Missional Church: Simple

What’s in a name?

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

(Romeo and Juliet: II, ii, 1-2)

How important is your name to you?

Does it define you or do you define it?

Our names are important because they give us an identity. They make us irreducible to mass generalisation. Your name encapsulates who you are.

Our sense of identity is incredibly important. It gives us a sense of purpose,of belonging. If we don’t know who we are we become lost.

The animals were introduced to Adam in categories – it wasn’t about the individual but the group or the species which had to be identified. But amongst them Adam does not find a companion. He wants a personal other to whom he can relate. He needs a person with a name, with an identity, not just another category.

And so God creates Eve.

From the beginning we are given our identity by God. From the beginning of time and the beginning of our own lives. After all, he did knit us together in the womb and our days were written in his book before they came to be (Psalm 139). I think one of the hardest things for us to do as human beings is accept our identity in God. You’ve certainly heard more than your fair share of my struggles with it. Having to set to the side and walk away from our old identity which were caught up in the opinions of others, restrained by our apparent worth or usefulness in the world, beat down by our own shame and afflictions, is hard. Picking up, accepting, embodying our new identity in Christ is hard. To believe that we are loved – in our sinful, broken state – is hard. To know that we are lovable is hard. But God calls us his children (Rom 8:14). Jesus calls us friend (John 15:15). God says we are chosen (Col 3:12). All this whilst we are still sinners (Rom 5:6).

When we read on into Genesis chapter 3 we see the breaking down of language and identity begin. With the displacement of responsibility from Adam to Eve to the Serpent, we see language fall from “I” to “Her” to “it”. As the world breaks so do our relationships. As we lose our identity we lose our ability to relate to others. In losing our understanding of ourself we can no longer understand others. Barriers are created and we lose an intimacy. From here on in, it is easy for us to make people mere objects.

In not knowing our true identity we abuse ourselves by trying to fulfil plans that were never meant for us. We tear ourselves up and beat ourselves down because we’re not worthy – though none of us can pinpoint what of. We try to create identities but with what we think people expect and not the truth. Misunderstanding our own identities enables us to devalue other people’s as well. People become objects, a “who” becomes a “what”. When the enemy isn’t a person but a people they are easier to attack.

Identity is vital. Knowing our identity in Christ and accepting it, more so.

Fear not for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name you are mine

- Isaiah 43:1

Capital Punishment

My friend Ben posted something interesting on his blog – Not At The Dinner Table – the other day about why he thinks there is biblical evidence to support capital punishment here in the 21st century. Today I finally got round to writing a response which you can read in the comments section (though I’d wait until you have more than a couple of minutes, it’s not exactly light reading!)

Holocaust Memorial Day

Today, January 27th, is Holocaust Memorial Day. It was 65 years ago today that the allied troops liberated the prisoners at Auschwitz Birkenau. Many of you will know that I visited Auschwitz with the Lessons From Auschwitz Project in 2007 – you can read what I wrote upon my return here.

I still get a knot in my stomach every time I think about it. The Holocaust is so much more real to me because of it. I still get more angry than most would think is natural when people show an indifference or disregard towards it. It’s as though the need to defend the memory of it all is ingrained in me, like I have to, like it’s all down to me. I know that it isn’t but I’m trying to convey the weight of the burden the trip has left me with. It is a burden I carry gladly, but a burden all the same. It’s undoubtedly made a difference to who I am, my outlook on life and my theology.

We all know the facts and the numbers of the Holocaust but few of us know the stories. It’s the stories that make it real. It’s not the buildings that I remember most readily but the possessions and the photographs stolen/salvaged from the prisoner’s suitcases. Toothbrushes, prayer shawls, holiday pictures, families together, spectacles, smiling, shoes, laughing. I particularly remember the toothbrushes still, and a little red clog with a flower on the front which couldn’t have belonged to a little girl any more than six years old. It’s the stories that make it real, that make you realise how many were cut tragically short.

