What is our evidence that God loves us?

 

Photo credit: Sarah S.

As I wrote three weeks ago, this Sunday our local church is celebrating the harvest. Traditionally, for the Harvest Festival people bring vegetables (usually gourds and marrows) to church, along with tinned food to be given to food banks. Last year in a different church, someone brought a large sack of hundreds of carrots from a local (Lancashire) farm to share with others.

The photos above are from Miriam and my wedding in 2016 (the anniversary of which we celebrated last week). One of Miriam's aunts arranged the vegetables from Miriam's dad's garden and polytunnel, and the church kept them there for the Harvest Festival, which occurred the next day.

The festival is an opportunity to give thanks for the gifts God has provided us, particularly the fruit of the soil. I am reminded of the tone of thanksgiving in Psalm 104: 

The earth shall be satisfied with the fruit of Your works.
You are He who causes grass to grow for the cattle,
And the green plant for the service of man,
To bring forth bread from the earth;
And wine gladdens the heart of man,
To brighten his face with oil;
And bread strengthens man's heart (vv. 13b-15).

We often show our love to people by giving them gifts, particularly food. People often invite other people round for hot drinks or a meal as a form of hospitality. During bereavements, people often cook a meal for the family grieving not only for practical aid, but also as a sign of support. Our neighbour recently gave us a large bowlful of Braeburn applies from her fully-laden tree, and we appreciated the gift and the bond it has strengthened. 

A friend recently described to me his crop of courgettes as blessings. It struck me to read his words because I don't always consider vegetables as gifts from God, but this time of year especially reminds me to give thanks where it is due.

Most importantly, the harvest points to the greatest blessing God has given humanity and the world: his Son Jesus.

As the Apostle John writes, 'This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him' (1 John 4:9). 

We often rightly consider how we humans might offer sacrifices to God, but in Jesus we find unexpectedly that God also offers a sacrifice to us. This sacrifice is himself a gift of food, the 'living bread that comes down from heaven,' as Jesus says of himself: 'This bread is my flesh, which I give for the life of the world' (John 6:51). 

Whereas we offer sacrifices of praise, thanksgiving and service to God to give worship where it is due, God the Father does not give us his Son to worship us, but rather so that we might receive eternal life and know his love for us.

However, we often first look elsewhere for evidence of God's love. During harvest season, it might be easy to look to the beauty and bounty of nature and say this is all we need to know God's love. Although we rightly give thanks for God's providing everything we need, the natural world is not always pleasant or nourishing. In it we also find decay, death and the limits of our control. It can be easy to 'feel' God's love on a sunny, early-autumnal day, for instance, but when we're exposed to driving wind and rain on the fells in winter, God's love is far from our minds. Further, the natural world, without Jesus, does not give us hope for union with a loving God beyond our death. Without that hope, what certainty do we have that God loves us?

Or, we might look for evidence of God's love in other people or in ourselves. However, like the previous example, this can cut both ways; even the people we look up to the most can disappoint us because no one can love as perfectly as God loves, and if I am honest with myself, even in my better days I am only a disfigured reflection of God's love (if even that), and in my worse days, I am far worse than that, to say the least!

In this case, we might say that the limited warmth we have experienced from other people can be a springboard or a foil, teaching us that God's love far exceeds the flawed love of humans. As true as I believe this to be, and as helpful as the comparison may be at times, it is not sufficient or objective evidence of God's love for us. Perhaps it proves more our ability to trust in the goodness of God than it proves his goodness itself. 

I'm not saying God doesn't express his love for us through providing for our needs or through other people. Rather, such gifts reflect the love he has fully revealed to us in Jesus, who became a part of the natural world and transformed it, and who transforms even us so that we may experience his everlasting life. He is the best assurance we have of God's love for us because in him, we receive life that we can receive no other way.

Jesus is a heavenly meal, one that far exceeds the annual harvest that is cooked and gone in a short time. Jesus explains that 'whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day' (John 6:54). The Church has from the beginning understood Jesus to be referring here to the Eucharist, or the thanksgiving meal that he introduced to his disciples, which the early Church participated in regularly and has continued doing through the centuries, a mystical feast through which Christ makes himself known to the Church.

The Church has also consistently fed on the presence of Jesus through prayer, learning from the apostles' teaching and the scriptures, sharing with one another and supporting people in need (Acts 2:42-47). 

If I want to know the love of God more closely, then, it would be wise to participate in the life of the Church, as it participates in the life of Jesus.

