Matthew 14 – And the time is now past

Wikipedia has a good page on “Midlife Crisis”.  It talks about the way sufferers tend to “reassess their achievements in terms of their dreams”, and the way they tend to feel “a deep sense of remorse for goals not accomplished” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mid-life_crisis).

Yes, Wikipedia certainly has a good page on “Midlife Crisis”, but I think I’ve found a better one…

14:15 …This is a desert place, and the time is now past…

Whatever your attitude toward midlife crises, or the theories of modern psychology in general, whether you think it’s all just a load of meaningless psychobabble, or whether you’re too busy trying to find a way out of your own personal “desert place” to worry about what labels some shrink might want to hang on you… whatever your attitude toward midlife crises, I think everyone, whether they’re at the beginning, middle or end of life, knows that feeling of “powerlessness” described in Wikipedia, that feeling of coming to a place where there’s no road back, and no obvious way forward, where so many opportunities have passed you by, and though the dreams remain, you have no power to make them a reality, and no realistic hope that they can ever be achieved.

And in just such a “desert place”, at just such a lateness of hour, the disciples came to Jesus and said…

14:15 …the time is now past: send the multitude away, that they may go into the villages, and buy themselves victuals.

Jesus’ characteristically impractical, completely unworkable, and totally unrealistic response was simply…

14:16 They need not depart: give ye them to eat.

The disciples, exasperated by the toe-curling naivety of the man, and perhaps wanting to rub his nose in the absurdity of what he appeared to be suggesting, plucked out a lad from the crowd (verse 17)…

“Feed this lot?!  You must be joking!  With what – this kid’s packed lunch?!”

Hadn’t there been opportunity enough, in the freshness of morning and the brightness of midday, for the people to “take thought for what they would eat and what they would drink”? (Matthew 6:25).  But now the “time was past”, evening was upon them, and here they all were – too late to go back, no way to go forward; plenty of big ideas, but no power to make any of them a reality.

And as the disciples stood there, waving the “loaves and fishes” in his face, Jesus just smiled and said…

14:18 …Bring them hither to me.

What the disciples did, might well have been done flippantly, but it seems that for once, they actually managed to do the right thing, the only thing, under the circumstances, they could do – they brought to Jesus what they had.

Even God can do nothing with water under the bridge.  The water that flowed by yesterday is irretrievable, even to him.  And the right thing to do – the only thing to do – is to take your two cupped hands, and plunge them deep into today’s stream – whether it be a torrent or a trickle – then scoop up a good brimming handful of what you have, and bring it to Jesus.

All the disciples had were five loaves and two fishes, but in the hands of Jesus, it became a feast for five thousand.

In Jesus’ hands, what little we have, is always more than enough.

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I wake in the traffic on Curzon Street

Washed up alive on the commuter tide

This town is covered in one-way signs

I wonder why I’ve never wondered why?

(From “Planning Our Escape From Middleton” by I. Same)

Do you remember the dreams of youth?

Do you remember what you said about the “rush-hour clones” – the identical commuters, with their identical suits, their identical jobs, their identical mortgages, and their identical 2.4 children?

Do you remember how you always said that wasn’t the life for you?

“There’s a special plan and purpose for everyone,” you said, “a ‘road less travelled’ for everyone to take.”

“All you need is the guts and imagination to go out and find it!”

Do you remember the glorious dreams of youth?

Perhaps Peter was young enough to remember those dreams, as he stepped over the side of the boat, and suddenly, ridiculously! gloriously! found himself walking on the water to Jesus.

We don’t know how far Peter got before reality started to set in, but somewhere between the end of verse 29 and the beginning of verse 30, it seems the precariousness of his situation came home to roost with a vengeance, and there he was – too late to go back, no way to go forward; plenty of big ideas, but no power to make them a reality.

14:30 …when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid: and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.

What Peter did, might well have been done out of panic and desperation, but it seems that for once,  he actually managed to do the right thing, the only thing, under the circumstances, he could do – he brought to Jesus what he had.

What he had was a classic case of powerlessness in the face of his dreams.  And though that was all he had to offer, in the hands of Jesus, apparently that was more than enough…

14:31 And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him…

Even God can do nothing about the road we’ve travelled thus far – whether we turned onto it by accident or by design, whether we chose our path or it chose us – water under the bridge is irretrievable even to him.  And the right thing to do – the only thing to do – is to reach out your hand, get a good firm hold on the hand of Jesus, and walk with him down today’s road – whether it be humdrum or “boisterous” – walk with him, and let his presence transform every road into a “road less travelled”, a road of endless possibilities, just waiting to be discovered at the end of every “Curzon Street”.

Matthew 13 – Buried treasure

No, you’ve not picked up a copy of everybody’s favourite Robert Louis Stevenson yarn, by mistake.

