God

For Easter : The Sword Pierced Heart

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I watched my son die today. My beautiful boy, beaten, battered and left to die. My heart broke.

I held my cloak close and I remembered the weight of him as a babe, like a boulder on my hip, wriggling to be free, to run and jump and climb. Those legs will run no more. Those limbs, I was so proud when they grew. I remember when he grew as tall as me, then taller even than Joseph. I remember watching him, stretched out as he ate, those long limbs seemed to go on forever. “I grew him,” I used to think with pride. Those limbs will not sprawl relaxed in my home ever again.

I watched his hands, the hands that used to pat me cheekily on the head when he’d grown tall. Those strong hands which laboured with wood, which helped me carry heavy loads, which lifted young children playfully. They are no longer strong. I saw them bang nails through the flesh, even felt that I heard the sound of bone shattering over the thump of the hammer, heard his ragged breath as they forced the cross upright. I wondered if I too might die.

But I watched. I am his mother and I would not leave him alone. When they tried to take me home, when they told me to shield my eyes, avert my gaze, I did not. For he was my son. I would never leave him alone, not at such an anguished hour of need.

Others watched. Some women were there, terrified and hanging back. Not me, I am his mother. I stood with John, where he could see me. What could they do to me that was worse than this?

Some watched who hated him. They mocked and spat and called abuse. It could not hurt him now, I thought, let them shout.

“He trusts in God,” they called, “Let God save him now,” and they laughed; even as he died they laughed.

Though even God deserted him by the end, and that was hardest to bear. He called out with a loud shout, asking why God had turned from him.

“My God,” he called in anguish, “why have you forsaken me?”

But I was there. I did not leave. I saw them crucify him, naked upon a cross. No mother wants to see her grown son naked, but still I did not look away. I was there at the beginning, I would stay with him until the end.

The soldiers took his clothes, for fabric is costly and even that of a criminal should not go to waste. Most they tore and shared between them but not his tunic. They cast lots for that, not wanting to spoil something precious. Yet my son was precious and they destroyed him.

It began last night. They woke me from my sleep and warned me there was trouble. He had been arrested, taken from a meal with his friends and questioned by the temple authorities. They feared the invaders, so he was then referred to a court of Godless law, a place that feared no God. They told me that he was scourged, beaten with whips that removed chunks of flesh as they struck. He was mocked and abused, then brought to this place.

I came, stumbling through streets full of people, full of noise and smells and fear and hatred. I came to this place, this Godforsaken hill beyond the city wall and I saw my son, my boy, diminished, shrunken somehow. I saw that what they had told me was true, smelt the repugnant stink of excrement mingle with the metallic stench of blood. I heard the shouts of abuse, the curses of the guards, the screams from the prisoners, the wails from friends. And him, like an oasis of calm amidst the turmoil, suffering but at peace.

And he saw me. Those dark eyes that as a baby had watched me intently when he fed. Those eyes that twinkled merrily when he teased me and became serious when he wanted to explain something important. Those eyes, red rimmed with exhaustion now, turned to me. Even hanging there, with parched mouth and dried lips, he spoke to me. His voice was hoarse, for he had refused the wine they offered, but I heard him well. A mother knows her child’s voice.

I stood with John and my son told me that this was to be my son now and he was to care for me as a mother. Even in his torment he cared for me, fulfilled his duty as my son. Still I would not leave.

Then it ended. The sky had turned as black as my world and he drew his last breath. It was finished. Those who had mocked became silent, some cried, some beat their breasts in despair. The blackness of the sky frightened them and many fled, wondering at what they had done.

Then I left, I let them lead me away. My soul was broken and my heart beat even though I bid it stop. My boy was gone, my firstborn, special baby, was no more. I carried that knowledge like a rock within me, I would have rather died in his place. How could I live, continue with my life knowing he is gone? There would be no more sunshine or laughter, nothing matters now. The core of me was gone. I could not even cry.

Afterwards, I could not rest and I heard strange stories. They said the soldiers pierced his side, to check there was no life in him. His blood had separated so they took him down, a solid corpse that had no life. A man came and took the body, they said they followed and knew where he lay, in a tomb that was guarded.

They told me of strange things, of the temple curtain torn in two, of dead men walking and boulders breaking open. I do not know. I only know my boy is gone. That is all that matters.

It should not have been like this. It was so recently that people praised his name, sang and danced before him, treated him like a king. It should not have ended like this.

And yet, I recall a song, it comes persistently to mind, it was sung often in the synagogue. It speaks of one forsaken by God in his time of need, scorned by many. He belonged to God from before he was born, then suffered at the hands of many. They sang of bones poured out like water, a heart of melted wax, that is how my boy would have felt. They sang of hands and feet pierced like his, and enemies gloating over him. They sang of lots being cast for clothing and of God’s ultimate victory. They sang of remembering him for ever, not just now but families of every nation, even those presently unborn. For he has done it. Is this my son’s song? Were the words written for him?

He spoke of his death often, he tried to warn me that he would die. But not like this, not before my own time has come. No mother should bury her child, it goes against what is natural and right. Though, he showed no fear, he knew what his end would be. And he told me there was more.