This is part of Esther Brunstein’s story:

I did not know then that our destination was Auschwitz. We were herded into closed-in cattle trucks, as many as would go into each one. There was barely enough air for us to breathe, with just a glimmer of daylight from a vent at the very top. There were two buckets in the centre; one with water, and one for our bodily functions. I huddled close to my mother; we talked so much, recalling happy pre-war years and telling ourselves that maybe at the end of the journey, there would be a nice place waiting for us. To this day, I really don’t know how long that nightmare lasted. We seemed to be going back and forth and back again in semi- or total darkness.

When the train finally came to a halt, the iron bars were removed and the doors were thrown open. Many of our number were dead on arrival. We were pushed out – women to the left and men to the right – and told to form rows of five. Looking around, I saw barbed wire in the distance, and creatures with shaven heads behind the fence. (I learnt later that the wire was electrified and then understood why a woman, whom I saw touch it, dropped dead.) We looked at each other in fear and disbelief and were convinced that this was a lunatic asylum, that it was not for us, that it was only a stopover on the way to our real place of resettlement. What followed is the hardest memory to verbalise; for my mother, although only 44 at the time, did not pass selection for life.

To this day, I cannot fully recall the details of Auschwitz. All I know is that the experience has left me with a feeling of total madness, as if the whole world had fallen into an abyss of apocalyptic proportions.

By some miracle, I found myself selected for a transport to a labour camp situated on the outskirts of Hanover. Conditions were appalling; we were subjected to hard labour, but at least we each had a bunk to sleep on at night and a daily food ration. But in mid-January 1945, our labour camp was disbanded and we were forced to march to Bergen-Belsen. On the way we saw nice, neat little houses, people peering out of their windows and even some civilians. So why is it that most Germans say they did not know what was going on?

We marched to Belsen quite unaware of the place and what might greet us there. My memory of my arrival there is hazy. There were 400 of us and we were herded into different barracks, which were already overcrowded with living and decaying corpses. Total chaos and the stench of dead bodies everywhere: that is how I remember Belsen, a living ‘inferno’. I see myself – a skinny, bewildered 16-year-old – running from hut to hut, looking, searching, hoping to find a friend, a cousin or maybe an aunt still among the living. Everything seemed so unreal.

Esther had suffered in the Lodz ghetto before being transported to Auschwitz and was then in Bergen-Belsen for three months before it was liberated. You can read her full story here.

She lost everyone and everything. The only survivor in her entire extended family was her brother. Imagine this story, replicated  more than six million times over. And, she was one of the few fortunate to escape with her life.

The HMD Trust theme for this year is Legacy of Hope. We know, we have seen, what humans are capable of doing when they are filled with hatred or consumed by indifference. But the legacy that is left behind should be one of hope for a future that is different. Only if we can make the future different will we be honouring those who died.

Cynthia Oziek – an American Jewish writer – said,

“Indifference is not so much a gesture of looking away – of choosing to be passive – as it is an active disinclination to feel. Indifference shuts down the humane, and does it deliberately, with all the strength deliberateness demands. Indifference is as determined – and as forcefully muscular – as any blow.”

Esther finishes her story by saying:

There was murder in all of us who were liberated there, and it scared me. I remember praying silently, more fervently than I had ever prayed in all my life. I prayed that I would not forever be consumed nor destroyed by hatred. I would say that against all the odds, I have succeeded.

But not without scars.

May we not be consumed with hatred any longer or suffer from indifference, that there may be no more scars.

Reputation

the only applause we’re meant to seek is that of nail pierced hands

HT: Mark Batterson

Memorising Scripture

In a sermon a couple of weeks ago, Pastor John Piper recited the whole of the book of Philippians to his congregation.

more about “Memorising Scripture“, posted with vodpod

How brilliant is that!

I find memorising scripture to be so useful and important, it’s just unfortunate that I a)don’t put much effort into it and b)am a bit rubbish at it. I’m always challenged by the story of Ezekiel who eats the scroll and literally consumes God’s words, which is “as sweet as honey to him”.

