Job's Other Children.

While he was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, “Your sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!” Job 1:18-19

Job is consoled at the end of his story, by 10 more children, Seven sons and three beautiful daughters. He lives to 140, and sees his descendants to the 4th generation. His riches are restored and he was blessed more by God, in the post disaster part of his life, than he had been in the first part. But I wonder, if at 139, bouncing his great, great grandchildren on his weakened knees, he didn't spare a thought for the children that he lost in that awful storm. I suspect that no matter what came after, nothing could have replaced what he had lost. Grief is like that. It never goes entirely. It kind of reshapes you, it becomes livable but it is still present.

I have always struggled to find comfort in the children that Job receives after the event. It seems to me, (taking aside that these were real children, real human beings with their own individual attributes and personalities and ways of relating to their Father), that their presence in the story just rubs salt in the wounds. I am a father. I am sure it doesn't work like that. You love each child on their own merit, and sometimes without much merit. But it seems to me that we are being asked by the story, to simply accept that everything is okay again. And what about those Children? What had they done to deserve to be wiped out like that?

At some fundamental level my response to this is the same as it would be to those deaths of school children in Oklahoma this week, the same as it would be to any children lost in natural disasters, or any adults for that matter (and Jobs children were grown, that much is clear by the nature of the activity they were involved in at the time of their demise). My response is, 'its not fair!'

But the thing I realised about the story of Job is that it is the story of Job. Profound, hey? What I mean is, ultimately, as far as the story goes, it is not about them. That does not mean, that if they were real flesh and blood people, that God did not care about them, or that he had simply chalked them up as collateral damage. It means that that is another story, and one that is not told in scripture. The story we are told is about Job and not his children. It is about how we respond to suffering, and how we maintain our integrity when all the anchors of reasoning and emotional connection to the Almighty are ripped out of the ground in a single moment.

Job's story raises many questions about the origins of evil and causes of suffering. Job mostly maintains his integrity but none the less, in the awe inspiring end to the long explorations of these themes, God declares himself to Job. He says

Who is this that obscures my plans with words without knowledge?

Firstly it needs to be observed that whenever we speak about these things, we are lacking in a knowledge of what we speak of. We only get one very limited perspective. We see in part, only. God then, through a series of questions compares his own achievements to Job's (and really humanity's) own. It is really his way of making the distinction clear. We are not dealing with another man here. This is the Almighty, maker of the universe. Essentially, who are we to question him?

Not exactly the comfort we are looking for but, at some deeper level I think it might just be. God is enshrouded in mystery. Perhaps that despite an all powerful and benevolent creator there is such suffering is the greatest mystery we will ever have to face. Our impotence in the face of it is quite humbling. Perhaps we don't need answers, perhaps we need acceptance. If God was not loving though, this would be a terrible state of affairs. It is only when we understand the love of God that we can start to trust him, that he knows what he is doing, even when we are clueless and blinded with grief and rage. He never lost control. Not once. Sometimes the things that we must face are crippling but If God is redeeming the world to himself, at least, ultimately, there is a purpose in it. It is not needless, senseless suffering. It is a mystery but it is not without reason, nor apart from divine love.

And it is not the story of those whose time is done, be they seven or seventy. The question is what are we to do, how are we to respond?

My life is in your hands

I haven't done this for a while. No, not the blog, although I haven't. I mean the type of blog. I don't tend to use it for personal journalling but tonight I wanted to just get this down while its fresh. But it is quite personal. Don't worry, not THAT personal.

I've been thinking about trying some meditation again. A while back, a long while back, I had in my possession a clutch of books that taught on meditation, from a biblical perspective which I fully intended to read, and apply. The ancients used to do it, the Patriarch's of our faith, King David, the church fathers, the desert fathers and lots of godly people. I have a sneaky suspicion that Jesus used to do it himself. But in my church tradition it is almost a dead practise. There is a wide acknowledgement that biblical meditation is a perfectly  acceptable and beneficial practise. But can I find anyone in my acquaintance who regularly practises it, or who teaches it? I'm sure there may be a few who dabble but I have rarely heard anyone speak of it.