As I turn now to sleep, I wonder at his words. Will he truly return somehow and will I know? Has he finished what he was sent to do?

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If Mary was a young teenager when she learned she was pregnant (which would fit with the age girls became betrothed in those days) then when Jesus died aged thirty-three, she would have been about forty-seven. How does a woman of that age cope with the things she was forced to witness and how much would she have understood at the time? I am about her age, I have sons, contemplating their dying is too horrible for words. I am sure she loved her boy as much as we love ours.

Crucifixion was a ghastly way to die. We learn in the Bible that Jesus, who never sinned, who never did anything wrong, died to save the world. What does that mean?

You can learn more at:https://anneethompson.com/how-to/378-2/

However, many people were crucified, some probably unjustly accused. So is it the death that was important or was it that God became separate? I think that this is the key issue here – the part of Jesus that was God left him. That was more terrible than crucifixion. That is what each of us deserves and what we do not have to suffer if we choose to come to God.

If we want to know God, we can, even if that means changing our minds.

You may not believe in God, but God believes in you.

The song which Mary recalled in the story was Psalm 22. It has some striking similarities to the account of Jesus’ crucifixion. It was written about one thousand years before the event. (wow) It begins: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

It finishes: “…..future generations will be told about the Lord. They will proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn- for he has done it.”

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A View of History…..

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What is your view of history? It seems there are three main views (do let me know if you think there are more.)

The first idea is that time is like an old fashioned clock. It has been wound up, the pendulum is swinging and slowly, slowly, it is winding down. There was a beginning to life on earth and there will be an end. That is all there is to it. How individuals live and behave is pretty meaningless in terms of history. In millions of years from now, there will be no life on earth and no one to remember it. There will be nothing.

The next idea is that time is circular, more like a spiral. Everything that happens has happened in the past and will happen in the future. Events repeat – possibly after thousands of years, but basically the same things happen over and over again. Whilst this clearly doesn’t apply to specific inventions (the Romans had central heating but no internet!) in terms of humanity, empires rising and falling, people doing the same things over and over, history repeats.

I guess this idea is behind the philosopher who said,

“Every river flows into the sea, but the sea is not yet full. The waters return to where the rivers began, and starts all over again. Everything leads to weariness – a weariness too great for words. Our eyes can never see enough to be satisfied; our ears can never hear enough. What has happened before will happen again. What has been done before will be done again. There is nothing new in the whole world. ‘Look!’ they say, ‘here is something new!’ but no, it has all happened long before we were born. No one remembers what has happened in the past, and no one in days to come will remember what happens between now and then.”

The last idea is that history is more like an arrow that has been shot from a bow. It is going somewhere. We might not see the big picture, but there is a clear aim, there is somewhere that all this life on earth ultimately leads to.

So, which view is your view? I’m not sure if it’s possible to hold the third view if you have no belief in God or an afterlife. What do you think? I would be very interested to hear from anyone who does hold that view and who doesn’t believe in God. It is certainly the view held by religious people but if there is no God, I’m not sure where life could be leading. What do you think?

I thought about this a lot when I was a teenager. Actually, I was a very unhappy teenager – all those hormones whizzing round made for a very troubled person. I also could never summon enthusiasm for things that I felt had ‘no point’ (a common view amongst middle children I believe.)

This was something of a problem at school and I frequently skipped lessons and rarely troubled much about homework. It wasn’t helped by our family having very little money. Why learn French if the only foreign country you are likely to visit is Wales? I was also brought up to believe that the best thing for girls to be was a wife and a mother, so what use was chemistry going to be? (I do now, as an adult, think that being a wife and mother is an excellent thing to be. However, I also think that other careers are also excellent. I do sometimes wonder if I might have made a good journalist, going around the world and giving other people a voice. Some better qualifications would have been helpful. Too late now…)

I did actually, for a while, get very depressed. I was brought up in a religious family, but we were pretty much taught rules and knowledge. I really couldn’t see the point of life. If the point was to have fun, and I clearly wasn’t, then why bother? If there was a Heaven, why not just go there straight away?

No one ever told me (or at least, if they did, I never heard) that there was a plan and that I was part of it. I never heard anyone explain the last view with the addition that the God who had ‘shot the arrow,’ actually had a purpose for me, there was a point to being alive, right now, even if I didn’t always see it. I wish someone had told me that. That’s why I’m telling you.

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Letters to a Sister : 45 – Spring Cleaning

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Most of my life needs a spring clean. I have spent the last two years mainly recovering from brain surgery (which takes a lot longer than you might think) and then writing books. My house has the level of cleanliness that you would expect from someone who basically ‘does the basics’ but never has time to sweep the cobwebs off the ceiling or tackle the underneath of the beds. Actually, I have never liked housework. My boys are at uni but I still have piles of clothes they out-grew when they were ten. As for exercise – forget it!

