There was a time, not so long ago, when my world was very dark. Have you ever stood outside, on a moonless night, with the thick, velvety air pressed all around you and the inky black sky above, and realised that you could see precisely nothing? That’s the kind of dark I mean.

Of course, I had all the feels as well; sadness, disorientation, confusion, an underlying sense of panic, but, primarily, the overwhelming sense was one of complete obscurity. I couldn’t see through the impenetrable blackness all around me, I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.

I had never been in a place like that before. It wasn’t until a long time afterward that I was able to be thankful for such a darkness, but right in the middle, I longed for light, for the path to be made clear, for God to give me a sign.

GIDEON’S FLEECE

A story kept coming to me during this time—one about a man named Gideon from the Old Testament, whom God raised up as a mighty hero and rescuer of Israel (Judges 6-8). The Israelites had been harried for seven long years under the hand of the Midianites (who were related to Israel through their common ancestor, Abraham).

The angel of the Lord appeared to Gideon one day while he was secretly threshing wheat, so as to hide the grain from the marauding Midianites. 

The angel told Gideon, “Go with the strength you have, and rescue Israel from the Midianites. I am sending you.” 

Gideon wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t so much that he doubted God, but rather he doubted God would use him. He wanted proof.

He asked God for a sign. He would put a woollen fleece out overnight on the threshing floor and if the fleece was wet with dew in the morning and the ground around it was dry, he would know for sure that God was with him and would help him rescue Israel.

The following morning, Gideon awoke to find a wet fleece on a dry floor. In fact, it was so wet that he was able to wring it out into a bowl, filling it to the brim. Convincing, yes?

Not quite enough for Gideon. Maybe it wasn’t God’s doing, just some strange quirk of overnight temperatures and precipitation and such.

He asked for a second sign, imploring God not to lose patience with him. He would put the fleece out again, but this time he asked that the fleece be dry in the morning while the ground all around would be wet.

Amazingly, that’s exactly what happened. And that’s where the story also ends, at least in relation to the signs. 

Gideon does go on to march against the Midianites, winning a decisive battle and freeing the Israelites from their control. The book of Judges, which chronicles these events, tells us that the Midianites never recovered from that day onward. The people of Israel were so impressed with Gideon’s bravery and leadership, that they tried to make him king, but he refused, 

We’re told nothing, however, about Gideon’s thoughts or feelings after receiving the second sign, only that he went confidently into battle soon after, clearly believing God to be with him.

I had always taken this story to mean: ‘ask God for a sign and the way will be made clear.’ And so, as I entered my dark night of the soul (although I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time), I repeatedly asked God for a sign. Not so specifically as, ‘make this or that happen’, but more like ‘show me which way to go.’ Metaphorically speaking, I was laying out my fleece each night, looking for a change; either a wet fleece and dry ground, or a dry fleece and wet ground. I didn’t much mind which one it was, I just wanted some indication of God’s presence, showing me which direction to take.

Like Gideon, I wanted to be brave but I didn’t want to make a decision without knowing for sure that God was with me in it. 

Bafflingly, it felt like God remained silent. I couldn’t understand it, I felt like I desperately needed a sign, I was actively looking for a sign – and yet my world remained dark. 

THE SIGN WAS  THE SIGN

I kept wondering about the story of Gideon and the message I thought the story communicated – ask God to show you, and then go that way – yet I couldn’t understand why God wasn’t coming through for me.

And then, suddenly, it hit me. The sign was the sign.

The story of Gideon wasn’t so much about direction but about trust. God already knew the way and could see the future mapped out, even if Gideon couldn’t. And Gideon didn’t need to be able to see that future to trust that God was already in it and that He had already gone before him. He just had to believe.

God had proven to Gideon He was able to do both things in relation to the fleece, and that, in fact, nothing was impossible with God. 

This was the God who had led the Israelites out of Egypt and through the Red Sea on dry ground. This was the God who had spoken to Moses from the depths of a burning bush which had not been consumed. This was the God who had called faithful Abraham out of the wealthy and prosperous civilisation of Ur to come to a place that only God knew, to a place that would become his home.

The sign was the sign – God can do anything. He already had my future mapped out, I just had to trust Him with it and step out. 

I needed to make a decision. 

STEPPING OUT IN FAITH

I’d like to be able to say that I then stepped out boldly and unafraid into a darkness that seemed all-encompassing. In reality, however, the fact that I couldn’t see where I was about to place my first step was terrifying.