Believe it or not, Matthew 13 really does appear to be about the unlikely subject of (yo ho ho, shiver me timbers and X marks the spot!) buried treasure.

This comes out most clearly in verse 44…

13:44 Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field…

But the idea of hidden treasure, of something small and easily overlooked, but bursting with hidden potential, is alluded to again and again throughout the chapter.

Even the form of teaching employed by Jesus in Matthew 13 – which is jam-packed with parables from start to finish – is in itself a kind of “treasure hunt” for truth.  For what might appear to be simple, folksy stories on the surface, again and again show themselves to be bursting with the deepest moral and spiritual truths, to anyone with “ears to hear” (verse 9).

Not that parables were everyone’s cup of tea, it seems.  In fact, some of the disciples apparently felt it necessary to interrupt Jesus’ teaching, right in the middle of his exposition of the Parable of the Sower, right in front of the “great multitudes” hanging on his every word, in order to have a quiet word in his ear about the whole, increasingly frustrating, parable “situation” (verse 10)…

“Why do you always have to teach the crowds in parables?” they duly inquired.  “Why don’t you just stop beating about the bush, and speak to them in plain Aramaic for once?!”

But how do you express the inexpressible, or describe the indescribable, or unearth that long-sought-after heavenly treasure that even “prophets and righteous men” (verse 17) have never fully grasped?

Well, in Matthew 13, Jesus began with a “sower” and his seed.

And the seed fell to the ground, small and easily overlooked, but bursting with hidden potential.  And the seed was the “word of the kingdom” – the seed was Christ the “Word”, Christ the “express image” of God – hidden in the often shallow, and often thorny, ground of my life (verses 3-9 and 18-23).

And a seed, like all living things, tends to have a habit of growing – buried in the dark, hidden from every eye – a seed will grow.  Winter seasons will come, and the seed will lie dormant, till it seems barely a spark of life remains.  But as the seasons turn, the hope of new life will once again spring eternal; and only as I rise on that first glorious morning of summer, will it truly be revealed what kind of tree I’ve been cultivating in the “secret places” of my heart.

Like the “mustard seed” of verse 31 – the “least of all seeds”, but “when it is grown”, the “greatest” of trees with birds singing in its branches.

Like the yeast (leaven) of verse 33 – just a couple of handfuls mixed into a batch of dough, but enough to raise a dozen loaves and more.

Like the “children of the kingdom” of verse 38, the “righteous” of verse 43, who “shine forth as the sun” in the kingdom of heaven – because of their “good works”? – because of the “works of righteousness which [they] have done”?  (Titus 2:7, 3:5).  No, because of the “good seed” of verse 37, sown by the “Son of man”, which they have nurtured, unseen, in their hearts.

Which brings us back in a round about way to our “treasure hid in a field”.

Jesus tells us about a man who, on discovering the field’s true value, went off and sold all that he had in order to buy it.

Unlike the man, I can never see with my own eyes, or touch with my own hands, the “treasure” of Christ, which I’ve come to believe is “hidden” within me.  Am I, nevertheless, prepared to bank all on that “treasure”, that “one pearl of great price” (verse 46), and give all that I have in order to possess it?

Bizarrely, where treasure is concerned, perhaps I have more in common with a certain one-legged rascal named Silver, than the man who bought the field.  For, despite all his eyes had never seen, and all his hands had never touched, wasn’t our reckless pirate friend prepared to venture all on a single X, scrawled on a makeshift map?  Whilst the man who bought the field did so with the glitter of gold still fresh in his eyes, and the feel of his new-found wealth still fresh on his fingers.

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In Isaiah 36, the Assyrian “envoy” came to Jerusalem with a “great army” and a message for King Hezekiah (verses 4, 7 and 14)…

“What confidence is this in which you trust?  Don’t tell me you still trust in that God of yours?  He will not be able to deliver you!”

And though I may not be besieged by great armies, there are times when the Assyrian envoy’s words ring just as loudly in my ears, when it feels like the “treasure” on which I’ve banked all, amounts to little more than childish stories, parables, and fairy-tales for dreamers and romantics, who ought to be old enough to know better.

And there I stand with my world-weary scepticism on the one hand, and the stories and parables of Matthew 13 painted like a big red X right across the other – stories that don’t try to argue or persuade, but simply mark out the spot, point out the way, and constantly challenge me to lay aside every doubt and venture all in order to obtain all – “all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ” (Ephesians 1:3).

So hoist up the mainsail, me hearties!  Take one last look at them thar harbour lights, them thar lights of hearth and home.  Then take a good, long look at this here map, and this here X.  ‘Cause it’s for Treasure Island we be bound this day, boys – for Treasure Island, I say!  And neither wind nor wave, tide nor tempest, shall stand in our way!

Matthew 12 – No sign

In Matthew 12, certain Scribes and Pharisees came to Jesus asking him to show them a “sign” (verse 38).