So, I decided to do something about it. I cannot tackle the whole house – that would drive me to despair. But I can do one small thing every day. Yesterday I swept the cobwebs. Today I plan to wash all the shelves in the fridge. Tomorrow I will wipe finger marks off the light switches.

image1I have also tried to start exercising properly. Every morning I go on the exercise bike for twenty minutes, then do some floor exercises. My muscles now ache and my bum is sore. But I feel better for doing it. Today I dug out my big padded cycling shorts, the ones I wore years ago when cycling from London to Brighton. They saved my bum further discomfort. You can imagine how sexy they looked – even more lumps in strange places on my middle-aged body! Might not wear them if anyone else is in the house……

 

Another ‘exercise’ I have started is reading the above book, which a friend recommended. It’s excellent. It’s written by someone who understands middle eastern customs and life style and has put the teaching and life of Jesus into context. I love things like that.

I try to read a couple of pages every morning, with my coffee (illy) and breakfast biscuit (BelVita). They all set me up for the day. Today I read about the verse “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” The author points out that we need to eat and drink regularly, it’s not a one-off activity. I find this terrifically reassuring. Whilst my knowledge about God related things is pretty extensive (we were after all, steeped in it pretty much from birth and then I went on to teach Religion), my level of righteousness is not up there! The thought that this is okay, that constantly needing to search is what God expects, is wonderful.

He then goes on to define “righteousness” (it’s not a word that comes up over dinner very often, is it!) He says it’s not the “going to church, don’t drink alcohol, never swear” stuff, it’s the stuff Micah talks about in his book – loving justice, showing mercy, walking with God. That’s what I need to be seeking, as often as I eat and drink.

So, there you are, I am feeling positive. Am all ready for the week  the day  well, the next couple of hours.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

PS: The ducks are laying. There is one blue egg in the aviary, am hoping the rats don’t eat it.

PPS: A flock of sheep are now living in the field that joins our garden. Kia (GSD) spends all day monitoring how close they are to the fence!

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You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

The Rich Man

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Once upon a time, there was a man. A very rich man. He was also a very holy man. He trusted God with his life and tried his best to follow what he was taught. The man was now very very old. As the man grew old and weak, he realised that soon he would die. He trusted that when that happened, he would go to Heaven. But he was worried. He did not like the idea of going empty-handed, of not taking anything with him.

“God,” he prayed, “I know that when I die you have promised to accept me in to Heaven. And I know that I am not meant to take anything. But please, could you make an exception in this case? Could you let me take a bag with me?”

Now, God is a kind God, so he considered the man’s request very carefully. He knew that the man had tried his best to follow him during his life, that he had been generous and kind, that he had shown mercy and tried to live a good life. He knew that the man was very worried about this and God didn’t want him to be anxious. So he agreed, he told the man that he could take one small bag to Heaven.

Soon after this, as expected, the man died. He arrived in Heaven, carrying one small bag.

“Oh,” said the angel at the entrance, “you cannot bring that in here. You cannot bring anything to Heaven.”

“Yes, I know,” replied the man, “but God gave me special permission.”

So the angel went to check and sure enough, he discovered that this man was allowed to bring one small bag into Heaven. Now, word quickly spread amongst the angels and saints in Heaven and they all wondered, what had this man brought into Heaven? So they all came, eager to see.

They crowded round the man, peering over each other’s shoulders, jostling for position as the man knelt down and slowly unzipped his bag. There, shining brightly, were four solid gold bars.

There was a moment of complete silence.

Then, perplexed, one of the angels asked, “You brought pavement?”

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I love this story. I heard it in church, I cannot even remember who told it but I used it many time when teaching because I think it makes a good point. When we decide to follow God, we sometimes have to let go of things and this can be hard. Whether it is our ambitions, dreams, or wealth , there is actually no point in holding on to them. What God provides is always so much better.

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Letters to a Sister : 37

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This is a reply to my sister’s letter, which you can read at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2016/01/star-wars-handbags-and-my-word-of-year.html

Dear Ruth,

Thanks for your letter. It’s funny but I was thinking much the same things this week. I don’t think I could choose one word for the year though, for me it would be two : Nothing Lasts.

The same conclusions as you really, it is something I realise more and more as I get older. Nothing lasts. This can be sad, when it refers to friendships, when people I love move or die, when a job I enjoy finishes or a stage of life (like having toddlers. I loved parenting tiny children.) It can be good too, when something’s awful, or we’re ill, or we look at the world and it just seems black and hopeless. Nothing lasts.

I had a terrible night on Wednesday, I just couldn’t sleep. I think I spent the whole night awake and worrying. Usually I’m an excellent sleeper – 10:30 to 7am, straight through with no wake ups. If I can’t sleep I put on a story in Chinese and it distracts me enough that I sleep almost instantly. (Husband gave me headphones for Christmas. I am thinking it might not be the same for him.) But Wednesday I started worrying and then couldn’t sleep. All night.

I had all kinds of different worries bubbling around my head. Church has had lots of people move away and we can’t find enough people to fill all the gaps and I’m worried I wont cope with everything I have agreed to do. My book is on the way to being published but I’m worried that no one will buy it, that it’s not good enough, that friends will laugh at me. I hate self-promotion, I just can’t do it, so the thought of having to ask people to buy my book is terrifying. I also had agreed to drive the boys back to uni, which is a long drive, longer than I have driven since brain surgery. Worried I would get too tired, worried about staying in a motel (very scary), worried I would get lost in big Northern cities. Worry, worry, worry, buzzing round my brain.