Although deeply unhappy with where I was, I was also really scared to leave the place of no-decision. At least it was safe. At least it was known. At least I didn’t have to wrestle with all the doubts and fears that come when trying to make a decision – will it be the right one, will my family be ok, what if this changes everything…?

I was really scared to say ‘yes’ to God, without a single clue as to where He would take me. But I finally understood that the lesson of the story of Gideon wasn’t about waiting for the perfect sign before stepping out, but rather stepping out in faith, believing God had gone before me—and then watching God go to work.

They say that courage isn’t the absence of fear, but feeling the fear and doing it anyway (although the definition of stupidity is much the same which is why life can get complicated at times).

I noticed, almost immediately the moment I stepped out, a small glimmer of light. Things shifted in my world, doors began opening, new relationships began to flourish, and the darkness began to edge away. Like someone who has been deep underground, I felt my eyes adjusting to the light, my skin soaking in the warmth of the sun. 

“Sometimes when we’re in a really dark place, it can feel like we’ve been buried, but we’ve actually been planted.” – Christine Caine

I discovered that what had felt like a sentence of death was really a season of dormancy. I was like a seed, waiting for the right kind of conditions to grow. And, strangely enough, the truth is that most seeds germinate best in dark conditions. 

The darkness wasn’t an unhappy accident of fate, but a determined season of God. Things needed to die in the darkness in order to be reborn again in the light. 

THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL

Even now, still thinking about that time, I become still and quiet, deep within my soul. It’s a difficult period to contemplate, a time of profound pain for me. 

The dark night of the soul is, as Inayat Khan writes, a total annihilation of all that you had believed in and thought that you were. Yet as Joseph Campbell states, “the dark night of the soul comes just before revelation. When everything is lost, and all seems darkness, then comes the new life and all that is needed.“

I’ve recently been reading ‘Confronting Christianity’ by Rebecca McLaughlin, who tackles the topic of suffering in Chapter 11 of her book. This chapter perhaps wouldn’t have resonated with me back then as it does now; I would venture to say that I had, generally speaking, suffered very little in my life up until that point. 

Rebecca offers a biblical framework around our concept and experience of suffering, sharing the story of two sisters, Mary and Martha, whose brother Lazarus had died (John 11:1-26). When Jesus finally arrives at their house, Lazarus has been dead for four days and both sisters are grief-stricken. We wonder that Jesus, who could have come sooner, didn’t, and instead chose to stay away. Yet even when Jesus does come, he does not fix Martha’s problem but instead invites her into a deeper, more profound realisation…

“Jesus looks her [Martha] in the eye and says, “I am the resurrection and the life.” As you stand here in your desperate grief, your greatest need is not to have your brother back again. It’s to have me.

This statement is yet more shocking than Jesus’ failure to come in the first place. Far from being the “good moral teacher who never claimed to be God” of modern mythology, Jesus here claims not that he is offering good guidelines for life, but that he himself is life: life in the face of suffering, life in the face of death.

Jesus’ power over death is absolute. I believe it is the only hope we have in the face of our inevitable end. But what fascinates me about this story is how little focus there is on Lazarus himself. Rather, the narrative draws our gaze to profound questions…In this strange stretching of the story, we get a glimpse of the whole biblical framework for suffering. The space between Lazarus’ death and Jesus’ calling of him out of the tomb is the space in which Martha sees Jesus for who he really is: her very life.” |  Rebecca McLaughlin, Confronting Christianity, pages 199-202

OUT THE OTHER SIDE

The dark night of the soul is the place where we confront the reality of death, natural or spiritual, perhaps for the first time. It’s the collapse of everything we thought we knew and understood, a painful shedding of possibly our identity, relationships, career, habits, or belief systems that had allowed us to construct some meaning to our lives.

It is often a time of existential crisis as we wrestle with our identity, our sense of self, and the purpose and meaning of life.

Yet it’s also the place where we confront Life, the true Life of the world, maybe, too, truly for the first time. “Our suffering is an entry point to relationship, a relationship formed through suffering as much as through joy. If, as Jesus claims, the goal of our existence is relationship with him, finding him in our suffering is the point.” (Rebecca McLaughlin)

As C S Lewis, British writer, literary scholar, and Anglician lay theologian, who experienced overwhelming grief at the loss of his wife, commented,  “Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pain. It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” 

I wasn’t necessarily a better Christian walking out the other side of that dark tunnel. I wasn’t necessarily wiser, braver, or more certain of my next steps. The pain I experienced didn’t suddenly evaporate like mist in the bright light of day, and I wasn’t instantly fixed.