Anyway I had started to read a couple of the books. Richard Foster's 'Celebration of Discipline'' (Which starts with Meditation) and 'School for Prayer' by Metropolitan Anthony. I had started to experiment a little with silence, in my prayer life, but felt about as spiritual as a discarded prophylactic. But that was nothing to the conviction I started to feel when I read the books by these Godly men. There writing was so rich with spiritual authority that it almost hurt to read it. I could barely get through two sentences without being deeply challenged. I wanted to achieve a deeper prayer life and a closeness with God but in all honesty I found it, and still do in many ways, too costly. You don't get nearer to God without transformation. Its that simple. And, after a short time, I had wimped out.

But I had been thinking lately that it might be time to face it again. Indeed, I thought a little earlier in the week that I may well pick up one of my books again and start putting it in to practise, reporting back on my progress in a weekly blog.

Almost independently from this thinking, I had an experience this evening which kind of confirmed things to me again. That this was the right direction for me. I was walking home from house group, across the fields, a few miles listening to my MP3 player the whole way. As is my habit, when walking and not surrounded by people, my thoughts were interspersed with prayer, but no real concentration. I was approaching the last field when I felt, from nowhere, seemingly, that perhaps I ought to just turn off the music and walk over this last field, in silence. And listen, you know, to God.

In all my times at home sitting in silence, even using a biblical mantra on a few occasions, I had never experienced anything but frustration. But on a few of the occasions I have practised this silence whilst walking I have heard Gods voice. Not an audible one, a voice that is identical to the sound of my thoughts. In other words, It is no different from my thinking. what IS distinctive about it, when it actually happens, is the nature of the thoughts themselves. they are always authoritative and gentle. Direct and wise. And they nearly always bring clarity. the first time I heard God speak like this, he said 'Shut up'. A very good starting place. The bible tells us, be still and know that I am God. Yes. that requires some reverent silence, accompanied by more than a little awe.

And almost immediately as I stepped into that last field, he began speaking to me. He told me it had been too long since I did this, he affirmed that it felt good tom me to be in his presence, didn't it? (yes it did, Lord) and he told me, He had been here waiting for this, ever since I gave up on it. That he didn't mind, because he is patient. I started to respond in my head, in the silence, and my thoughts got mixed up with his. I started to surrender to him. And the words came into my head, 'My life is in your hands'. I took this to be an expression of trust on my part.

And then it became clear to me, or at least clearer. Wasn't it God that had been speaking. Yes, I think that was him, not me. God was saying 'my life is in your hands'. I had to think about that.

Was he saying I was responsible for his life? Of course not, at least not in the most obvious sense. But the more I think about that phrase, the richer it is.  But in a way I am responsible for his life which he has put inside me. Not responsible for ensuring his safety, but responsible for what I do with the gift he has given me. He has placed it into my hands. My decisions and actions are therefore doubly important.

And on another level, 'My life is in your hands'. Hands are symbolic of what we do, our actions. So in what I do, in how I chose to serve him, that is where his life is. In two distinct ways. One is that I am acting as his hands and feet. His life is reaching others through me. I am acting as his representative when I do his work. Two is that he brings life to what my hands do, when they are employed in his service.

I needed to hear this, because, I have lost some sense of connection to this, over the years. That I make a difference. It may not be a huge difference but it is a difference none the less. He is not going to indwell me and overpower me. If there is a blockage to my doing his will then 'Guess what, matey?' It's up to me to remove it.  I do not mean to play down Gods grace, not at all. I just mean to play up my responsibility to make a difference. I have a tendency to coast. Father knows that and tonight he kindly told me, that it is time to wake up, and see what a precious thing he has given me, and to see how much more effectively i can serve him with it. Because his life is in my hands. His healing can flow through them too. I am in him, and he is in me. To think I so nearly missed that tonight because he spoke to me in a way I would not usually have heard. Only if I was silent. Only if I was listening.

 I think the Richard Foster book may getting a visit from me in the not too distant future.

basis for belief. Part 1: The Theology of Instincts

How do we arrive at our own set of theological beliefs? what guides us? I am afraid this post may raise more questions than it answers. For me this subject has been the terrain on a journey of thought for a fair few years now.

