Category Archives: Uncategorized
Proclaimer Blog
Daniel and the power of prayer
I have just been re-reading the book of Daniel in preparation for teaching it at Cornhill, and I was struck afresh by the response Daniel is given to his prayer of national confession in chapter 9. While he was still praying, Gabriel came to him and said, ‘O Daniel, I have now come out to give you insight and understanding. At the beginning of your pleas for mercy a word went out, and I have come to tell it to you, for you are greatly loved. Therefore consider the word and understand the vision’ (Dan. 9:22-23 ESV). Gabriel then proceeds to tell Daniel of God’s plans to answer his prayer and restore Jerusalem.
The term ‘apocalypse’ means an ‘unveiling’, and as an apocalyptic work, the book of Daniel gives us insight into presently unseen spiritual realities that stand behind human history. Very often these insights relate to wider geopolitical matters, but here in Daniel 9:22-23 we are given insight into what happens in heaven when Daniel prays. At the beginning of Daniel’s pleas – before Daniel has even had a chance to say all that he had to say – the Lord takes swift action and sends his response. And we’re told why the Lord responds swiftly: because Daniel is greatly loved.
All this must have come as a huge encouragement to Daniel, living in dark days in a foreign land. He may well have wondered if the Lord still heard his prayers and was still powerful to act. What an encouragement for Daniel to be given this insight into the very workings of the heavenly throne room – and to have this assurance that his prayers are heard and answered by the all-powerful God who loves him greatly. And what an encouragement for us too.
Proclaimer Blog
Complex Cultures
Well, it was a good two weeks in Asia, but can I just say that India is not the place to be when your cricket team are doing so disastrously in the World Cup. A large chunk of the population here live and breath cricket and want to remind you constantly about your team’s poor performance.
But not everybody.
India, like many places, is complex. Take sport for example. The national sport of India, anybody?
That’s right: field hockey. A sport that is relatively elite. Cricket is much more evenly spread. Football is increasingly popular. In villages, local sports often dominate. India has also produced some top tennis players – grand slam winners mixed doubles pair Mahesh Bhupati and Sania Mirza, but, again, this is an elite sport. India is a large country made up of – in effect – many different nations and religions. Sporting interest often follows some of those lines.
In short things are complex. British preachers often come here and think that if they use cricketing illustrations, they will win over congregations. Not true. It’s simply playing to a stereotype. Like most places in the world, culture here is complex.
Which brings me my home congregation. I want to make my preaching culturally accessible and relevant – that is part of the key work of a preacher as he ‘lands’ the sermon. However, sweeping generalisations about church congregations generally will not do.
Rather, there is no alternative to a settled long-term ministry in which the preacher gets to know and love his congregation and is able to preach to them as his own people. Even in complex cultures, this is the ministry that counts.
Proclaimer Blog
Notes from another country part 5
I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.
We need to stop wallowing in self-pity. Period.
We have this rather curious notion that Christians in the UK are being persecuted. I just want to say: can we not call it that, please? It is undoubtedly harder to be a Christian in the UK than it has been for some time. But we are not being persecuted. Not really. To claim that we are does a great disservice to brothers and sisters around the world for whom daily persecution and facing death all day long is a reality.
The trouble is that when we convince ourselves that our persecution is real and deep, our reaction is to wallow in self pity. And that’s ugly. I have met several pastors here for whom church burning, threat of death and family reprisals are a reality. The one thing you never see in them is self-pity. I see all kinds of reactions and emotions, but – on the whole – these are godly and honourable. They don’t even ask to pray that persecution would stop: rather that they would endure (a lesson for every church prayer meeting back home!). Having to change the way we run our B&B seems rather inconsequential in comparison.
Perhaps I am being too harsh. I am not suffering back home, and there are some whose very livelihoods are on the line. So forgive me if I have spoken out of turn. Nevertheless, there is a kind of persecution complex that we all rather like and embrace. As long as it’s not too dangerous that is. It gives us the chance to be the centre of attention for once. Never mind brothers and sisters around the world.
As if our troubles are anything in comparison.
As if.
Proclaimer Blog
Notes from another country part 4
I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.
Colonial rule is a difficult thing to get your head around. At one level, you can always find things about it that were good; but you can always find things about it that were bad. Take Christianity. Colonial rule here opened a door for the gospel of which much was made, and there continues to be a harvest from works and efforts started 150 and 200 years ago. Good. But Christianity still carries the stigma of a western religion and, worse, the religion of the colonisers. That hinders the gospel as much as other things prosper it. In some places in this country, Christianity is profoundly un-national.