And yet, somehow, I had changed. When I emerged, finally, I did so with a deeper recognition of where I needed to be putting my trust, a better understanding of what is truly of value, and a resolution to allow the painful experience to shape me into a better person moving forward.

And I can still recall the moment in the middle of that dark night of the soul when I suddenly understood the call of God to mean that I must step forward into the darkness. And that, as I took that first step, light began to spill in through the darkness, illuminating my path, and I discovered that the One I was following had been there all along. 

“You can’t read the New Testament without seeing the call to holiness in the Christian life. But that holiness is a work of God’s grace as the Holy Spirit empowers the believer to live a life pleasing to God. New Testament holiness is a joyous privilege, not a heavy burden and duty.

 

New Testament holiness enhances life, it never diminishes it. This is what Jesus modelled so well and it’s why genuine seekers of God were drawn to him. Simply put, he was attractive.

 

He didn’t just do holiness, he was holy. Yet no one had more life and everywhere he went, dead things came to life.

 

New Testament holiness is a mark of real life, the one that Jesus rose again to give us. It’s Jesus living in and through us.” | Lance Ralston

“In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.” | John 1:4, NIV

While it’s true that repentance – a change of mind –  is absolutely a factor in deciding to follow Jesus, repentance is not just a sudden and miraculous renovation of our previously bad life. Jesus didn’t come to make bad people good but to make dead people alive.

Christianity isn’t about behaviour modification (although getting to truly know Jesus will inevitably result in our behaviours changing) but about life being breathed into dead things.

People who were spiritually dead, dead in the most significant way there is to be dead, are reanimated and resurrected by the same power that raised Jesus from the dead; given a new identity, a new purpose, and a new hope.

The holiness that develops and grows in someone who has decided to follow Jesus is a work of the Holy Spirit, as their hearts become convicted by the things that need to change in their life. It’s not as a result of ‘modifying and conforming to acceptable Christian behaviours’ (outward conformity) but because of an inner conviction of the heart, as the flourishing life of God takes root and begins to grow in them.

In the same way that light causes natural things to grow, the light of Jesus will cause growth and flourishing in our lives. This holiness is a joy, not a burden, a mark of the real life that we were always intended to live.

Repentance isn’t a one-time act, then, but an ongoing process, a conscious decision to turn from darkness and begin walking in light. But this doesn’t happen instantly and it doesn’t happen without opposition and difficulty.

Paul the Apostle likens it to a war constantly being waged within us:

“I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart. But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord.” | Romans 7:21-25, NLT

Christianity is primarily a choice to enter into a relationship with God, not simply a ritual or a religious code of ethics. It’s living in communion with the Father and His Son and allowing ourselves to be led by the Holy Spirit in each decision we make in our lives. It’s living in freedom from the power that sin and death formerly had over us, even though that power continues to clamor for our attention and tries to convince us that the old way was better.

Christianity is about the reality that we are saved (justification), we are being saved (sanctification), and we will be saved (glorification). It’s a process, not a one-time event, and it’s a lot messier in our own life – and in other’s lives – than we are likely to be comfortable with.

But we are not without help, and we know that our help comes from One who has already won the battle. If we continue to put our trust and confidence in Jesus, there is nothing that will come against us that he hasn’t already defeated and over which we will not prevail.

It’s a lifetime journey, ‘a long obedience in the same direction’ (Eugene Peterson), which sometimes we’ll get right and many times we’ll get wrong.

We are people who, as Paul the Apostle comments, were once dead in our sins but are now being made alive in Christ.

What Does This Mean Practically?

The great commission given to all believers – go into the world and make disciples – was an imperative to make followers of Jesus; to collaborate in the great mission of God of bringing dead people back to life.

In the original language of the New Testament, the word disciple is translated from a Greek word, mathētēs (μαθητὴς), from manthano, meaning “to learn”. Mathētēs therefore means (unsurprisingly) a learner, a pupil or a scholar. More accurately though, it means to be a learner in the style of an apprentice, that is, someone who not only accepts the views of their teacher but is also practicing the same to eventually become like their teacher (Matthew 10:24, Luke 6:40), an accurate replica of the original.