The next morning I was reading Psalm 8 (you remember I am studying the Psalms at the moment?) Anyway, it just made me cross! It begins by talking about God, his glory, how he put the stars in place with his hands, how even tiny children praise him, etc. “That’s nice,” I thought, “but it doesn’t exactly fill up the Sunday School rota with names of willing volunteers. It doesn’t help me much.”

Then I realised that actually it did, actually it took all those worries away. If I believed in a God who placed the stars, then surely I believed that he could cope with a rota of names? Surely I could leave the problem with him? It just wasn’t MY problem, none of my worries were. They were his.

All I have to do is live each day as well as I can. To live in the present – which kind of comes back to what you were saying. I have to live each day as best as I can, which might mean editing my book or asking people to help with some job at church. But as long as I do that right, in the best way I can, then I am only answerable to God. The bigger problem is his and I can just dump it with him and get on with my day, with my ‘now’, my ‘present’.

Perhaps my word should be ‘Trust’. Except I’m not quite holy enough to do that very well, so I’ll leave it with ‘nothing lasts’.

Hope you have a good week. Hope woodpecker doesn’t destroy your house (your house is made of wood, right?)

Take care,
Anne xx

PS: News in brief:
The rats are back. More annoying than I can say. Have found new holes in the duck aviary. Have put down traps and discussed with cats.

We’ve had lots of rain. Loads of it. Makes walking dog each day very unpleasant. Squelching through sodden fields is grim. So is the amount of mud that seems to find its way into my kitchen. Hens are very cross and refuse to leave their perch some days.

I still have a Christmas tree up – the artificial one that I refuse to have anything to do with. The ornaments are gone but the tree remains. I think husband thinks I haven’t noticed. Am saving discussion for when I’ve done something wrong and need some leeway. Shouldn’t be long.

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The World was Dark

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The world was dark. Nations fought each other with weapons and cruelty and military power. Politicians sought to conquer, individuals worked subversively causing upheaval and bloodshed and fear. Few felt peace, all were aware of black terror in various corners of the world.

The society was dark. Rich men ruled with might, there was little regard for the poor, the ill, the weak. People were trapped in the role to which they were born. Life was cheap, with a market for slaves, the ownership of another human, the trampling of rights.

Religion was dark. A myriad of beliefs, many advocating bloodshed and cruelty, most leaving people bewildered and confused. People chose their gods with care, hoping to gain protection or wealth. Some became their own god, others looked to the stars.

The night was dark. A young couple, displaced, needing shelter, a place for her to give birth. Workers fought the coldness of night on hills beyond the town as they protected their flocks.

In the night of a dark society in a black world, a light was born. A light to guide, marked by a star, heralded by angels, sought by seekers of truth. A light to pierce the darkness.

Today, our world is dark. We watch nations fight each other, hear tales of oppression. There is fear of terrorism, a half ignored knowledge of atrocities in foreign lands, a sense of hopelessness. Inequalities threaten our stability so we try to forget the poor, the disadvantaged, those suffering from problems too big for us to solve. Easier to blame their governments for unrest, hunger, climate change. It is too big for us.

Our society is dark. Overwhelmed by economic uncertainties, the distrust of politicians, the struggling poverty of the refugee, the unemployed, the disabled. The fear of instability that makes us cling to our wealth and families and careers. The knowledge that people are trafficked, trapped within our society and abused, hurt. Invisible suffering. A media that distorts and dominates and influences. Few are at peace.

Beliefs today are dark. People are emptily sliding towards addictions to alcohol, gambling and drugs. A confusion of religion that causes a distrust of all exclusive belief. The fascination with the occult, the selfishness of humanism and the pursuit of pleasure.

So where is that light, that promise from long ago? Not extinguished. Still shining. Still waiting. A continued promise. A light that will extinguish darkness.

A light with many names: An advisor to guide you – don’t you long for some good advice? A God worth worshipping – don’t you wish you knew the truth? A father who will never die – don’t you ache to be cared for? Someone who brings real peace, stability, safety. His government will exclude no one, will last forever, be truly fair.

The light continues to shine, waiting for people to open their eyes and see. Waiting to set them free.

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Modified from Isaiah chapter 9.

Thank you for reading.

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Who do you trust?

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What do you trust? As in, really trust, not the ‘wearing my lucky socks for an interview’ kind of trust but the kind of trust we had when we were tiny. I’ve been thinking about it recently.

When we were little, Mum and Dad always took us on those camping holidays didn’t they. We never had any input into where we went or what we did, we just trusted that we would be safe and have a nice time. I remember we used to load the car with all our stuff and sit on heaps of blankets, driving for hours through the country to a windy campsite where we would all help to put up the tent and unload the car. I think, when I was small, I looked forward to them. When I was bigger, I longed for a caravan. (I have now promised myself that I will never have to camp again. Ever.) But when we were tiny, we loved it. We also had complete, unquestioning trust in Mum and Dad. That’s the kind of trust I’m thinking about.

