same way.  There is one door and one castle and so there is one community.
• You all belong; imagine how crazy it would be if you were all trumpeters.
• You are all needed.  Whether great or less impressive, we work together.

***************

This leads neatly into a 3 pointer:

1. There is one body and one way of becoming part of it. (verses 12-13)
2. You all belong. (verses 14-20)
3. You are all needed. (verses 21-26)

Some liberal theologians hate the idea of God’s vengeance.  Volf argues that the only way we can avoid resorting to violence is if we believe that vengeance is the LORD’s:

My thesis that the practice of nonviolence requires a belief in divine vengeance will be unpopular with many Christians, especially theologians in the West. To the person who is inclined to dismiss it, I suggest imagining that you are delivering a lecture in a war zone…Among your listeners are people whose cities and villages have been first plundered, then burned and leveled to the ground, whose daughters and sisters have been raped, whose fathers and brothers have had their throats slit. The topic of the lecture: a Christian attitude toward violence. The thesis: we should not retaliate since God is perfect noncoercive love. Soon you would discover that it takes the quiet of a suburban home for the birth of the thesis that human nonviolence corresponds to God’s refusal to judge. In a scorched land, soaked in the blood of the innocent, it will invariably die. And as one watches it die, one will do well to reflect about many other pleasant captivities of the liberal mind…

Exclusion and Embrace, p. 204

“When they hurled their insults at Jesus, he did not retaliate; when he suffered he made no threats. Instead he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.” (1 Peter 2:23)

There was an illustration I wanted to use – one John Piper used in connection with the value of small groups.  Only problem: I couldn’t remember where on the web I’d found it, and in the end had to give up searching.

But now I’ve found it.  It’s from a John Piper sermon reproduced here on the Resurgence website.  The illustration is as follows:

A visiting pastor in Auckland, New Zealand was asked by the pastor of a church to come to a small group to help it understand its function. He came early for dinner and the husband was not there. The wife was embarrassed and explained that the husband owned a construction company and worked late.

The group arrived after dinner and the visiting pastor taught for a while on how to use spiritual gifts to build each other up. Then he asked them to get alone for a few minutes to seek God for how each one might channel God’s grace to the others for their upbuilding.

When they came back together he assumed they knew each other’s needs because they had been together for several years. The husband came home, showered and joined them in a few minutes. When the opportunity was given to speak or to pray for each other there was an awkward silence. They had never done anything like this before—seeking the Lord for how he might want them to minister to each other in that moment to build each other up.

The visiting pastor felt a fiasco was on his hands and turned the meeting back to the pastor to close. The pastor asked if anyone had a special problem they would like prayer for. The hostess said yes and showed the group the rash all over her arms. She said that the doctors had prescribed medicine but it hadn’t helped. They invited her to put her chair in the middle for prayer. And as they prayed, Christ, the head of the church, did his ministry. The pastor said, “I sense in my heart the Lord is telling me your problem is the result of great anger.”

She was silent for a moment then began to cry softly. Then she confessed, “I am so angry at my husband. He promises to be home for dinner , but night after night we eat without him. . . . He’s broken his promises to me over and over, and I feel I am a widow as I raise our children.”

There was an awareness that something had just been revealed that two years of small group meetings had not revealed. And the husband was blushing with embarrassment.

To make the story shorter, several of the men began to speak about how they had wrestled with the same problem in their homes and had almost ruined their marriages. One in particular spoke of a deep meeting with God in such a crisis and how God had made everything new.

By the grace of God the husband knelt down in front of his wife and wept into her lap, as the group prayed for them more earnestly than they had ever prayed. The visiting pastor commented later, “The Lord had invaded His Body, and the gateway into the supernatural world had been crossed by us all.”

The following Sunday the visiting pastor was to preach and saw the small group gathered on the parking lot outside the church. When they found him inside the woman pulled up her sleeves and said, “Look, no rash anywhere!” The husband approached and said, “I’ve cut back my workday to eight hours. I took the kids to the zoo yesterday. We have a new home.” (Ralph Neighbor, Where Do We Go From Here? p. 161-64)

I like better the answer which my old pastor, Ken Smith, gave to [this question]:

When I die, if God asks, “Why should I let you into my heaven?” I’ll bow and be silent. Then I’ll hear a voice,
“Father, he’s mine.”