I’m not going to go trying to eat my Bible but I think I’m going to make a renewed effort and using Desiring God’s brilliant resource FighterVerses. One a week, plus sixty Greek words, shouldn’t be too much of an effort!

God: He/She/It?

At the end of my theology tutorial yesterday our tutor told us that we shouldn’t use gender terms when referring to God in our work, nor or are we to use Man but always humanity.

Another instance of political correctness gone mad? Or just good scholarship?

I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to do it – referring to God as He is just so natural. I know that technically he (see I did it again!) possibly doesn’t have a gender but in my head he (stuff it – I can’t help it!) is Father, therefore, male. He certainly has characteristics which we would perhaps consider to be more stereotypically feminine – compassion, caring, peace – and Jesus even compares himself to a mother hen (Luke 13:34). Are we wrong in labeling God as male? Surely not when the Bible (and Jesus) refers to him as Father time and again. Is that merely for the benefit of aiding our understanding of our relationship with him? If so, why shouldn’t we honour it?

All seems like madness to me!

(. . . Much like using BCE and CE (Before/Common Era) instead of BC and AD – but thats a rant for another day!)

New theme

thoughts please . . .

. . . never mind – back to the old one – it just fits better

To be a disciple

any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.

- Luke 14:33

This hit me hard this morning. There’s a lot I need to be renouncing but I think we’ve heard quite enough from me. Read Luke 14:25-33 and tell me, what do you need to renounce? What’s stopping you from bearing your cross?

Brett

This evening I met a homeless man called Brett. I’ve seen him before, almost everyday I walk past him on the way to lectures as he sits outside Tesco, but tonight I stopped to talk to him.

His story was quite amazing, full of pain and sadness, but also some hope in him having become a Christian in recent months, started going to church and recently getting in touch with his family again. We spoke for five minutes or so and then, in front of the doors of Tesco, I was privileged to be able to pray with him.

‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ – Matt 25:40

The toffee apple bakewells (his request) which I bought for him were nothing compared to the blessing and challenge he was for me tonight. It’s true what they say about seeing Jesus in those you least expect too and being blessed when you’re the one trying to be a blessing.

He has faith in the face of real adversity, hardship I can’t even imagine. He’s led a difficult life but lives in faith in God’s redemptive power. He needs what I could afford to throw away.

I walk past him, and many others like him, everyday. Jesus loves them all. Jesus would stop for each of them.

The world casts a huge chasm between us – rich and poor, educated and uneducated, safe and vulnerable. But tonight I was praying with a brother in Christ. A brother loved as I am loved. A brother worth as much as I am worth. We are not so different – any set of circumstances could have led to us being in opposite positions – God sees us just the same.

Hebrews 13:2 “some have entertained angels unawares“

Same Power

Something has crept up a number of times this week which I’d like to share with you guys.

The first time was Sunday night, when my friend Kieran (there you go, even mentioned by name, you can thank me later) was telling me a about his time at church that morning, involving a sermon about the parable of the wheat and the weeds (Matthew 19:24-30, 36-43) and the song The Same Power ( . . . that conquered the grave lives in me. Your love that rescued the earth lives in me . . . )

Good stuff right?

Then on Wednesday I was at prayer breakfast (7.30am on my day off – your astonishment is noted) and Jack (hi Jack) was also speaking about the power of the Holy Spirit being within us. It came up at prayer for New College this morning too. Then this evening at small group we were talking about events week next month, and the things we’re doing between now and then to bring friends to and talk to about Jesus, and Aisling shared this verse with us:

for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control. Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God - 2 Timothy 1:7-8

It says in Ephesians that we, our bodies, are Temples where the Holy Spirit of God resides.

And it is the Spirit of life that sets us free (Romans 8:2).

If we are led by this Spirit, God declares us to be his children (Rom 8:14).

God uses that which is foolish in the world to shame the wise and that which is weak to shame the strong (1 Corinthians 1:27).

When we don’t know the words to say the Spirit speaks through us, for “the gospel must be preached to all nations” (Mark 13:10-11).