In broader terms, I’m embarrassed by our colonial past. Try as we might to make something of it (“it gave the country a decent judicial system”), the overall defence is not convincing. Worse still it is often something to be ashamed of. Thankfully Christians are forgiving and accepting. Many have long memories, often stretching back generations, but they do not hold grudges against individuals and we are warmly welcome. But with those who are not believers it’s another matter altogether. And so I’m convinced that continued western investment needs to be in local Christian people to raise up local leaders who will lead local movements. For example, I am increasingly convinced that there is more merit in a Western leader coming somewhere like this and spending a week with just ONE local leader, than speaking a conference for hundreds of pastors.
That’s a different kind of investment model that many churches (or their missions budgets) would be comfortable with. But I’m sure it has merit and needs some consideration. It also does away with the myth that we have all the answers to every situation.
Which is only another kind of colonialism really.
Proclaimer Blog
Notes from another country part 3
I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.
Prayer. I read just last week that the great tragedy of the western church was the declining church prayer meeting. There’s some truth there. The church where I minister was founded on a deep commitment to corporate prayer where Saturday night prayer meetings often attracted 1,000 plus. Today’s church prayer meetings are puny in comparison. I’m thinking about this having attended an all night prayer meeting. Our immediate reaction to such an event is that it is totally unnecessary: a typical piece of Asian enthusiasm which smacks of a kind of repulsive self-righteousness.
There may be some truth in the stereotype, but it is largely unfair and unfounded. There are also some precedents for all night prayer (think about it!). More basically, Christians here have a deep commitment to prayer and on waiting on God in prayer. I can’t pretend that all the prayers were theologically robust. That’s to be expected when young Christians pray! Nevertheless, the spirit of prayer was extraordinary. And this same spirit seems to apply to all walks of life. Nothing is beyond prayer. People are always thanking God.
I don’t think we’ll ever really get people praying in the UK and the west until they feel the need to pray. It can never be a duty – or if it is, will scarcely move beyond the momentary. What this means, in practice, is that we need to feel our poverty more. We need to feel our spiritual poverty more, we need to feel our evangelistic poverty more, we need to feel our effectual poverty more – but most fundamentally we need to feel the poverty of our walk with Christ. I’m sure that until we’re shaken out of our mediocrity, prayer will always be an after thought. Do we dare pray, therefore, for a spirit of supplication ( ). I’m not at all sure that such a prayer answered would not come with a refining time for the church which causes us to throw ourselves at God’s throne.
And perhaps that’s no bad thing.
Proclaimer Blog
EMA 2015 hosting
For the past few years, a small army of volunteers have hosted EMA guests for the two or three nights of the conference. There a number of people for whom the cost of accommodation in London would hinder their attendance and these generous offers of somewhere to stay make all the difference.
This year’s EMA runs from 22-24th June. So, if you live in London and are able to help, please let us know at confs@proctrust.org.uk . And if you’re ministering in a London church, could you ask folk in the church whether they might be able to accommodate anybody? Thank you in advance for your generosity and help.
PS: We are also looking for hosts for the Cornhill Summer School which is the week after EMA (29th June- 3rd July) ; if you are able to help then, let us know about that too!
Proclaimer Blog
Notes from another country part 2
I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.
I notice here that when people speak about their faith, they are quick to acknowledge that salvation is a remarkable miracle. Not everyone is saved from a heathen background. Many people have similar testimonies to those back home – raised in Christian or nominal Christian homes, a history of Sunday School and Bible class. And yet, nearly everyone I meet talks about their salvation with a deep sense of gratitude to God and a realisation that he has worked a mighty work.
It made me conscious of the rather ordinary view of salvation I sometimes hold. I have lost a sense of wonder and marvel that, though I was dead in my transgressions and sins, Christ died for me and made me his. The particular church I’m in sing quite a few Victorian US hymns: at one level these are quite quaint and it’s possible to long for the deeper and richer theology of a Toplady or a Watts. But on the other, they express a wonder and delight at salvation that we have sometimes lost. “Blessed assurance” and “Count your blessings” and “What can wash away my sins” all capture something of this wonder.
We can be, I guess, in great danger of being far too cerebral about our salvation. We understand what God has done for us in Christ, but do we really feel it? Does it thrill our souls like it used to (if it ever did?). I’m deeply convicted about this. And I’m thinking through how I can encourage my people back home to feel again this renewed sense of wonder and awe at the miracle of salvation.
Proclaimer Blog
Notes from another country part 1
I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.