I started thinking about it because I was reading the bit in the Bible about Jesus in Gethsemane, just before he is arrested and then killed, the bit where he is praying. He prays, “….not as I will but as you will.” That is complete trust. He has told God that he does not want to die, to go through all the suffering. Then he says that what he wants more than anything is that God’s will be done. He knows that ultimately, that is for the best. Have you ever felt that? Ever had complete trust in God or someone else? Since we were tiny I mean (little children are good at trust. Perhaps because they don’t see the dangers or perhaps because they have no choice.)

The only time I’ve come even slightly close was just before I had brain surgery. I was sitting in the rocking chair on the landing, praying about it. All the doctors had talked to me about the possibility of dying or waking up disabled – not in a ‘worst case scenario, not likely to happen’ sort of way but in a ‘this is possible (but you’ll die if we don’t do it, so there is no option but to take the risk)’ sort of way. It was a real possibility and that REALLY helps you to focus on God and praying and asking for his help.

Anyway, there I was, praying, asking God to make sure I didn’t die and I felt him talking to me. That doesn’t happen very often, but I guess he knew this was important. He told me I needed to trust him. Not trust him that I wouldn’t die, but trust him that whatever his will was, it was for the best. I felt he was asking me what I would choose. If my dying meant that my children would be saved, would I choose that? Of course I would, any mother would. Then I realised that I don’t see the whole picture, only God does. Maybe my dying or being left paralysed would be what was best – not in the short term for me, but in the long term, in the eternal picture sort of way. I had to trust not that God would let me live but that God’s will, whatever that was, would be done.

Just as I was having these thoughts/prayers, the phone rang. It was a friend phoning to say he would be praying that I would have a successful operation. I told him that instead he should pray that God’s will should be done. I find that happens sometimes, God never forgets that we are human, physical beings, sometimes we need to say and do things to make them definite, real, so we don’t forget them.

As you know, I didn’t die. But I think the trust bit was important.

When we have a crisis of health, or someone we love dies or when awful things happen, like the terrorists actions in Paris, it makes us realise that trusting ourselves isn’t enough, we need someone bigger to rely on. It is important that we place our trust wisely. Bad things happen. Do we trust God to bring some good out of it? That his plan is bigger than all the nasty stuff that we see in life?

It was fairly recent, but I have already lost that ability to completely trust. I am thinking about my book, my hope to be an author. I am praying that God will help me get published. But what if that isn’t his will? Do I trust him that his way is better? That’s pretty hard in normal everyday life. Plus, how do we know what his will is? I guess sometimes (usually in my case) we don’t. I didn’t know what his will was when I had the operation, I had to take the advice of people who knew better than me about physical things (the surgeons) and trust that God would be in control of the outcome.

Sometimes we have to walk along the route that seems to be laid out and just trust and pray that God’s will be done.

 

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Prayer doesn’t work

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I have to agree when people say, “Prayer doesn’t work.” It doesn’t. At least, not in the way that they usually mean it. When people pray, they are usually asking for something. They usually want God to change something. I’m not sure that this is what prayer is all about. At least, not entirely, not in the way that we are often told.

I can think of two examples of when I prayed very earnestly for something (I have prayed more than twice, in case you are wondering. I often pray. But these are good examples of what I mean.)

Prayer one was a few years ago when someone who I had grown up with, someone who I cared about, had a horrible accident and his son was killed. I knew that I should attend the funeral, I wanted to show my support for him, but I also knew it would be very hard. It would be hard seeing those who I loved, feeling hurt. It would also be hard because my son was the same age. The coffin would be the same size as my son. So I prayed. I asked my church group to pray too. I prayed that even in this nasty situation, I would feel the peace of God, that I would know his presence with me. It was an earnest, heartfelt prayer.

If I am honest (and there is no point writing this unless I AM honest, there are enough people who ‘say the right words’ already) God did not answer my prayer. I have never felt so alone, so abandoned, as I did at that funeral. I felt no peace, no comfort of God’s presence. I felt totally alone. Full of sorrow for the family but no peace. None. I don’t know if my church group had prayed for me – I suspect they forgot (it’s very easy to forget other people’s needs in the busyness of life.) In this instance, I can honestly say, prayer didn’t work. But we should still pray.

In many parts of the world, people are ill or starving and have no access to help. Many of them pray, call out to God for help. They are not bad people, they pray very earnestly. But their babies still die. There is still not enough food or health care or water. Prayer doesn’t work. But we should still pray.

So, what does it mean? Are we getting it wrong? Is prayer a waste of time? Well, our best way of knowing God is to explore the Bible a little. In the Bible, people prayed. Even Jesus prayed. Think of the famous prayer of Jesus before he died. He prayed asking God to, “…remove this cup from me.” He absolutely didn’t want to die. So, did God save him? Did he escape a horrible death nailed to a cross? Well, no actually. Both Bible accounts and secular historical records show that Jesus was crucified and died. His prayer didn’t work, not if we are measuring prayer by ‘getting what we want’.

In the Old Testament, we read that King David gave up food and sleep to pray that his son might live. But his son didn’t, he died. David’s pray didn’t work. You might not believe the Bible, you might not like what you read, but you have to admit it is honest. It hasn’t fancied things up at all. People prayed for things and God DIDN’T act. Not always. Often not in the way they intended. Prayer doesn’t work. But we are told to pray.

