Planning for Easter

Variety, spice of life and all that, is the story of my past week. Following the euphoria of last week's royal visit I had to peel myself down from the dizzy heights of being in close proximity (globally speaking) to a royal camp fire and get on with my day-to-day. What I have found increasingly, is that my day-to-day is never quite so predictable as one might think for a country minister. This week I took a client deer stalking, hoping he would be able to take his first beast, then I was attending a course for those wishing to train dogs specifically for deer stalking purposes. After that I had to start planning for a couple of weeks hence when I will be taking a group hill walking for 3 days. Meanwhile, back at the homestead, my girls have started their Easter break from school, and so I have spent today fixing (finally) the zip wire across our garden, so that the landing zone is sufficiently long and high to stop little legs, before they smash into the birch tree that marks a boundary of our home. I thought it best I rectify that little issue before throwing my offspring off the other end of the line.

Ah yes, the Easter break. That should give me a clue as to what to preach about this week end. How do I concentrate on preparing for what is the most important time of the Christian calendar while trying to take care of clients, plan for future clients, get trained so I can provide the best service for said clients, take care of my family, oh and by the way, tend to the needs of my, albeit small, congregation?

To be honest, I have spent little time contemplating Easter this past week. Is that an awful admission for one who claims to be a minister? Should I not be pouring over my Bible, looking at every account of the crucifixion, scrutinising every commentary, so that I can bring something of real portent, a sermon of suitable gravitas to thrill, challenge, encourage and otherwise develop my flock (or should I say, the flock that has been entrusted to me)?

It was in the middle of this kind of mindset that I believe God burst in today and challenged me with a dose of reality. It went something like this:

"You will never exhaust the enormity of my death and resurrection, either on a global scale or on an individual level. Just preach Me, who I am, and those who have ears to hear will be amazed."

Now, that's not really a quote, but I hope you get what I mean. Put another way, as my friend and climbing instructor keeps telling me, "Don't forget, Russell, KISS. Keep it simple, stupid!"

I do not need to dazzle anyone with a new angle on the Easter story; it is simply stunning as it is. The fact that the God of all creation, the one true and living God, so condescended to lay aside all of His power and authority, to become a helpless human, and then to die on a cross to pay the price for the sins of the world, not only that, but far more incredible, He chose to endure the total wrath of Almighty God as full and final settlement of the debt that each and every member of the human race owes, is unfathomable as a concept, and unsearchable in its riches. And yet, this is the wonderful life work of every person who claims Christ. By preaching the simple facts of the Easter story and how it applies to the every day of every human being is a job that no preacher, no not one, could ever exhaust.

Unfortunately we try to "move on" from that all the time. We get "clever" theologically, we get "relevant" relationally, and we get "balanced" spiritually. Jesus never acted cleverly, in the sense that He never tried to outwit people; He never debated at length His theological stance on an issue. He never tried to fit in with those around Him. In fact He stuck out as an oddity wherever He went; He did not fit in  because His home was not here, He was always looking elsewhere to where He truly belonged. By the way, where is your heart's true home?As a great preacher once said, "Are you dead to the world tonight, or does it fascinate you?" And Jesus was perhaps the most unbalanced human being in the history of the world. Indeed the attributes of God rarely come across as balanced. For example, as Judge He will dole out wrath like we have never even dreamt of in our worst nightmares. At the same time He pours out love that says, "while we were yet sinners Christ died for us". That's not balanced; if He weren't God you would call Him insane. I love that my God, my Savour, my King is not balanced; He is reckless in His love, unbridled in His mercy, unfathomable in His grace, and wholly terrifying in His holiness and His hatred, yes His hatred, of evil. All at the same time.

There's a little snippet of the Easter story for you, as I see it at least. It's not refined, it's not clever, but I think it has a spark of life to it. It is also something I can marvel at even while I am out deer stalking, training my pup on a scent trail, fixing a zip wire, or planning tomorrow morning's service.