I have been blessed to have been a part of churches that live in love for God and for their neighbours, but even then, no church community perfectly follows Jesus. They can even do the opposite, harming people rather than being vehicles for divine healing. 

However, the Church is the bride of Christ, the beloved people entrusted with the Gospel message of God's love for the world in Jesus. Despite its failings, the Church is the community upon which the Holy Spirit was poured out on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2), empowering it to faithfully display God's love through God's power. The Church is the people called to embody and proclaim the love of God in Christ to the world.

God can use anyone, even those outside of the Church, to reveal his glory and love. Thus, we cannot say where God is not present. However, we can confidently say that Jesus makes himself known among the Church, the people who gather in his name and who walk in his light, who have been washed in his death and who receive the life of his resurrection.

Further, while our own individual walk with Christ is required, our participation with the Church is also essential because it is among the Church that we receive the fullness of the heavenly banquet at Christ's table, which strengthens us to serve God wherever we go in the world afterwards. As I have written previously, we cannot have Christ without the Church.

When I was a freshman at university, I took an introductory philosophy course. Although in retrospect I appreciate the new ideas I learned through the course, at the time I became confused, doubting not only the love of God but even his existence -- and even the nature of reality itself! 

That same semester, I began attending a church that would become my spiritual home for the next few years. I told my pastor some of my questions, and he said he could relate to them. He also encouraged me to keep coming to church and being involved there. 

At the time, I thought his reason for this advice was because of how important practice and discipline are despite our changing thoughts, feelings and moods; sometimes we have to carry on living as though we believe what we have believed in, until we believe again.

That can be true -- but again, it is not evidence that our beliefs are true. In light of the Apostle John's words, however, I also see in my pastor's advice the recognition that participating in the life of the Church is essential, especially when we feel far from God, because it is among the Church and the Church's work in the world that we expect to clearly encounter Christ, in whom we most assuredly know God's love for us.

Stages of development in discipleship

Recently, to my surprise, the runner beans have been flowering a second time since planting them. Now tiny bean pods the size of young earthworms are emerging from the scarlet flowers. 

It's rewarding to witness their development again; this time around, I am noticing more of the details. Flowers are forming, around which flies and bees hover to pollinate them, after which the petals wither and fall away as bean pods grow out of them like claws. These claws then swell with beans (seeds for new plants) until they are ready for plucking; harvesting them before they reach maturity enables the flowering to continue next time. 

Like runner beans, Christian discipleship involves stages of development, as described by the Apostle Peter. First he writes that through God's power, we may escape the evil nature of this world -- the passions -- and participate in the divine nature; in other words, we may become Christlike. Then he describes how we become Christlike in more detail, urging his readers to make every effort to 'add to your faith virtue, to virtue knowledge, to knowledge self-control, to self-control perseverance, to perseverance godliness, to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness love' (2 Pet. 1:5-7).

Overall, then, our development as Christians involves faith bearing the fruit of love. Putting our faith in Christ -- that is, committing ourselves to Jesus as our Lord and our God -- is only the beginning of the journey. The next step involves diligently adding more elements to our faith so that we may mature. This effort is not an attempt to earn our salvation apart from God's grace; rather, everything we need to accomplish this comes from God's divine power, with which we participate (vv. 3-4).

Here I offer my reflections on each stage of development in discipleship.

• 'Giving all diligence, add to your faith virtue' -- Virtue sets the tone for our faith, directing it to produce something life-giving, wholesome, beautiful; in a word, good. Goodness is one way the word 'virtue' can be understood, the same goodness with which God looked upon his creation in the beginning and was satisfied by what he had made.
  
  Another way to understand 'virtue' is as moral excellence. We are called to strive for excellence in our relationships with God and others, and in maintaining our own integrity. This means becoming pure in heart, single-minded for God's kingdom and righteousness.
  
  
• 'and to virtue, knowledge' -- Knowledge helps us discern between good and evil and thus supplements our virtue. Becoming virtuous is not guided merely by our feelings or emotions; it requires knowledge of the truth about God, the world, others and ourselves.
  
  This knowledge is not merely book knowledge (although that can help), but especially applied personal and spiritual knowledge. For example, yesterday was Miriam and my wedding anniversary. I have been reflecting recently on how much better I know her now than I did four years ago when we first married, and this knowledge comes from the experience of my relationship with her; it could not have come only from reading facts about her. In order to learn about her in this way, my active participation and observation are required, and I will always have more to learn about her. Further, learning more about her and my relationship with her has taught me more about myself as well.
  