A few weeks back I was talking to a friend I had not seen in a while. They were describing to me the church they are worshipping at regularly these days. "They're okay with homosexuality" my friend said, before adding with passionate intensity, "because I could never be part of a church that that didn't accept gay people".

Although the language of my own theological position might lead some to believe otherwise, the church I go to now, accepts gay people. That is to say, it accepts people who are gay. However, although I could not give you chapter and verse, I believe our position on practising homosexuality is that it is a sin.

This isn't a piece on homosexuality, it just happens to be a subject that illustrates the principle. I must confess at some level I was impressed with my friends attitude. It was that passionate, instinctive response that gave me cause for admiration. I have found myself , so, so often, having to be counter intuitive when it comes to certain theological matters. Counter intuitive in order to maintain integrity within the evangelical framework where my beliefs seem to sit best. So, say for example, that my first response to homosexuality was not disgust but empathy, was not judgement but acceptance then I would have to weigh that against what I believe the bible seems to teach. If the bible seems to say to me that homosexuality is a sin then for the sake of my beliefs in the authority of scripture (and let me be clear, the bible does not say judgemental attitudes are good or that empathy for homosexuals is bad, far from it) I must then submit my first (and most instinctive) response to that higher principle. Integrity in tact? Possibly, depending on your definition of integrity. If my guiding principle is to be true to scripture, then yes. If it is to be true to myself, then no. Unless being true to myself is to be true to scripture in spite of myself. let me put it this way. If I was supreme being, an awful lot of murderers would get off Scott free because I felt sorry for them. Sometimes you just have to bow to a higher law.
What I envied in my friend was their ability to believe wholeheartedly in what they felt to be instinctively right. An intuitive response to doctrine. This just feels wrong, therefore, it sucks and I am not going to believe it. A theology of instincts.

When I was a child I reasoned like a child. For me there was only one kind of Christianity. Our kind, the kind I was taught. It was simple. On meeting other Christians I would assume that we were on the same page. I knew nothing of the reformation or the canon of scripture, or really even denominations. God was loving. Jesus died for my sins, the bible is Gods word to mankind etc. It was that simple to me.

But something went wrong. Although I was raised in a house where my Father held to Calvinistic theologies, for example, I was intuitively sure (and they never taught either in Sunday school) that you could lose your salvation. I had no idea of "perseverance of the saints" and not a clue who Arminius was. Still don't, truth be told. I had no clue about doctrine. My faith was built from the half formed ideas that I had gleaned from the twin sources of parental wisdom (via the bible) and my own intuitive imagination.

When I got to bible college, years later, I was utterly shocked to hear about the early church councils , and of how our heavenly, divinely inspired scriptures were compiled and decided on, effectively, by a committee. I had never...and I mean NEVER thought about how the bible, the very thing I based my life on, was compiled. I had never even considered when the gospels were written, or if the people who were supposed to have written them had really written them. My only thoughts had been as to whether I believed them or not. Not where they had come from.

The whole process shocked me in its ordinariness. In its utter humanity. There seemed almost nothing divine about the process, Way too messy. How on earth could I have got this far and not even considered it? It beggared belief. It really did.
I have since come to terms with the sheer humanity of it all. I love the earthiness of scripture. I see the warts and all approach to narrative as an indication of its historicity, with its flawed heroes and its apparent contradictions.You would never include what is included if it was a fit up! I see the bible as divine because it shows how God gets involved in our mess, because he comes into our darkness and shines his light and our darkness doesn't overcome that light. Its a compilation of 66 books with multiple authorship spanning across human history but God is in it from Genesis to Revelation.

But it raises the question. On what basis did I accept that the bible was my divine authority? The word of God to me, to be obeyed without question?