If you claim Christ today, ask a friend or a neighbour over to church, then invite them to lunch, and talk about how Jesus has changed you forever this year. If you do not claim Christ as the centre of your life, then read the Easter story in the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, and ask God, if He is there, to show up and teach you something about all of this. But hold on to your hat; I have found He loves to respond to such conversations.

Preparing the Way

I am in possession of certain information that has shed light on some very strange activity on our little road these past couple of days.  There are those going about their daily business who are, I believe, completely ignorant of the portent of their activities. I am in fear of elucidating too much in case I am found in my shower a few days hence, having apparently killed myself with three shots to my head, all from different calibre bullets. Nevertheless I will let you in on a secret.

I live on a road of little significance. It is a single track affair for the main part, and merely serves to connect the dozen or so houses along its mile or so length, with the main road connecting two very small towns, more like villages actually. In the four plus years since we moved here I have seen only one council vehicle excepting the excellent weekly waste disposal operatives, (they used to be called dustbin men and I liked them). The one exception was the grit wagon which came for the first time a couple of months ago. It has not returned since.

However, both yesterday and today we have been treated to a visit by a road sweeper. I am not referring to a person armed with broom and bin, but to a large vehicle with scrubbers in front of the wheels, equipped to polish the edges of the road, removing every kind of weed, soil, litter, indeed all traces of detritus from our tiny little road. Why the sudden attention to a thoroughfare so little used, except by the few residents who live along it, plus the visitors to the nearby activity centre?

Because, and keep this to yourselves, we are expecting a visitor this week. Now I cannot divulge much more than this, and I can almost feel the Special Branch crosshairs fixed on me as I type, but I can say, one would need to address this person as, I believe, Your Royal Highness. Unfortunately they are not visiting me personally but I hope to be able to extend a jolly wave as they zip past in vehicle(s) unknown at time as yet also unknown.

But it’s all very hush hush. Only those being visited, myself, and my wife know about this.

Oh, and the BBC. But we know how that stellar organisation is the very soul of discretion.

I doubt very much the guys in the road sweeper have any idea who will be looking at the pristine fruit of their labours. I also doubt whether those viewing it have any idea that the road has been scrubbed just for their benefit. Only those of us in the know have the full picture of course. The way has been prepared for the royal visit. It is obvious to all of us who are expecting it.

Two thousand years ago a bunch of people in Jerusalem were expecting the arrival of royalty. It was their oft prophesied Messiah. When he entered Jerusalem, riding on the colt of a donkey, they all proclaimed, “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the LORD!” A week later the same crowd had Him crucified. Today, those “in the know” are looking for the return of this Messiah. It has been promised, and ever since the New Testament was written, the followers of Jesus Christ have been expecting Him to return imminently. My question is, are we “preparing the way” for His return? Are we behaving as if He might return today, and are we telling people why we are living the way we are living?  Are we trying to live lives pleasing to God each day, making the road clear and straight for His return?

If there is so much attention to detail going into this flying visit by our royalty, how much more detail are the saints of the King of Kings meant to put into preparing the way for His return? If we look at the life of the man who prepared the way for Jesus’ first coming, John the Baptist, he devoted every part of his life to preaching the message of the coming Messiah. He was utterly spent in His service, and immediately after he proclaimed the great line, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” he was taken into prison and beheaded. Talk about being spent for a cause!

Am I willing to be so spent preparing the way for His return? If it is worth polishing the road for the visit of one person, what is it worth doing for the return of the One who paid the ultimate price for all of my wrongdoing, and for “the sins of the world”?

I am looking forward to catching a glimpse of our royal visitor. I just hope the lads don’t mess up the road edges (if you know what I mean) right before someone arrives.I would hate to incur the wrath of the security services on that count.

Here they are at the end of our driveway. All they need are a couple of flags to wave.

So, are there any details in your own life, no matter how small, that need to be cleaned up before the King returns? Imagine for a moment it wasn't some time in the future. It was actually this week. Imagine you knew He was returning tomorrow. Would that change how you lived life today?