  
• 'and to knowledge, self-control' -- As we come to know God and ourselves more truthfully, we recognise especially our own passions and sinful habits. This teaches us when to pull away, limit ourselves and keep from stepping over the line ('trespassing') into sin. Christlikeness is not only moving towards someone, Christ, but also moving away from something, our sinful nature. Self-control means mastering ourselves so that we may not sin and so that Christ's character may form in us.
  
  For an example of the relationship between knowledge and self-control, I have a skin condition that flares up when I eat certain foods. By carefully monitoring what I eat and how it affects my skin (knowledge), I can know what foods to limit myself from eating too much of or to avoid eating altogether (self-control). Perhaps our soul is similarly impacted by the passions, and by paying attention to our internal reactions, we can learn how to control our desires to avoid damaging ourselves and others.
  
  
• 'and to self-control, perseverance' -- It's easy to overcome temptation once in our life, or at least far easier than to consistently do so. This relates to my previous dietary example; it's one thing to avoid eating a piece of chocolate cake once, but to commit to doing so for the rest of my life requires greater strength. Thus we need perseverance to maintain our discipleship for the long-haul.
  
  We recently climbed a mountain (Bow Fell, in case you're wondering, among the Cumbrian Mountains) and as we started off, I realised that I would enjoy the ascent much better by focussing on taking small but steady steps. That way, too, I would not tire myself out in my rush to climb the mountain. 
  
  Thus, perseverance requires a commitment to see things through and wisdom to pace oneself, taking on only as much as we know we can handle until we know we can take on more. Again this connects between knowledge, self-control and perseverance: without knowledge of our abilities and limitations, and without the self-control to discipline ourselves, we cannot achieve the sustainable pace required for perseverance.
  
  
• 'and to perseverance, godliness' -- Godliness begins with our devoted relationship to God. As we persevere in our transformation, we don't become stoic and cold-hearted; we become holy, glowing with the love of God. 
  
  When I consider godly people I've met, I am struck by the warmth of their love, even upon meeting them for the first time, which must come from a life hidden in God.
  
  This, I imagine, is what inspired the woman with a sinful reputation to wash Jesus' feet with her tears. Without a word, she knew that Jesus loved her and this moved her to pour out her own love to him in thanksgiving. In this act of love, she found healing (see Luke 7:36-50).
  
  
• 'and to godliness, brotherly kindness' -- Brotherly kindness develops from godliness, which itself develops from the previous stages. Thus, we have seen explicitly the link between faith (the first stage) and love for others (here in the last stages). Although this link is spoken about throughout the scriptures, here we learn that there are several stages in-between (virtue, knowledge, self-control, perseverance and godliness). This suggests that genuine compassion for others doesn't develop overnight; we can't expect compassion to emerge simply by forcing a smile or making a one-off donation to charity. Rather, such compassion comes through the slow formation of our character, involving our effort in partnership with God's power to help us.
  
  
• 'and to brotherly kindness, love.' -- Love is the crown of our discipleship. This love is a union between our love for God, our love for others and God's love for us. This love is not sentimental, fickle, wavering or romantic; rather, it is faithful, virtuous, insightful, self-controlled, persevering, godly and compassionate. 
  
  This is the nature of God's love for us in Christ, shown by his steadfast concern for the human race and the world. As we grow towards embodying this love, we become who God intends us to be. God is love and we cannot know God without love.
  

I don't claim to have arrived at this level of maturity in love. I write about it like someone standing at the bottom of a mountain, describing what I see of the summit above me with my naked eyes and as it looks on a map.

Where am I in these stages of discipleship? I can't say, but I wonder if one can be at multiple stages at the same time, like how a single runner bean plant can have several clusters of flowers blooming at different stages in different areas: some just beginning to bud, some flowers fully open and being pollinated by flies and bees and some beans emerging to the glory of God. 

Like the perennial runner bean, maybe we can always grow deeper in each of these eight stages, developing from one to the next in a process that will only find its fulfilment when at last Christ is revealed.

Courgettes and greatness

'Courgette' is the French name, used in the UK, for 'zucchini'

For the past two months, we have been enjoying the steady growth of our courgettes (a kind of squash in the gourd family). However, we've been harvesting them as soon as they are about four to six inches long, rather than waiting until they grow larger to become marrows. The main reason for this is that many of our young courgettes have rotted, so we pluck them as soon as they are ready. 