I suppose it goes back to those early church councils, set up to define orthodoxy and build a comprehensive canon of scripture. What was their purpose? To refute heresy and to build a clear basis for authority. Here's the bottom line, and I am speaking form a protestant perspective here, with out scripture we may as well believe anything. Many of Paul's letters are in and as of themselves written for that very purpose, albeit initially on a local level. To define sound doctrine and good practise. I have to believe that just as God was sovereignly "in" the situations whereby the individual authors came to write the words, using their language and personality to get down just what he wanted to be there (without possessing them and controlling their hands as they wrote), that so was he sovereignly "in" the minutiae of the councils decision making, causing what he wanted to be included to "float to the top". In short I have to have faith in it, in the same way that I have faith in Jesus. There are many depths to be plumbed here but I want to get to the heart of the argument so I will.

For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear.~ 2 Tim 4:3

This to me is the most convincing argument for orthodoxy. As with homosexuality, as with the doctrine of hell and, to a lesser extent, for me, male leadership there are many things that are traditionally included in the gospel which seem more unpalatable now than they ever did. I am not immune to it, I am a child of my age.

If my instincts alone were to come into play I would, in all honesty, do away with hell, promote women bishops and Arch Bishops and outlaw any form of discrimination against homosexuals whatsoever.

But when I joined the church I came to understand one fundamental thing. That my instincts were, if not motivated by sin, then tainted by it. (The heart is desperately wicked and deceitful above all things, who can know it? Jer 17:9). And in order to join the body of Christ I must die to myself, lay down my understanding where ever it contradicted God. Humility is the key. And so my instinct is (I told you I would be getting back to this) that while my friend may feel unable to be "part of a church that does not accept gay people" I feel far more strongly that I am unable to be part of a church that throws off all accountability and believes and practises only what it likes. The day you find yourself in a situation where no part of your worship contradicts your own desires, only agrees with your own world view and reflects your own opinions, is the day, I humbly suggest that the thing you are worshipping may just be your self.

Next time I hope to be looking at this in a little more detail.

The spilling out of truth

It was a fair few weeks after mum died. Dad was being extremely efficient at dealing with Mums stuff and we had agreed between the four of us that my sister should have her car. This was the day she had come over to collect it. The car was one of the last things to be dealt with as it was away from the house, parked on the drive. Not like her possessions which had filled the house that we were living in.

The initial shock of her death had worn off and I had been able to do a great deal of grieving by this point. I was coming to a place resembling a sort of stability and that crushing weight seemed to have started to lift. Things look very different from within a microcosm. I had no idea what to expect or what the journey I would undertake would hold for me. In truth even now, some 7 yrs on, I am still unwrapping the experience.....but now the surprises are not so thick and fast. They have slowed almost to a standstill.

However on this day in question, I was starting to feel like I was finally coming to terms with my mothers early death from cancer. I naively thought that the worst was over. That was my experience. My sisters was probably very different. My fathers grief seemed from an outside perspective fairly self contained but of course that was only a snapshot. As I have discovered, we all deal with grief very differently.

My father, my sister and I were stood on the driveway looking at the navy Renault Clio while discussing aspects relating to it. How it ran, how many miles to the gallon it did and how much Mum had loved it. All good. There was little teasing of my sister relating to her track record with accidents, a glass house from which I have no entitlement to throw stones, but do, none the less. The atmosphere was casual, even jovial.

And then we looked inside. Just to check what was there, in order to deal with it appropriately. Nothing noteworthy. The usual things were there. A few cassettes,  a leftover parking ticket, a bit of lip balm, a half finished packet of Polo's. The Polo's sent me into reminiscence a little and should have hinted at what was about to be unleashed. My mum was well known for her polo mints. A tool she had so often used to extend friendship and to bring comfort. When one was hurt the offer of a mint could be kindness that started a healing process.

The business having all but concluded, the conversation started to take the air it does when it was about to be wrapped up. Sentences becoming slightly more succinct, body language a little more kinetic. We had all but turned away from the car when Dad decided to have a quick look in the glove box.

They spilt out as soon as he pushed the release, like they had been inside there pushing against the flimsy panel for an eternity, stuffed in there as they must have been, their volume barely being contained by the tiny unit of the glove box, spilling out onto the passenger seat. Her black fur trimmed hat, her tartan scarf and her gloves.