The Bible has many examples where people prayed and things changed. Today, people today tell me that they lost their car keys and prayed and God helped them find them. So what does it all mean? Are they lying?

Well, the more I examine it, the more I test it, the more convinced I am that prayer doesn’t work. At least, if we think that we can change God’s plan by praying. If we could, then God would be no more than a genie in a bottle, a lucky charm, a magic crystal. Of course, some people do ‘pray’ to those things, to lucky charms and sometimes their prayers are ‘answered’. Sometimes they find their car keys or their nephew gets well or the weather is sunny. But I think that is co-incidence. I personally don’t think a lucky charm can change anything. Do I think that praying for lost car keys helps us find them? Perhaps, but that too might be coincidence. And I don’t think our prayers change God. God is bigger than that. God is God.

Do you ever change your mind? I do (my husband would say too often.) What do we mean when we say that? We mean that we thought something in the past, then we decided that it was wrong, now we think something different. If you look at that sentence again, you will see there are lots of time-related words. That’s because we are on a timeline – we have a past, a present and a future. But God doesn’t, we read he is ‘omnipresent’ which means he is outside of time. Therefore God, simply because he is God, cannot change his mind. Not in the way that we mean when we say it anyway.

I believe that God created the world (this needs some explanation because yes, I do also believe that dinosaurs were real, things evolved. At some point I hope to write an article about creation. But for now, just accept that I believe God created the world.) When he did, he put certain rules in place, certain scientific principles. Like gravity. Now, God is God, God CAN break those rules (because he created them) but he doesn’t (except on very rare occasions. We call those miracles.) The world works best if the rules are in place.

So, if I drive my car as fast as I can, straight at a brick wall and pray really hard that God will save me, I doubt that he will. The laws of physics (which God put in place) show that both I and my car, will be smashed to bits.

A child may pray completely earnestly that Mt Everest might move to Germany, because that’s what he wrote in his test paper. But we wouldn’t expect God to move Everest. He could, he is God. But actually we would prefer that he didn’t, that our world remained stable.

Yet we frequently pray asking him, in our grown up way, to change the laws of physics/science. If I eat lots of junk food and rarely exercise, then however much I pray, it is likely that my heart will be trashed and I will die when I’m young. If we pollute the atmosphere, then global warming WILL happen. There will be floods in certain countries, crops will fail, people will die. If we choose to organise our societies so that we don’t pay a fair price for certain commodities, then some countries will be poor, there will be famine and disease.

We know what the ‘rules’ are, if we choose to flout them, then God doesn’t always intervene. Even tiny things, like germs, follow the rules of science. If water is contaminated, people get sick. If cells are subject to whatever causes cancer, then cancer will develop. It is like driving the car at a wall, perhaps without even knowing it but the conclusion will be the same.

So, is there any point to prayer? Well actually, I think yes, there is. Prayer doesn’t ‘work’ in that we cannot manipulate God by praying. But it is still effective. Since writing this I have worried about publishing it, that it might stop someone praying. Don’t stop. I know that prayer is important, I just want people to understand a little more about what it is not. It is important because of this: Prayer changes us. God wants us to pray because that is how we connect with him, that is how we include him in our lives and that is important.

When my children were tiny, I used to love when they sat on my knee and told me things. I remember my daughter sitting on my lap, swinging her legs and telling what she wanted for Christmas. It involved a lot of chocolate. That much chocolate would have made her ill, so I didn’t give it to her. But I loved that she told me, that she shared her hopes with me. My son wanted a crocodile – a real one. He didn’t get that either. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care, it was because I did. I knew things that they didn’t. But I wanted them to tell me, it helped to form a relationship, one that we still have now. They are grown up now but I still love when they tell me things and because they did when they were small, they continue to now they are grown. (My daughter still wants chocolate…)

God loves us like that. He wants us to bring ourselves to him. Not in the hope we can manipulate him, not for what we can ‘get’, but because he wants to share in our lives. Plus, as I said, praying changes us. We start to hear God, to change what we want so it is in line with his will. Praying changes us, it can also change others. Sometimes he does want us to pray for something physical to change, sometimes even a miracle, something that breaks those laws of science. If we aren’t used to talking to him, listening to him, we will never be changed to pray how he wants us to.

The issue is rather confused by the verses in the Bible that say things like, “Ask and you will receive,” and “whatever you ask in prayer you will receive.” Some people have used them to encourage people to pray for money, comfort, health. But they must be read in context. They are part of the whole and the whole says that God will only give us good things. Unlike us, God is outside of time, God sees the eternal picture. We might long for good health, but perhaps there are things that we can only learn if we are in pain. We might pray for a parking space but perhaps walking in the rain means we will meet and speak to someone who needs to be spoken to. We might pray for a life to be saved but God knows that that life will be safer with him, it is time for them to leave their body, to die. We might pray to be free from an addiction but perhaps God knows that constantly fighting that will help us to depend on him.