Apparently there are many possible causes for the withering of young courgettes. In our case, the most likely reason is poor drainage or too much rain, each of which disturb the root development.

A similar challenge involving a gourd plant occurred for the prophet Jonah. While sitting on the outskirts of the city of Nineveh, a gourd plant grew beside him, shading him from the heat. (Who knows? It could have been a courgette.) But the next morning, a worm devoured the plant, and when Jonah discovered this, he became angry. This led to a conversation with God in which God explained that, just as Jonah cared for the gourd, so God cared for the people of Nineveh.

As the capital of the Assyrian Empire, the Ninevites had a reputation for doing evil and violence. But God saw their value beneath their evil, giving them a chance to humbly repent and become holy. Nineveh was like the gourd plant, planted to provide shade and comfort to others, but just as the worm devoured the gourd, Nineveh's evil was leading to its own demise. 

Thus, God sends Jonah to preach against Nineveh's sins, in the hope that they will turn to God. The plan works. As soon as they hear Jonah's preaching, all the people of Nineveh, from the greatest to the least, declare a fast and wear garments of mourning. Even the king leaves his throne to sit upon ashes. Most importantly, they resolve to cease committing evil and violence, and they turn to God. This results in God having mercy on them and sparing them from destruction. At the end of the book, God tells Jonah Nineveh is a 'great city' because in it dwell thousands of people in need of guidance (they 'do not know either their right hand or their left'), and much livestock. 

Nineveh can resemble any nation, group or individual with both great power and great evil. I have been thinking about Nineveh because of a recent conversation I had with someone about my being an American living in the UK. He asked me, 'What good has come out of America?' I could almost hear beneath that question a resemblance to Jonah's question about Nineveh: is this nation worth God's mercy?

This may sound like a strange question, but it is relevant, especially in a time when most of the news people in the UK hear about the US is terrible: mass shootings, police brutality, violent protests and sexual abuse -- just to name a few examples. 

I said I could answer their question on several levels, but ultimately the good that I have seen in America comes from things one doesn't read about in the news: people I know who love their neighbours as themselves, people who 'act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with [their] God'. Throughout the many places I've lived and travelled in the US, I have met families and communities that welcome strangers and support those in need with mercy and compassion.

Where does this greatness in mercy come from? I believe it begins with repentance, just as the Ninevites' greatness was restored through their repentance. To illustrate, a friend on Facebook recently posted a picture of a family kneeling in prayer in their sitting room. The caption of the picture said something like 'This is how America becomes great again'. 

Someone commented in opposition, saying what's needed is not prayer, but that people should live as Jesus lived. I understand the reasoning behind this response; prayer alone is meaningless if we don't live in obedience to God's commands, seeking justice for those who are wronged and supporting the most vulnerable in our midst. Jesus spoke against those who flaunted their spiritual resources and yet did not show mercy to people in need. 

But Jesus also prayed regularly and taught his disciples to pray, and he marked the beginning of his public ministry by fasting and praying in the wilderness for forty days. Prayer was foundational, and thus essential, to his work of teaching, healing and liberating people from evil. Jesus is even now praying on our behalf before the heavenly throne, as it says in the book of Hebrews. 

Not only that; prayer is putting ourselves in a posture of humility before God. Every time we come before God in humility, we are repenting to some degree, since repentance is turning away from ourselves and turning to God. 

Without such ongoing repentance, we become like courgettes rotting from poor soil conditions. But when we turn from the evil and violence that are in each of us and turn instead to God, then with God's help we will destroy the worm that eats away at us, and God's healing will come. 

God has created all people for greatness. But this greatness does not come from doing violence or following our passions, which destroy us in the end; rather, it begins with humbling ourselves before God so that we may receive mercy, which leads to a life empowered by God in joyful service to others. This is true greatness.

As Jesus said, 'Whoever humbles himself will be exalted'. He is our leader in this, as he humbled himself even to death, and was raised by God as the victor over death and evil. He grants all who follow him the power to crush the sin that devours us, recovering our identity as children of God and granting us citizenship into the kingdom of heaven.

Sharing as an act of worship

 

'Uchiki kuri' squash

Many churches in the UK are preparing to celebrate the annual Harvest Festival in a few weeks, in which they will give thanks to God for his blessings on the land and in their lives, and also share with others. Traditionally, people bring vegetables and other produce to church on Harvest Sunday as an offering to God and to be distributed among the community; it's also common to bring tinned food to donate to food banks or collect money for people in need.