The preaching of the word is the thing. I know we think we know this. But do we really? At best, I sometimes wonder whether it’s just the ministers of western churches who appreciate this truth. Church members perhaps go along with it, maybe even some sign up for it – but on the whole it’s an alien concept. What struck me about this last week is that most church planting in this place comes stripped down. There are not fancy arguments about strategies, buildings, locations, music, evangelistic courses, staff and so on. That’s a luxury that most church planters don’t have. It tends to me one man and his Bible. And his church planting work is to go and preach.
Now I know the situations are not identical. There needs to be some culturalisation, sure. But is it not possible we overdo things? And church life here is often simpler. The churches where things are more complex tend to be those which have been influenced by the west. It’s quite possible for services to be not hugely different from a service back home: same song, same order, same jobs (there is a welcome rota!). But get out of the western influenced city-centre and church feels more raw, more basic. And in its basic form, it’s the preaching of the word that is at its centre.
I wonder if we did a little exercise in our churches and we stripped out things one by one, taking a vote each time – a kind of Church edition of Big Brother. Would preaching be last in? I somehow doubt it. And we have to admit that some of the fault for that comes from the front. I recently participated in a service where there was no sermon, nor any thought that one might be needed. That’s extraordinary. But might some of our people feel the same. And how are we going to grip them again with the centrality of the preached word? It’s a thought that is weighing heavily on me.
Proclaimer Blog
Shepherding the flock into assurance, part 2
This is a bit of a generalisation, but I reckon that if we asked our church members to state the main benefit we gain from repentance and faith in Christ, then in many churches ‘forgiveness’ would be high up the list – maybe at the top. It may also be the case that if someone listened for six months to everything we said, both in the pulpit and privately, about what the gospel offers, then they’d also conclude that forgiveness is the main benefit. (That wouldn’t be true of every gospel minister, I know, but I think it would apply to many.)
What’s the problem? In a sense, nothing. Forgiveness is a glorious benefit of Christ’s work for us which has calmed many troubled souls. Praise God for it, and let us never forget it or undervalue it!
But a problem does arise over time if forgiveness is the gospel benefit we primarily mention on 90% of the occasions (or 80%, or 70%) that we speak of Christ. Why? Because it’s so easy to think that God could re-think his forgiveness if he looked hard at what I’m really like. Or that he might withdraw it if I go and do something truly heinous. Solid assurance is then harder to hold onto.
However if our talk of God forgiving us (which we mustn’t lose!) is mingled in with regular talk of God adopting us as his children, coming to dwell in us by his Spirit, uniting us to Christ, causing us to die with Christ and rise with him – ideas very commonly found in the NT – then we are laying down the full foundation of assurance that the NT gives. The definitive and assured nature of God’s action of salvation for us and in us is expressed especially powerfully in these things.
A church family is, I think, quietly but deeply influenced over time by the ways in which its pastor regularly describes what a Christian is. So let’s not be single-issue people on salvation. Forgiven, certainly. But so much more than that, too.
Proclaimer Blog
Shepherding the flock into assurance, part 1
Here is Calvin in fine form. He’s berating a group he calls ‘half-papists’. These people say that when we look at Christ we have an assured hope, but that we ought to ‘waver and hesitate’ when we look at our own unworthiness. His response demolished them at a stroke:
‘I turn this argument of theirs back against them: if you contemplate yourself, that is sure damnation. But since Christ has been so imparted to you with all his benefits that all his things are made yours, that you are made a member of him, indeed one with him, his righteousness overwhelms your sins; his salvation wipes out your condemnation; with his worthiness he intercedes that your unworthiness may not come before God’s sight. Surely this is so: We ought not to separate Christ from ourselves or ourselves from him. Rather we ought to hold fast bravely with both hands to that fellowship by which he has bound himself to us.’ (Institutes, 3.2.24).
This demonstrates how crucially pastoral the sometimes mystical-sounding doctrine of the union believer with Christ is. (I’ve been thinking about this lately, since I’m one of the speakers later this month at an Affinity conference on the subject, and the topic came up in the Cornhill teaching-programme this week.) Calvin is concerned that a certain kind of teaching destroys assurance. To combat it, he appeals to union.
His line of thought is thoroughly biblical. For example, 1 John has assurance as one its key aims. Thus 5.13 says, ‘I write these things to you… so that you may know that you have eternal life’. The verses that follow are full of reminders of what ‘we know’ about Christ and therefore about ourselves. And the climax, in this glorious section on assurance? John speaks of union with Christ: ‘And we are in him who is true by being in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life’ (5.20b).
I’ll continue this pastoral thought in the next post.