Catch a couple of keywords there?

Learning. Practicing. Apprenticing. An accurate replica.

The Christian life takes time, and learning, and failure, and practice, and repetition. It’s a process that is moving us from dead to fully alive, from looking and being nothing like Jesus to being an accurate and true replica of the original. And it’s all done in partnership with the Holy Spirit, Who has taken up residence in our life, Who leads us and convicts us in all truth, and Who has been given to us as a seal and a promise of God’s intention to complete the good thing He has begun in us.

What this means practically is that we need to have courage, be kind, and get more specific.

Have Courage

Sometimes it can feel like choosing the Christian life is signing up for one seriously long slog through endless trenches of mud. We tell ourselves, it’s going to take back-breaking work, deprivation, difficulty, and desperation. Nevertheless, we steel our nerves, clench our knuckles, and resolve to get on with the work ahead.

If we approach the Christian life as a sole endeavour, viewing its success as entirely down to our own merits and strengths, we will inevitably fail. Remember what Paul had said: “there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. When I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong.” Left to ourselves, we’ll get it hopelessly wrong, every. single. time.

But while the Christian life certainly won’t insulate believers from hard times or difficult situations, the most important factor before taking that first step is to know and understand that we are not doing it alone. It’s not down to our own willpower, strength, or capacity. And I’m not talking about being part of a local church, although that’s a vitally important aspect of Christian life. I’m talking about being in a partnership with the Holy Spirit, allowing the Holy Spirit into our lives to do the work He is meant to do.

The Spirit dwells inside every true Christian and the evidence of the result of His work is “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control” (Galatians 5:22). The same power that raised Jesus from the dead is constantly at work in us, convicting us, guiding us, comforting us, leading us, renewing us, and changing us so that we are becoming more and more like the One we’ve chosen to follow.

But it’s a partnership, not a dictatorship. We need to allow Him to do this work.

Sometimes the biggest step in our Christian journey is to decide not to try to control more, but actively choosing to relinquish control, to surrender our will to God and allow Him to change us. He’s more than willing, He wants us to succeed, and He’s provided everything we need to be more than conquerors.

Have courage. The battle is the Lord’s – all you need to do is wear the armour He’s given you.

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” | Ephesians 6:10-18

Be Kind

We’re all at different points in our spiritual journey. Some are just beginning; with a lifetime of regret they’ve chosen to lay at Jesus’ feet. They have all the enthusiasm of a newborn calf, trying to run on wobbly, newly unfurled legs, yet none of the finesse and experience of seasoned Christian life. They’re still holding tightly to things from their old life, craving the comfort and familiarity of the things they’re used to, even though they know in their heart these things are burdens that need to be set down. For sure, they’re going to mess up. We know this because everyone does, no matter how well-intentioned a person starts out.

Some may hit the ground running – no newborn stumbles for them, but, like in the parable of the sower and the seed, difficulty strikes, hardships appear and their faith suddenly begins to waver. The heat of desert seasons becomes all too much and they’re in danger of throwing it all in.

Others start out more steadily, less forest-fire blaze and more home-fire burning. They grow in faith but, as time passes, they also grow attached to spiritual performance. They begin to major in minors and become drawn into extremes in a misguided zeal for religious purity. They begin to employ the use of ‘formulas’ and ‘doctrines’, pressing good people of faith into conformity with systems, and setting up rigid religious and social guidelines for themselves and other believers. Their faith has metastasized, becoming toxic and destructive, a kind of spirituality that slowly imprisons the mind and poisons the soul.

All these people (ourselves included somewhere in the mix) are people that Jesus died for. Our first action, always, when trying to ‘build each other up in our most holy faith’ is to remember who these people are.

There are few truly evil people in our churches (although, there are some and we need to be aware of that reality) and a great deal more only-human people, who struggle with what it is to be human, with all our emotions, fears, doubts, mistakes, and joy.

While, as Paul the Apostle says, this doesn’t mean we should continue in sin that grace may abound – on the contrary, we continually encourage and preach the necessity of turning from the old life and pressing forward in the new – our encouragement, teaching, counsel, and reproof to one another needs to be wrapped by kindness, the same kind of loving kindness that God has shown to us, and which led to our repentance.