It is all about trust. Yes, we should ask, take all our desires to God. But to teach that God gives us what we ask for is misleading. Sometimes that is not what is best and God only gives what is best. I don’t write this lightly, I have lost people who I love, I know what it means to have constant pain. Trust is not easy. Life is not easy. Prayer makes it better.

Sometimes, God does act as we ask. As King David said, “Who knows whether the Lord will be gracious?” Whether this is because God, who is not restricted by time, knows from the beginning of time what our prayers will be or because he directs us to pray for what he intends to give, or because he listens and acts, I don’t know. I don’t need to know. We are just told to pray and to trust that God’s way is best. So much easier to write than to do…..

Of course, asking for things is only one kind of prayer. It’s easy to forget about the others. They take a bit of effort and we prefer to pretend that we don’t have time. Perhaps because we don’t really believe they will do any good, alter us in a meaningful way. Or perhaps because we’re just lazy (I know I am.)

We should thank God for things. Not because he needs to hear our thanks but because (again) it is good for us, reminds us that God is good and he made good things.

There is also praise – this one we ignore mostly. Praise isn’t saying thank you, it is saying what, who, God is. It forces us to recognise his God-ness. Again, God doesn’t need us to praise him – he already knows who he is, but it helps us to remember, heightens our awareness of the different aspects of God. It helps us to know God.

Then there is saying we are sorry, actually voicing the things we have done wrong. Bit awkward that one, we would so much rather just ignore all our misdemeanors, move on quickly when we realise we’ve been bitchy or nasty or jealous. But that’s not good for us. What is good for us is to recognise those things, to actually say them aloud and to ask God to forgive us. Then we can move on, hurry away and not look back. But the confessing is important.

I think there is also listening involved. Being still and thinking about God but not speaking. Pausing for a minute. I find it’s better if I actually physically kneel down for this one. Otherwise I start planning meals and writing shopping lists. It would be embarrassing if someone spotted me, so I try to avoid being near a window, have to pretend I’ve dropped something if someone comes into the room, but I find it helpful. It is not very British but maybe we should do it more often. God never forgets that we are physical, I don’t know why we behave like our bodies don’t affect what we are doing spiritually.

In the Bible, when Jesus’ friends asked him how to pray, he gave them the Lord’s prayer (the ‘Our Father who is in Heaven’ prayer – the one you probably learnt as a child.) It is very simple. I used to find that frustrating, I felt Jesus hadn’t really answered their question, he had just given a very simple example. But maybe that is what we need. All this ‘understanding how prayer works’ stuff is very complicated. It is too big for me. Perhaps it is beyond what we can hope to understand, perhaps we have to just trust and come to God with the simplicity of a child going to a parent, to just say what we feel, whether that’s anger, confusion or happiness.

The second example of when I prayed earnestly for something (you thought I had forgotten, didn’t you!) was when I had to have surgery. I was terrified and I wanted God to be with me. I asked other friends to pray. I know that they did because they told me they did. When I walked into that operating room, God was so near that I could have reached out and touched him. The whole time I was in hospital, I was aware of God like I never have been before. His presence was tangible, solid, real. Was he there because I prayed and if I hadn’t prayed I would have been lonely? Or would he have come anyway? I don’t know. I can only tell you that I prayed and God was there. God knows that we are better, happier, more complete, if we depend on him. Prayer is the beginning of learning how to do that.

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Letters to a Sister : 19

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Have you seen on facebook that people often include a ‘past event’, “this day five years ago I was….” ? As you know, being an IT dinosaur, I only got fb fairly recently, so I don’t have any such gems to offer. It did make me start thinking though, about where I was a year ago.

A year ago, life was really rather difficult. I was a couple of months post op and everything was hard work. Did I ever tell you the details of my op? (Look away now if you’re squeamish!) They shaved my hair, cut a window into my skull, cut through my brain to the centre and took out the rather annoying cyst (which would have killed me if left alone.) They then patched me up with some titanium and stitches and sent me on my way. Pretty amazing really. Also amazing that I now look normal, have hair again and don’t sit in the corner dribbling (no more than I used to, anyway.)

The thing is, I look normal, but inside I am different. When I saw my first post op MRI, I asked what the black line was that went through my brain. I was told that was the gap, where the knife went. I did a bit of research. Apparently, as I understand it, scar tissue in the brain never heals, it just sits there, blocking the flow of neurons that allow us to think. However, the brain is pretty spectacular. It cannot use the same pathways, so it makes new ones. Gradually it learns to rethink, to redo all the things that it used to do.

When I say gradually, I mean gradually, very very slowly. Enough to pull out your hair (if you have enough left) slowly. The first time I tied shoe laces it was like being three years old again, I just could not make different hands do different things. While I was still in hospital, before they decided whether I was well enough to go home, they took me to a kitchen and asked me to cook a plate of pasta. It is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever cooked. Just filling the pan with enough water, remembering to light the hob, timing the pasta when it was boiling. Oh, the effort, the mental strain. It was exhausting, I slept deeply for an hour afterwards. But I did it, passed the test, was allowed home.