It was not so much what was in there, although the trio of objects instantly conjured an image that was so typical of my mother, but rather it was that we did not expect it that caused it to have such an impact. It was like a jack-in-the-glove-box of my mums personality. And it was uncontainable.  The shock rocked across the faces of my father and sister and, although I could not observe it, I am sure that my sense of shock showed in my own face as much as their own did in theirs. We had not really gone there together at this stage, although obviously it had been talked about, and this corporate wave of grief seemed to overwhelm us all simultaneously beneath the same wave. We awkwardly addressed it but none of us really acknowledging the depth of it. At least that was my perception.

It was, for me at least, symbolic of the pattern of grief that was to unfold over the next few years particularly. C.S. Lewis wrote a book entitled "Surprised by Joy". If I were to write one based on my experiences over that time, I would have to call it "Surprised by Grief". So many times, unexpectedly, the grief would come like a wave. And like a wave it would send me reeling. Once, in my kitchen, in the middle of cooking dinner literally unable to stand under the weight of it, sobbing and heaving on the floor.

But the things that would set off my grief were often memories and the memories were so often good. The image of my dead mothers accessories spilling out of that glove box was an image of life emerging from death, of repressed emotions erupting from soul-sucking numbness. I'd rather have the pain of loss with the joy of the memory than the true death of no memories at all.

There comes a time when the thing you suppress becomes greater than your ability to contain it. In one of my favourite films "Sense and Sensibility" this theme is addressed expertly. Ang Lee, who is more than adept at portraying repression (See The Ice Storm or Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) directs Emma Thompson as Elinor Dashwood, a woman who is forced to enact the sensibility of the title by repressing her feelings for Edward Ferrars and acting with what must be the crushing civility demanded by the social conventions of regency period etiquette. Throughout the film she is thwarted again and again and forced to act as indifferent whilst she is slighted and sidelined as her heart is broken by degrees. And then comes the moment where she is faced with Edward Ferrars, whom she previously believed to be married and he tells her that she is mistaken. In a wave of grief and relief as she is unable to control her emotions any longer she lets out a howl which rocks you to the core. All the more for the repressive feeling of the rest of the film and the quiet nature that you have been falsely led to believe is hers. There are flash points like this, for all of us, where we connect to who we are, deep down, despite our best efforts. It is impossible to hide all of the time.

King David wrote in his psalm;

You have searched me, Lord, And you know me.....you perceive my thoughts from afar....Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely (Psalm 139).

I always take great comfort in the knowledge that I do not surprise God. I may surprise myself but not him. I may disappoint myself....but not him. I may fool myself...but I cant fool him. He knows and yet his love for me is unchanged.

I suppose one of the reasons I like the psalms is their raw honesty. They rarely attempt to make pretty pictures of how the author is feeling. If they are in anguish they say they are in anguish. If they are being outcast or picked on, then that is what is depicted. If they are feeling abandoned by God then the accusation is levelled directly to the ears of the almighty. Questions are raised and aired and, shock horror, sometimes left unanswered. In short their authors were finding a space, a prayerful space where there was an outlet for all emotions. And I know we can be scared of the depths sometimes but we need to be able, like David at the end of Psalm 139, to pray sincerely "Search me and know me". I like even more that these earthier songs of disgruntlement were at times sung corporately. So unlike some of our far more indulgent but stagnant acts of worship. In Lamentations 2:19 we are told to

pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord

 

 

Lying to yourself will never produce good results. Lying to God could be a form of spiritual suicide, in that you cut out your only true means of healing. Thank God, David also said in 139

 

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
   even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

 

 



 



Pretty amazing, right? You see, you can lie to God, but you can never pull the wool over his eyes. In his grace this light that searches us, is a healing light, because he loves us. And because he loves us, he will not let us hide forever. Somewhere there is a flash point, waiting for you, like the glove box was for me. For darkness is as light to you. I love that.

Margaret Thatcher: Party-Political?

I had a conversation with an American friend shortly after Bin laden was killed. I took exception to the partying on the streets at a man being shot in the head in his home in front of his family, no matter who he was. She asked "Weren't you guys celebrating too?"
Sure there was a sense of justice having been done but not the kind I could celebrate. For me it was a sombre reflection. A knowledge that if you live by the sword you will probably die by the sword. If you don't live by the sword, unfortunately, as Bin Laden proved, it does not necessarily mean you wont die by the sword.