Perhaps they wanted to see one of his famous trademark miracles with their own eyes – a lame man walking, a blind man seeing, or if they really got lucky, and the rumours of Jairus’ daughter were anything to go by, perhaps even a bona fide raising-from-the-dead.

Perhaps they had something a little more personal in mind, and they were expecting some kind of supernatural endorsement of their own position of religious authority, right in front of the crowds of “ordinary” people who, let’s face it, need to be reminded who’s boss every now and again.

Perhaps they had much bigger fish to fry, and were looking for Jesus to “restore again the kingdom to Israel” (Acts 1:6), put the “heathen” in their place, and “command fire to come down from heaven, and consume [the lot of] them [!]” (Luke 9:54).

Jesus’ answer to all such demands for a “sign” was…

12:39 …An evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given to it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas:

It seems the only sign he had to offer them – the only sign he could offer an expectant world – was not liberation from oppression and persecution, an end to corruption and hypocrisy in high places, the eradication of sickness, death and disease…

It seems the only sign he had to offer was the sign of Jonah (Jonas), the sign of his own exposure to the most brutal oppression and persecution, the sign of his own run-in with corruption and hypocrisy in high places, the sign of his own suffering and death.

12:40 For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale's belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.

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In John 6, the crowds whom Jesus had miraculously fed out of a “lad’s” meagre lunchbox, tracked him down again the next day and asked him (verse 30), “What sign shewest thou then, that we may see, and believe thee?”

Jesus in effect replied (verse 26), “You don’t want a sign, you want a meal ticket!”

You have to smile at the totally shameless persistence of them: “We like you Jesus.  You’ve got real potential.  Some of us are ready to take you right now and make you king by force if need be (verse 15).  But God gave our ancestors manna to eat in the desert (verse 31), and if you’re really who you claim to be, you need to start putting your money where our mouths are!”

You also have to smile at the endlessly longsuffering love of Jesus: “If you people want a meal ticket, I’ll give you a meal ticket!  For I am indeed your meal ticket.  I am the true bread of life.  Come to me and eat this bread – my body broken for you – and you will never hunger again (verses 35 and 51), and I will be in you (verses 56-58), and by me you will live forever!”

And John tells us that “from that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him” (verse 66).

Because it seems the only sign he had to offer them was the sign of Jonah, the sign of his broken body, the sign of his death.

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What sign do I come to Jesus, “seeking after”?

Do I want some kind of supernatural endorsement of the work I’ve taken on for him?  Deep down, do I secretly fear that there’s more of ambition than devotion in it?  Deep down, do I fear the only person I’ve ever really served is… myself?

Do I hanker after the “signs” of his presence, the peace he gives, the assurance, the confidence?

Do I want to see signs of his transforming power in me, making me a better, nicer person, more patient, more kind, more caring, more considerate?

Do I find myself standing at the crossroads, looking out on an uncertain and somewhat daunting future, without a road-sign in sight, or a satnav even remotely capable of pointing out the way?

Do I come to Jesus “seeking after a sign”, and find that the only sign he has to offer me is the sign of Jonah, the sign of his death?

If I’ve been “seeking after a sign” and find that “no sign is given me”, perhaps it’s just that I’ve been looking for all the wrong signs in all the wrong places.  Perhaps the only sign I really need has already been given me, was given me two thousand years ago, on a hill outside Jerusalem.  Perhaps, as I take the true bread of life, as he becomes one with me, as I become identified with his death, and yet by him live forever, perhaps then my whole life becomes a “sign” – a sign to others, but mostly a sign to myself – a sign of what life could be, of what life should be, of how God can take the most meagre of “lunchboxes”, and make it a feast to last for all eternity.

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Psalm 119 seems to say in half a verse more than I could ever hope to articulate with all my “much speaking”…

119:17 …that I may live, and keep thy word.

God’s sign to us, is a sign in us.

His sign is that I simply live my life, with all its ups and downs, its triumph and disaster, and live it keeping alongside him, keeping in step with him, keeping true to his life in me.

To live, and keep living out the life of Christ, which is in me.

To live, keeping in perfect time with his life in me, while he “improvises” something uniquely beautiful around the simple, steady “theme” of my life.

Perhaps, if I were to truly see a sign like that in my life, then I’d be forced to agree that one sign can indeed be the only sign anyone ever really needs.

Matthew 11 – When the livin’ is easy

11:30 …my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

What I wouldn’t give to be a Russian oil billionaire.

To have so much money, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.  To have more money than I could ever spend in a dozen lifetimes.

If I were a Russian oil billionaire, I’d get myself a Premiership football club, a couple of apartments in the Trump Tower, a tropical island paradise or two…  Then I’d sit back, put my feet up, and settle down to live the life I’ve always dreamed of.

To live a life of luxury.

To live a life of ease.