All these things have been on my heart and mind this week and it culminates in this:

I need to have more boldness. I need to no longer walk timidly, or rather speak timidly. Instead I must remember that the Spirit of God is within me and by His power I am able to do infinitely more than I could ever ask or even imagine (Ephesians 3:20). It’s a scary thing to step out of your comfort zone, to rock the boat amongst your friends, to speak a message that is contrary to that of the world’s but it is our calling, our commission and we’re not left to do it alone.

I really want to invite my friends to the brilliant things that are happening in and around Events Week. I want to be able to tell them about Jesus even more. If I’m going to do that, I need to trust that God is at work in me, through me, before me, a heck of a lot more. We need not fear: for our reputations, image, respect, relationships. We need only trust that we are God’s children and He is with us, wherever we go, whatever we do, whomever we are speaking to. And like the wheat it enables us to stand tall, be distinctive and be witnessing to the truth of the Gospel amongst the weeds.

The Spirit, God’s Spirit, is within us. May we let Him reign!

If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you . . . For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry,“Abba! Father!” – Romans 8:11, 15

Enrique

So I mentioned the other day that I’d decided to do something with some money I could survive without.

(My mum’s already panicking)

Before I go any further I want to reassure you this is not a decision I made rashly but something I’ve been thinking about and wanting to do for a long time. I’ve done my maths and my homework – everything is under control.

A number of the people whose blogs I read (Heather, Los and Anne) are involved in a charity called Compassion, which I too have mentioned a couple of times. It’s a Christian charity through which you sponsor a child in a developing country and from your monthly donation they receive an education, meals, clothing and shoes, medical check-ups and support for their family.

I think you’ve already guessed where this is going (and my mum is probably properly freaking out now).

Please meet Enrique

Is he not just beautiful?!

He’s six years old. He’s from Honduras in Central America. Apparently he likes to play ball games and with cars.

Now I get to write to him, pray for him and support him, hopefully until he is able to leave school healthy and happy and make his own way in the world.

It’s not a small commitment but it is a small sacrifice.

I took the plunge because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite any more.

So I have one less Starbucks coffee in a week or one less drink in the pub on a Saturday. I don’t buy the things I don’t need. I stop shopping in FatFace. I read all the books I already have instead of adding another one to my collection.

He gets an education. He gets clothes. He gets to learn about Jesus. He gets love. He gets life.

If I can do this, you can too.

And in case you still need convincing, watch the video below and see the impact Compassion has on people’s lives.

I’ll be keeping you up to date with his news too and would love if you could join with me in praying for him and his family, and children like him, and less fortunate than him, everywhere.

“Truly I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me” Matt 25:40

(Dad, you can pick mum up off the floor now, tell her it was a dream or something?)

Haiti

Haiti six days later – photo gallery

Humbled

I don’t know about you but, it seems very easy for my world to become very small, very quickly.

My “problems” suddenly become the only thing I can see.

My “issues” become the only thing I focus on.

My “worries” become the purpose of my day.

I’m engulfed by sheer selfishness.

The reality is they are nothing: pitifully nothing.

When two hundred thousand people have died on the other side of the world, what right do I have to complain about anything?

I’ve been humbled a few times this past week.

I’ve been reminded of the good that I forget to see.

I’ve been reminded that I am not the centre of any universe, the most important person in any realm. I’m tiny tiny small.

I’ve been reminded that my “suffering” is nothing. Nothing.

Mark Driscoll, Pastor at Mars Hill Church in Seattle, has been tweeting from Haiti today. Things like this:

Just bought ice cream for a hundred kids sleeping outside. Heard gunshot behind me a teenage boy got shot in head and died immediately

I’m not letting myself get wrapped up in the little things tomorrow. Life is bigger than those things. I’m moving on.

Semester 2

Semester 2 =
New Testament Greek
+ History of Christianity as a World Religion B (1500 – present day)
+ Christian theology 1
= a very busy but very happy rachael

.