Parables of Maximus: Finishing Well

It is almost as if I am starting at the end rather than the beginning. Ever since I took ownership of my English Springer Spaniel I have been aware of myriad lessons that I have learnt from him. That is, lessons I have been taught through him and during my training of him. But as he nears his end (that sounds sad just typing it) I am still beholding to my old friend for yet more life lessons acquired by spending time with my first hunting dog.

Maximus is finally slowing down. A whirlwind from day one, he has been one of the hardest and most athletic working dogs I have ever seen. Even guys who had been on the shooting scene for decades longer than me would smile and shake their heads at his powerhouse approach to flushing birds and his absolute commitment to retrieving those birds which had been downed even in the most inaccessible places. I worked on one shoot where there had been basically a no-go area of incredibly thick cover (brambles, self-seeded saplings and general gnarliness) into which none of their dogs would go or were ever even sent. I asked quite innocently if the 2 birds that were lying dead in the middle of this area were going to be retrieved by someone. The response was a smile and a shrug accompanied by, "We don't send them in there. You can't get birds out of it". I raised my eyebrows and asked if they wanted them. By now the raised eyebrow competition was in full flow on both sides, so I just pointed with my left hand and almost whispered, "fetch it on, good lad!" The explosion that erupted from among the undergrowth was akin to the work of the velociraptors in Jurassic Park (if any of you can remember that unmemorable film). A minute later Maximus appeared, head riving from side to side to rip the brambles from his ears and presented the first of his two retrieves to my hand.

Suffice to say he became a legend in the space of a few minutes. His reputation grew over the following weeks and my serious pride issues were being gluttonously overfed. Fortunately one week he chased a squirrel down the entire beating line and I confess I was too hard on him with my reprimand. This calmed my ego and put a hole in my over-inflated chest. But he was nonetheless a bit of a star at times.

Now he has arthritis in both front legs, one of which still carries the plate and pins from a monstrous break a few years ago, and he is rapidly becoming stone deaf. Weight is falling off him and I fear something is wrong inside which may well be terminal. It's hard to write that about your best friend. So, what am I learning from him, as we go walking in the woods each day and as he tries to avoid the bombastic exuberance of his 6 month-old "little brother", Gunnar?

He is still the same dog, full of enthusiasm and hard-wired to hunting. The fact that he cannot do it anymore hasn't affected his zeal for the job. Every pheasant that calls, every woodcock that flutters off in front of him, and especially every cotton-tailed bunny that bolts out of the rushes, still ignites that inherent passion he has for the hunt. His tail beats a furious figure of eight pattern as his face gets stuffed into the spot where the quarry had just been hiding, deep snuffs and grunts accompanying the investigation into the recently departed game. Then up goes the head and he canters off, following the scent or the sight of the creature that he still knows belongs to him. He seems entirely unconcerned that he can no longer catch them, and with his deafness he cannot even hear the bark of the Roebuck as it signals alarm from as little as 70 or 80 yards away. Only the nose helps him, should the quarry be the right side of the wind. Maximus knows how to grow old. He doesn't regret not doing what he used to; he enjoys doing what he does. And his personality and make-up remain the same; the zeal is still very much intact.

That may sound a little like I am anthropomorphising here, and I probably am. But as I reflect on this, I am struck how we, as humans, and especially those who claim to be Christians, can learn from my old spaniel. One of the most frequently made comments I heard while I was at Bible college (as the oldest one there, by almost 20 years) was this:"how come you are still so full of zeal for God? I am already getting jaded and I am only in my twenties. And all the older guys (thanks a lot!) at my home church are tired and boring. They have lost any spark that they ever had years ago".

Maximus is as enthusiastic, as up for the hunt, as ever before because it is in his blood. It is inherent in his nature and that nature has also been trained on a daily basis for years. As Christians we are meant to be indwelt by the living Jesus Christ; by His very Spirit. Add to that the daily training of a believer, in reading His Word and in prayer, and we have absolutely no excuse to wear out or grow jaded. Of course trials come, of course things can get us down. But if my old spaniel can keep going, full of passion for the hunt, so should we keep pursuing the goal: the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Broken bones, arthritis, other infirmities, even grief upon grief should not be able to overcome us.