The book of Hebrews says such sharing is one of two acts of worship: 'Through Jesus, therefore, let us offer to God a sacrifice of praise -- the fruit of lips that confess his name. And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased' (13:15-16).

In other words, worship consists of two dimensions, 1) our offerings to God, such as praising him and confessing Jesus' name, and 2) our offerings to others through doing good and sharing with them, which pleases God.

These two dimensions resemble the great commandment, which Jesus teaches is the summary of the Law: that we are to love God with all that we are and love our neighbour as ourselves.

This also resembles what James writes in his letter, that faith in God (the vertical dimension) is completed by good deeds (the horizontal dimension), without which our faith is dead.  

This surprises me because when I think of worship, I usually only think of the vertical dimension. I'm not downplaying that dimension; it is essential. However, our worship is empty if we do not also perform acts of mercy to the people in our communities. If we love God, then we will honour him by loving our neighbours as well, who are made in God's image.

Thus, there is potentially no separation between the spiritual and the material, between the sacred and the secular, between holiness and everything else. All of these categories can be holy altars if, through Jesus, we bless God by offering ourselves to him and to others. 

For example, a few years ago, our church at the time celebrated the Harvest Festival by hosting a ceilidh open to the community, free of charge. (Ceilidh is the Gaelic word for 'visit'; traditionally, it meant gathering to share local news and music, but now it's associated with Scottish folk dancing.) A live folk band and caller performed and led folk dances for over fifty people. Volunteer cooks also brought casseroles, pies, stews and other warm meals for everyone to share. 

I didn't make this connection at the time, but looking back, that ceilidh was an act of worship because we were sharing with one another in Jesus' name, which (I hope) blessed God. 

If worship is a ceilidh, then Jesus is the caller, at the center of it all directing the music and dancing. The book of Hebrews uses different language, saying Jesus is our high priest. Further, he leads by example, modelling for us sharing as an act of worship. Throughout his earthly life, he shared his power with others by feeding, healing and teaching them. Through offering himself on the cross, he shared with the world his very life, making us holy by his suffering. Now he leads us in worship at the heavenly altar, sharing his life with us through interceding for us, praying that we may endure our trials and join him in his perfection.

During lockdown, our local church regularly collected offerings for some of the nearby food banks. The pandemic has increased many peoples' need for support from food banks, due to their being let off work and other economic hardships. Thus, even while public worship services were prohibited for several months this summer, the church continued its worship through sharing food and resources. But the work continues; food banks warn that they are expecting an increase in clients this coming winter because of financial-support schemes ending and continued economic downturn.

When I worked at a food bank a few years ago, one of the recurring statements I heard from people donating money or food was 'I could just as easily be in such need'. Such donors were humbly sharing out of solidarity and the realisation that we are all connected. 

In addition to compassion, I think we are called to give for the simple reason that it blesses God. Sharing is an act of worship, putting us in touch with our primary identity as worshippers of God. Father Alexander Schmemann says it this way: 

"Homo sapiens," "homo faber" . . . yes, but first of all, "homo adorans." The first, the basic definition of man is that he is the priest. He stands in the center of the world and unifies it in his act of blessing God, of both receiving the world from God and offering it to God -- and by filling the world with this eucharist, he transforms his life, the one that he receives from the world, into life in God, into communion with Him. (For the Life of the World)

In other words, all people are called to be priests, blessing God through receiving his gifts and then offering them back to him. One way we bless God is sharing with our neighbours.

In addition to physical provisions, we can share our time with people. When I first visited Iona Abbey as a guest, I had a conversation over lunch with an older woman who told me that Iona had taught her how to take the time to be with and pay attention to other people, rather than pass them by or take them for granted. The greatest gift we can share with others is our time, she said, recalling how her grandmother, at the end of her life, only wished that she had more time to be with others. 

I close with words from a sermon by St John Chrysostom that clarifies all I have said with an image of two altars at which we worship: the first is the Lord's table, where we receive the body and blood of Christ through Communion, and the second is the table of the poor, in whom we also find Christ: 

This [second] altar may thou everywhere see lying, both in lanes and in market places, and may sacrifice upon it every hour; for on this too is sacrifice performed. . . .  When then you see a poor believer, think that you behold an altar: when you see such an one a beggar, not only insult him not, but even reverence him, and if you see another insulting him, prevent, repel it.

In light of this, I ask, who are the poor in my communities? How might we worship God through doing good and sharing with others in Jesus' name?