So why am I not surprised to find that my idea of what constitutes an “easy” life, doesn’t quite tally with God’s take on the subject?  To the “rich man” of Luke 12 who said to himself, “Thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry”, God could only say, “Thou fool”.

And in fact, now that I think of it, the times in my life when the “livin’s” been “easiest”, have had little to do with luxury, or money, or even “taking my ease”.

Like the time when the kids were kids, and we barrelled through the park, scattering squirrels like tenpins, to get our first look at the sea.  Then at a whim, though the sky was darkening and rain was in air, we all ran to catch the open-top bus, and rode like kings, the top deck all to ourselves.  And later that evening, when the kids were finally tucked-up in bed, I sat for a while at the top of the stairs, reading Psalm 103 and listening to the sounds of their untroubled sleep.

103:2 Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.

What I wouldn’t give to be riding on that drizzly, blustery top deck right now.

But those were rare and special moments, and although like Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration, it might sometimes be hard to drag me away, and I might sometimes embarrass myself by blurting out, “It is good for us to be here!” and I might even suggest getting hold of some tents and try to set up camp right there on the mountaintop…  Though I do all that and more, still there always comes a time when Jesus has to lead us back down the mountain, back down to the valley below, where day-to-day life goes on, where people are often “sore vexed” and sometimes “fall into the fire”, and no amount of prayer seems able to prevent it (Matthew 17).

But it’s not on the mountaintop, but right there in the midst of the valley, with all its demands pressing in around him, that I hear Jesus crying…

11:28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

11:29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

11:30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

And I find myself struggling to recognise the Jesus he’s painting a picture of here.  Is this Jesus with the “light and easy yoke”, the same one who had nowhere to lay his head (Matthew 8:20), who hadn’t a penny to pay the temple tax (Matthew 17:24-27), nor one friend to stick by him when it came to the crunch (Matthew 26:56)?

If this really is the Jesus who finds living so “easy”, so uncomplicated, so simple and effortless, then all my self-help book theories about “life, love and how to be happy” are simply blown out of the water.

Here I am, glibly reeling off all the cheap-and-cheerful slogans, telling myself that “happiness is just about doing what you love, with the people that you love”… and then I find Jesus, totally un-loved, “despised and rejected”, practically homeless and penniless, not primarily concerned about happiness, about love, or even about life itself, but making it his one concern, his one raison d’être, to do the will of “the one who sent him” – even if that “will” led ultimately to the cross.

If this is the Jesus who thinks life is so “easy”, a walk in the park, then I think we’ve all got some serious re-thinking to do.

So what was Jesus’ secret?  How could he be so “untroubled”, when he was constantly surrounded by troubles?  How could be so “carefree”, when he carried a world of cares on his shoulders?

Well, perhaps part of the answer is in that aforementioned “raison d’être” of Jesus, his single-minded determination to do God’s will, and in a sense, to be God’s will.  Because only in his “oneness” with the Father, was it possible for Jesus to perfectly carry out the Father’s will.  And equally, the Father’s only “will” concerning his Son was that they always be “one”, “I in him, and he in me” (to paraphrase John 10:38).  So, in seeking to do God’s will, Jesus had only to concentrate all his energies on maintaining that constant “oneness” with the Father, and through that “oneness” to, in a sense, become the will of God, by simply living out his daily life.

And suddenly the whole of life boils down to this one profoundly simple formula, this one “needful thing” – to live in constant touch with God; to remain in constant contact with him; to maintain a vital, living “connection” to him; to live in constant “union” with God.

Perhaps this is what Jesus had in mind when he talked about “abiding” in the vine (John 15:4).  Perhaps this is what he meant when he talked about being “yoked”, the way two oxen might be yoked, as one, together (Matthew 11:29).

But be that as it may, surely the only explanation for Jesus’ claims to a “light and easy” life, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary, is that he’d found a way to turn the whole of life – every event, every incident, every act, every deed – into just another means of realising his “oneness” with the Father – a means of expressing the boundless joy and delight of that “oneness”, the overflowing love, the unshakable strength of that “oneness” – whether eating, sleeping, walking, talking, or washing the disciples’ feet, every moment was just as “rare and special” as that all-too-brief interlude on the mountaintop, because every moment was suffused with the same divine presence, and anchored by the same unbreakable bond.

But perhaps the most startling thing about the closing verses of Matthew 11 is not that Jesus seemed to think “livin’” was “easy”, but the fact that he turns to us – to you, to me – and says, “Come and take my yoke upon you, and see for yourself how easy life can be!”

Jesus invites us all to be “yoked” together with him – through him, to be anchored by that same unbreakable bond with the Father; the bond that turns every moment – every wearisome task, every onerous duty – into an experience as “rare and special”, as ripe with possibilities, as any interlude on the mountaintop, or any fondly-remembered ride on a certain open-top bus.