I am not saying it is easy. I am saying it is the guarantee for those who are in Christ, to be able to finish well, no matter what the world, the flesh and the devil may throw at us. I know Maximus will finish well, whether he lives another 3 months or another 3 years. It is who he is. I know I can also finish my own race well, as I rest in the One who gave His life to set me free.

Are you hard-wired to His service, or have you allowed other things to disconnect you from the source that will enable you to finish well?

The Right Tool for the Job

At the risk of sounding self-indulgent I thought I would let you know about my last, very varied week. I went away for a couple of days to complete my higher level certification in deer stalking. That may sound a little odd to all you non-hunting folks out there, especially if you aren't British. I suppose it's our equivalent to the German Jaeger qualifications; an externally verified course to demonstrate competence and compliance.

It is quite detailed and the requirements are fairly stringent, very stringent if you do it all with a view to being as proficient as possible. You need to be able to demonstrate skill in getting close to deer, selecting the appropriate beast for culling purposes, shoot straight (of course), know where it was hit by observing its reaction to the shot, and then, once the animal is located and confirmed dead, you need to become an internal organ and lymph node aficionado, locating, identifying and observing any abnormalities in a host of different places. Such places include, but are not limited to, the mesenteric lymph node chain, the mediastinal lymph node, and not forgetting of course, assessing the condition of the pericardium. In short, it's all rather intense.

The really sad thing is that I was getting excited just typing all that.

So I was out of bed at 3am, that is 0300hrs, three in the morning, and drove two hours to meet my old friend Jon (a paragon of the professional deer stalker) to go out to see if we could complete my portfolio over the following couple of days.

Two days later and, almost there, we returned to complete the paperwork. It was then that I retrieved my mobile phone messages and heard a distraught voice imploring me to return the call immediately as it was a matter of life and death. Realising that the message was already 7 hours old, I pressed the green button with some considerable trepidation, convinced I would be too late to have averted the disaster that would already have happened.

Let's say, it wasn't quite as urgent or as serious as had been made out. Still, it served to give my heart a totally unnecessary jolt, for which I wish I could be thankful.

Moments later, back in deer stalker mode, I was trying to explain how I came to select that particular doe for culling (just "because it was there" doesn't cut it, even if I were Mallory).

The following evening I was doing my Chaplain bit at the local Air Training Corps. Rather than preaching to the recruits I was doing weapons training. Rather than talking about what it means to be a Christian, or even the knotty issue of how a Christian can (or cannot) take a life, I was using the terminology of the weapons instructor, explaining rimfire as opposed to centrefire, rifled barrels, muzzle energy, follow through and hold over. As I finished the instruction I was reminded, "I heard your assembly last week at school, sir." Ah yes, I thought, I am actually a minister rather than a shooting instructor.

Incorrect. I am a shooting instructor minister, as I am also a deer stalker minister, a mountain leader minister, as well as a pastor minister. The rather odd thing about this past week is that I have been so many varieties of minister in such a short period. The fact is that wherever I am, I am called to be a minister of the gospel, and that does not always involve preaching a sermon. But how do I keep that focus, that awareness, even in the midst of such detailed, consuming tasks as I was engaged in last week?

By letting God be God in the day-to-day of my life. By realising I am a tool to be used as He sees fit, not as an independent being doing it all Frank Sinatra's way. Christians can be relevant and effective in any and every situation they find themselves in if, and only if, they realise that without Christ they can do absolutely nothing. Too often we have become far too clever, and far too keen to separate the every-day from the Christian- or the church-day. The two are indivisible in genuine Christianity. Jesus is relevant to every situation, and can speak instantly and perfectly into every situation, or He is not God and the whole thing is a crock.