Christ overcomes our fear of death

 

Autumn approaches the Furness Peninsula

Autumn comes: I feel the crisp bite of cold in the air, and see the bracken on the hills and some of the trees beginning to brown. In our garden, the sugar snap peas have long slowed their production, and the vines are drooping and yellowing, soon to be pulled up and thrown into the compost bin.

Autumn is usually a season when I think of death to a small degree, but even more so this year. I was recently telling someone about how the coronavirus has highlighted to me my own mortality. For most of my life I've known that I will die, but it's easy to push that thought aside, distracted by daily business, entertainment and other things. However, reading news reports about rising infection rates and death tolls and seeing photographs of people of all ages and fitness levels in hospital beds connected to ventilators has reminded me of how I could just as well be in their position, and that at some point death waits for us all, whether or not we're ready for it or expecting it.

I don't think I have thought about death this much since middle school. At one point, I was ill for several weeks, and while at home recovering, I thought much about death -- my own and that of my loved ones -- which caused prolonged sadness. After I recovered, I didn't think about death as often (partly because I had other things going on, like being at school rather than at home alone), but at times the weight of fear and sorrow would return.

The summer of my first year of high school, I grew deeply in my faith in Christ, and I learned much about God through praying and reading the Bible. That summer marked a turning point for me in many ways, one of which was that I was filled with joy and hope. I had my low days, but never like those weeks in middle school when I was ill and some time afterwards, when the fear of death preoccupied me. I still knew that death was coming, but I no longer dreaded it because I also knew that Christ was with me.

The Letter to the Hebrews says that Jesus shared in our humanity 'so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death -- that is, the devil -- and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death' (2:14-15). 

To some degree, this describes what I experienced. During those middle-school years, I was in bondage to my fear of death, but this changed when I understood that Christ conquered death by dying and rising from the dead, pioneering the way for those who follow him to our own resurrection after we die.

However, I am aware that, while I have confronted my fear of death, I have not yet faced death itself. In these days of the pandemic, thinking about death more often, I ask myself how truly I do trust in Christ to save us from death, to meet us on the other side. When death is staring me in the face, will my faith in Christ be firm? Will I be afraid then?

I want to be like the saints and martyrs who bravely stood firm in their faith, even when it meant they would be executed, who in some cases welcomed death because they considered it an honour to suffer for Christ's sake, knowing it would unite them with him. I believe that for such Christians, while death has been something to both acknowledge and respect, by the power of the Holy Spirit, it has not been something to fear.

Jesus says, 'If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it' (Luke 9:23-24).

Following Jesus, therefore, means dying small deaths every day so that we may partake of his life. This little dying is like practising for our physical death. It means turning away from our selves, our passions and our sins, and turning towards God. Paradoxically, it is only in losing ourselves like this that we are found in God, restored to our full humanity, fully alive.

That first summer of high school, I let go of who I thought I was at the time and discovered that I was becoming a new person in Christ -- a truer version of myself, this time not burdened by fear. This process has continued ever since, one in which I am coming closer to the truth about myself and about Christ.

When I take the time to sit quietly, shedding distractions, I realise that it is my deepest desire to meet with Christ because he is my life, a life that is stronger than death.

This, I think, is what St Simeon experienced when he met Jesus. Simeon had been told by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before seeing the Messiah. At last, he met Jesus as a baby in the temple, and he held Jesus in his arms, praising God in prayer.

Simeon's prayer (with which I end this post) is remembered by Christians in various worship services. When I worked at the Iona Abbey, we would recite his prayer to conclude the Sunday evening quiet service. In the Anglican tradition, his prayer also ends the evensong service, and similarly in the Orthodox Church, it is prayed towards the end of the vespers (evening) service. It is fitting that each of these services takes place at night, since night often symbolises death, but perhaps even more significant that for the Hebrews and the ancient Church, evening marks not the end but the beginning of the day. Although the rest of the world sees death as the end, we who are in Christ face it as the beginning of our life. 

Further, that Simeon's prayer concludes worship suggests that in our daily lives, as we die to ourselves, offering our bodies to God as living sacrifices through our worship and service, we too encounter the Messiah.

When I am staring death in the face, and even now as I seek to take up my cross daily so that I may more fully live, I hope to join in Simeon's praise for having found, or rather for having been found in Christ, knowing that through death I will see Christ's own face.

Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,

now dismiss your servant in peace.

For my eyes have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared in the sight of all people,

a light for revelation to the Gentiles

and glory to your people Israel.