I have hated the politics of Margaret Thatcher for as long as I was able to understand them. Those of my contemporaries who were about 5 years older than myself were vastly more impacted by what she did to this country. Love or hate her, she was responsible for politicising many of my generation. I first became politically aware when John Major got us involved in the first Gulf war, and when the Criminal "Justice" act was passed and when they bought in the poll tax. A little too late for Thatcher but early on enough in the aftermath to feel aware of the impact of her policies and outlook. By the time she resigned her premiership I was 17 and I had never been conscious of another Prime minister.
She may have as well been the Queen.

But my dislike for her politics is not my reason for writing today. As every one is saying, she was a unique individual, a divisive figure, a woman of convictions, I am sure. A woman with a clear and unswerving vision. But a flawed woman none the less. But just as I did not rejoice in the death of Bin Laden I cannot make a party out of the death of someone I did not like. She too had blood on her hands, as most of our leaders seem to, but I cannot bring myself to celebrate.

I don't understand how people who claim to follow the politics of compassion can hold street party's to celebrate the passing of a woman in her 80s from a stroke, while her family and friends grieve her death. Where is the compassion in that? She was undeserving of compassion, they say. Perhaps that is the argument?! But the whole point of a politics of compassion is surely a society where all are treated with decency and respect. I argue it is never more needed than where it is least deserved.

If figures like Gandhi and Martin Luther King, in the face of far worse opposition than the members of our impoverished mining communities and all the others she marginalised, can take the moral high ground and walk in forgiveness and respect for all, then surely those who claim to have a higher sense of moral conscience can do the decent thing in regards to the death of Mrs Thatcher and keep it shut! Her day was done a long time ago. To spit on her grave is no more effective than to refuse to shake hands with the winning team once the football match is over. What difference does it make to the outcome? Save your vitriol for the return match, please. As Billy Bragg said;

Raising a glass to the death of an infirm old lady changes none of this. The only real antidote to cynicism is activism. Don't celebrate - organise!

Jesus taught me to love my enemies. That at no point told me to condone what they had done to deserve my enmity but to love them anyway. It is, after all, love that transcends all politics and truly restores dignity to humanity. And Margaret Thatcher was only human. Rest in peace.

Easter Saturday

I bought a CD last year by the American duo "All Sons and Daughters" entitled "season one". I discovered it when I made use of the listening facility at the Church book shop where I volunteer. It was a slow day and I was intrigued by the rather unusual band name. To be honest I wasn't sure which was the bands name and which was the the name of the album! I was hooked instantly. The duos harmonies were exquisite, the music worshipful with a contemporary feel, their instruments  (Piano and guitar) blending like their harmonies as the melodies both swooped and soared. It had a fairly mournful and melancholic tone but the whole thing was bursting with searing rays of hope throughout. I'm not a music critic, or even musical so I cant be expected to describe it perfectly. All I can tell you is I was so moved by it that I had to buy it then and there. I couldn't afford to and hadn't planned to but I HAD to.

With the CD came a DVD where they performed a few of  their songs with a small discussion about the background of the songs preceding each one. The album seemed to have been written from one of those wilderness periods. This is the "season" they were referring to in the title. The beauty of the title "season one" is that a season two is implicit. In the talk that preceded their song "Buried in the Grave" they spoke about how the church traditionally majors on Good Friday and Easter Sunday but often neglects to make much of Easter Saturday.

But Easter Saturday is resonant with all of our christian experiences. It is a time of waiting. How much of our Journey with God is us waiting on a promise, sitting in the ashes of our shattered hopes. In my experience it is not uncommon. This is what the disciples must have felt like on Easter Saturday. Broken, disillusioned, disappointed, grieving.

An empty ache in disciples hearts,

Their world has fallen apart,

They've been woken with a start

From the sleeping where they dreamt of thrones,

(from my poem "The Emptiness")

 Jesus spoke of a grain of wheat falling to the ground and dying in order to give a harvest that outweighs its original value. We often forget that not only is there a dying but there is a waiting, a being buried. A germination period, if you will.