But He can, He always does, He is, and so it is not.

So I can hang a carcass in the larder, turn and discuss how I became a Christian, answer a telephone call and give good godly counsel to a distraught caller, commit to praying for a non-believer in financial difficulty, and then plan a sermon and teach best rifle practise all in the same day. Which is part of what I did last week.

Put another way, when I look like this:

will I still be salt and light wherever I go? And when I look like this:

Will I avoid coming across like a self-righteous impressive clergyman, out of touch with the world around me?

It all makes for a very varied and exciting life, for which I am (usually) thankful.

Nursery Rhymes and Cotton Wool

Perhaps my most daunting task as a local minister is to go in to the local high school from time to time to conduct morning assemblies for some or sometimes for all of the pupils. That means speaking to between 150 and 700 young people plus a number of their teachers. I usually have around 7 minutes to say something that I hope will actually make them think about the things of eternity, the truth about who Jesus really is, and the certainty that they too, need a Saviour. I realise that the opportunity to even say such things in a state school is a real privilege, not shared by many countries, but I find the task truly daunting. In addition, this is one tough crowd. On my first few visits I could almost hear the hairs bristling as I walked in. I found I had to steel myself in much the same way as I must prior to jumping into the lake in mid-March; the urge to run away to the quiet cosiness of a log fire, a cup of tea and solitude is sometimes almost overpowering. Nevertheless, just as I keep jumping into the lakes, so I keep going back into the lion's den of the high school assembly.

The more I communicated with the young people there, and the more I listened to "how you need to reach young people" the more I realised that there was something very sadly wrong somewhere. I was being advised "not to say anything controversial", "don't be overly spiritual" and of course, "just say something general that might make them think a bit". All this very sincere advice  gave me the overwhelming sense of being already defeated, and having to apologise for the sad fact that I was getting in the way of everybody's day with some trite platitude that had all the cut and thrust of cold rice pudding. Even that's being overly generous because I love rice pudding.

So I chose to ignore the advice.

I talked about sin. I talked about abandoning ones life to a God who deserves our worship. I told them about my stepping off a cliff in the middle of a Norwegian night. I told them about how we believe in God even when the world is full of suffering and pain, and how we are meant to handle injustice in society. I talked about being selfish and how Christians have an answer for all that; an answer that I have found neither in any other religion nor in a non-faith environment. I did not say this all at once you understand. It was over the space of the past couple of years!

Here are a few of the comments I have received recently concerning my assemblies, in no particular order:

• I want everyone to listen very carefully to what Russell is about to say, because it is always thought-provoking, challenging and really interesting when he comes here.
• My friends and I really enjoyed your assembly this week. We talked about what you said a lot.
• I am so sorry to have missed your assembly yesterday. I really enjoy it when you come.
• Alright mate? (that means hello in parts of Great Britain, in case you were wondering). You're the bloke that speaks at our school aren't you? Well cool! N.B. This was the same young man that used to swear at me from across the street.
• Assemblies are usually really boring. Yours are ace!
• I really enjoyed what you said today. It was quite inspirational.
• Perhaps you shouldn't be quite so challenging.
• I do not think that the children will have followed what you said. You said too much. It needs to be simpler.

Now, just bear in mind, the first six comments were from young people and adults, none of whom are churched, and none of whom claim to be Christian. The last two are from Christians.

I think I know whose opinions I need to listen to, in order to be relevant to a world that needs to hear who Jesus really is, and what it is really like to be a Christian.

Please be clear, I am in no way trying to bull myself up. I am simply saying, young people and unchurched people do not, on the whole, need cotton wool and sweeties when it comes to discussion topics. They want to know what you believe and why you believe it.

And they want you who claim Christ to be passionate and dynamic about it.

So, Christian, how about it? And as for you non-Christians, go ahead, ask some hard questions, and keep asking them till a Christian steps up and starts having a really good dialogue with you. If you cannot find any, try me. I might not be able to answer you, but I will try to find someone who can.