As time went on, everything improved. Now, a year later, most things are (roughly) back to normal. The point is (I do have a point, trust me) unless I used my brain, tried to do things like tying laces, kept going even though it was difficult, the brain would never make those new pathways. I had to attempt it before I could do it, the ability came second. Okay, hold that thought.

Now, quick subject change. I have been reading in the Bible about all the ‘gifts’, the things that Christians are meant to be good at. Things like forgiveness, self-control, patience. I have to admit, I’m pretty rubbish at all of them. Much nicer to have a quick shout at someone when they’re annoying or avoid the people who I think are nasty than do all that christian stuff. Plus, when I do pray, ask God to “help me to forgive Stacey because she’s a nasty piece of work and really I would like to slap her face,” I do not feel especially flooded with forgiveness. I still want to slap her face, so I avoid her.

However, it has been bothering me lately that actually, these behaviours are not optional extras. God does not say that when we are christians, if we feel like it, we should love and forgive the nice people we come across. It’s kinda in the sign-up sheet. If I claim to be a christian I have to be different, a better person than I would be if I weren’t one. So what to do?

Well, I have realised recently, that just like my brain had to start doing things to be able to do them (if you see what I mean) so I have to put these things into practice for them to be real. Sitting on my chair and asking God to ‘help me forgive’ and then waiting for me to feel like I had, just doesn’t work. I never felt like that. No, I had to ask God to help me, then trust that he had and actually start to behave and think like he had. I didn’t know if I could cook pasta until I did it. It was hard and I made some mistakes. Once I started behaving like I could, the skill caught up, now it’s easy. If I ask for the ability to forgive, then I have to start behaving like I have forgiven them, stop thinking about slapping them, start saying things that show I have forgiven them. Then the ability and the feelings, will catch up.

Okay, lecture over. But do you agree? Do you think that might be right?

Take care,
Anne x

Letters to a Sister: 14

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Letter 14

Do you ever have those weeks when everything seems to go wrong? I don’t mean in a funny, laugh about it afterwards way, but in a depressing, wondering why I bother way? I guess that’s just part of life, a ‘down’ that allows us to have ‘ups’. This week two friends have died. True, both were old, but that doesn’t make it any nicer really, just less shocking.

It brings back lots of memories of when Dad died. I’m not sure I’ve ever really talked to you about that time, everything was such a muddle, so much to organise, both of us worrying about Mum. We never really sat down and talked did we.

I was in such a bad place while Dad was alive, really angry with the world. I was having headaches all the time and not knowing why, felt stressed and was finding work/family a lot less fun than I had thought they would be when I was 12! I had sort of given up on God a bit, decided I would ‘go it alone’, see how I got on. I didn’t get on very well actually.

Then, when Dad was diagnosed with cancer, I somehow got this feeling that it was my fault, a sort of punishment for giving up on God. It sounds silly now, if it was someone else saying this I would have all sorts of sensible things to say to them, but at the time, that’s how I felt. And it was horrible.

Cancer is a horrid disease. It kind of ‘eats’ people. When the nurse told me that Dad wouldn’t recover, that it was just a matter of time, I set myself a challenge. I would watch him die. I figured that all my life, Dad had taught me about God, had claimed that He was always there, helping Dad through life. I decided that during life, you could fool yourself into believing something like that. But death has a horrible honesty about it. If God was real, He would be there at every step while Dad died. If He was just in Dad’s head, a fabrication to make life easier, then as he died this would be evident. You can’t pretend when you are dying. So I watched.

I saw the cancer destroy Dad’s body, saw him become weaker and more in pain, fed up with all the medical intervention, exhausted by what the disease was doing to him. And I saw him change.

At the beginning, as the disease began to take hold, Dad complained all the time. He told me about every ache, every loss of appetite, every sleepless night. To be honest, I got a bit fed up with him (as I said, I was not in a good place.) Then gradually, as his body got weaker, I saw him draw closer and closer to God. His conversation changed. Instead of talking continually about his health, the latest ache and pain, he talked about what he had read in his Bible, some new insight that he had found. He laughed again, was excited about what he was discovering about God. I felt that I was watching him become less physical and more ‘soul’. It was as if his spirit was taking over.

Dad never wanted to die, he fought it until the end. But I can honestly tell you, he died a good death and God was there, every step of the way. Dad taught me more about God in his dying than all the sermons during his life. His cancer was horrid, a particularly painful type. But he died the beginning of January and at the end of December, just days before he died, he told me he had just had the happiest Christmas of his life. Like I said, you can’t pretend when you’re dying.

When Dad did die, when we were burying his body, on a suitably grey wet day  (though not ‘Dad’, not his spirit, I had watched that getting stronger and stronger until he finally left his body) that was when I realised that I could not have caused his death. Death is too big, nothing about me would result in that.

Perhaps I needed to feel like that, to have that nasty patch in my life, to make me see clearly again. I don’t know. All I can tell you is that for me, it was all the ‘proof’ I needed. And of course, the good thing about coming back to God is that He makes it so easy, it’s just like turning around really. And I haven’t regretted it since. I’ve had some knocks in the last few years, life has sometimes been less nice than I hoped. But I can never again doubt that there is a God. Or that He cares.

Take care,
Anne xx