In life we have our moments of sacrifice and we have our moments of victorious resurrection but much of our life is spent in this growing/waiting period in between. We must not and cannot despise it. God has included it for a reason. We must not despise ourselves either when we do not feel triumphant. This is the time for hope and trust to do their work. Sometimes that means a filtering out of all other false hopes...a pairing down until all we have left is the raw and exposed bare bones of a hope in the promises of God.

But Sunday is coming. God will not be mocked. Ultimately there is no shame for those who have trusted in God and the Son. Imagine how the disciples must have felt when Jesus entered the room. Place yourself there. Hope is our bread and butter.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=plzxF29AuOQ

Justice and Mercy caught in salacious shock snogging scandal (psalm 85:10)

Yes its true! The original opposites attract couple have been caught in a public display of nauseating affection. The pair, who have long denied that they are a couple, were seen  in lip-lock by hundreds of local people at a public event on Good Friday.
For eons we have always held them to be uneasy bedfellows . Pundits, philosophers and leading speakers on ethics have all held them to be incompatible. So much so that they have been seen as two distinct choices.  Justice or Mercy. There have been rumors that they could not stand one another, as they almost consistently refused to be seen together.  If you wanted Justice you needed to make sure that Mercy did not catch wind of it and vice versa.
Its true they have always hung out in the same places, been involved with the same causes but the cheeky loved up pair never gave their affair away. Our best reporters have never been able to pin a thing on them...until NOW!

They were caught in the passionate clinch, so engrossed in each other, so entwined that they appeared unconcerned who saw them. The potential publicity stunt was staged in a the most public and inappropriate place that could have been picked. A solem official occasion where the leaders of our city were all gathered to witness the important execution of the criminal and blasphemous Jesus of Nazareth.  That's right.  While dutiful citizens mocked and jeered they seemed unperturbed as they only had eyes for each other.

Speaking after the gaff which has divided public opinion,  righteousness said that he had long been tired of playing the occasional bad cop to Mercy's good cop. "It was getting to me. Righteous requirement for entry into Gods presence was 100% when did I ever get to let some one off.  Sure I was loved when criminals were punished,  especially notorious ones. But what about parking fines, and temple taxes.  No-one loved me then...except that it turns out Mercy felt the same, for totally different reasons! "

Mercy,  with legs as long as Justice's famous "long arms of law", is a real beauty.  She spoke to us from the orphanage she was currently operating from. "Yes, they are in great shape aren't they? My pins are my souvenirs from  so many extra miles! "

Confirming the new romance, we can exclusively reveal,  she said "Justice gets such a hard reputation but of course I get where he's coming from. The thing we have in common is our integrity. I can never turn my back on anyone.  Its such a bind!  Oh and everyone likes me when I wave a fine  or forgive a grudge but I would let a serial killer off without a thought.
We bonded over our integrity which is ironic really because its the one thing that keeps us apart.  Until we saw the son of God die, that is! We both looked up from the cross and our eyes met. Though we were old rivals (and had scretly long admird each other) it was like we'd seen each other for he first time. He was quite beautiful, simply beautiful."

 

Love and faithfulness meet together;
righteousness and peace kiss each other.

Psalm 85:10

 

 

Our clearly loopy pair apparently understood that in the death of this criminal, Gods righteous law was fulfilled by his perfect sacrifice, the gaga couple claimed. Sure. Also they claim that it is now possible for God to show complete mercy to sinners who come to him because the demands of justice have been met. This, they claim, allows the justified recipients of Mercy to live with Grace, their cousin! This is apparently what got them all hot under the collar.  They are clearly some kind of weird fetishists.....but then love makes you do crazy things!

You can expect to see this couple a whole lot more since they met at the cross.  If you know where to look the celebrity lovers are now inseparable. You heard it here first In the Judean Times.

 

 

On the mount of crucifixion,
Fountains opened deep and wide;
Through the floodgates of God’s mercy
Flowed a vast and gracious tide.
Grace and love, like mighty rivers,
Poured incessant from above,
And Heav’n’s peace and perfect justice
Kissed a guilty world in love.