“And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.“But you, dear friends, must build each other up in your most holy faith, pray in the power of the Holy Spirit, and await the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will bring you eternal life. In this way, you will keep yourselves safe in God’s love. And you must show mercy to those whose faith is wavering. Rescue others by snatching them from the flames of judgment. Show mercy to still others, but do so with great caution, hating the sins that contaminate their lives.” | Jude 1:20-22, NLT

Get More Specific

Jesus wasn’t just a great teacher, an inspirational leader, or a good person.

He was the One and Only Son of God. The Word, who took on humanity and dwelt among us.

He came into the world to save the world from the consequences of sin. He came to overthrow death. He came to vanquish the enemy of all things true, and just, and right. In his own words, he came so that we might have life and have it in abundance.

Knowing this, we need to get more specific about what it is that God is doing in and through us, right now in our little corner of the world. He’s in the resurrection business, busy making all things new and He’s invited us to participate in that mission, to bring that light and life to others.

The kind of Christianity we live and demonstrate isn’t about adhering to strict religious ethics or morals, convincing others about the rightness of our doctrines, advancing a particular denominational brand or flavour, or showing a pseudo kind of holiness we wear like a badge. It’s about living the real life that Jesus came to give us, a resurrection life that brings healing, transformation, flourishing, and genuine holiness.

The question, then, isn’t what should we be doing? (or not doing) but what is life-giving? Is what I’m choosing, promoting, or advancing flowing from that flourishing, resurrection life that Jesus came to give us? Does what I do and say enhance life, bring freedom, initiate transformation, and cause holiness to develop in myself and others?

Are we becoming more and more like Jesus, an accurate and true replica of the original?

Let’s get more specific and remember: we’re in the resurrection business.

Let’s continually point to Jesus, the light and life of the world, the one who has made it all possible. He didn’t just do holiness, he was holy. And yet no one had more life and everywhere he went, dead things came to life. That’s the kind of Christianity we want to have too.

“God the Father knew you and chose you long ago, and His Spirit has made you holy. As a result, you have obeyed Him and have been cleansed by the blood of Jesus Christ. May God give you more and more grace and peace. All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is by His great mercy that we have been born again, because God raised Jesus Christ from the dead. Now we live with great expectation, and we have a priceless inheritance—an inheritance that is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay. And through your faith, God is protecting you by His power until you receive this salvation, which is ready to be revealed on the last day for all to see.” | 1 Peter 1: 2-5, NLT

(Not a reader? Take a listen instead ⇓)

There are many crossings a human will make in a lifetime.

Our introduction to life is just the first.

From the dim, watery, stillness of the womb, we are thrust out into the bright light of day; into this dizzying kaleidoscope we call life. 

Our lungs, filled with fluid and collapsed upon themselves like waxy, paper bags, suddenly inflate, as our intricately crafted nervous system reacts to the sudden change in temperature and environment. We breathe, for the first time on our own; the oxygen of this yet unknown world moving into our bloodstream and coursing through our bodies.

With a single, magical, breath, our circulatory system reorients itself and our heart transitions from right ventricle dominant to left ventricle dominant. The left ventricle will be responsible for sending blood throughout our body, while the right ventricle functions in an entirely new role of sending oxygen-poor blood to our lungs.

Breathing. Sentient. Alive.

A rapid and complex adaption has taken place, changing us from dependent fetus to independent newborn. We are the same and yet we are entirely changed.

This is our first crossing.

Fully formed, yet still a child, years will pass before we start to put away childish things. Sometime around our 16th or 17th birthday, we will begin our next crossing, moving into biological adulthood.

This crossing will be saturated with change, transitioning us in a few short years to full independence. We will emerge, butterfly-like, with our newly inflated wings fluttering in the breeze and a strong sense of our own values and personal boundaries. We will feel transformed, unconstrained, ready to take flight.

Yet we will also still feel, for all the world, like the bemused caterpillars we once were. We imagined we would know how to navigate this world above but it is largely still a mystery, a vast expanse that threatens to swallow us whole. Adulthood is a strange, new terrain.

We have made our second crossing and we cannot go back.

We will live several lives throughout adulthood, each one connected to the last by moments and memories, intersecting and joining together like the gossamer thread of a spider’s web. Sometimes we will recognise the echoes of ourselves from another time, another place, but in other moments, our glances backward will both bewilder and astonish; who is that stranger that carries our face?

We will perhaps begin to understand, too, that all of this life, this experience that humans share, is another kind of crossing, a change from this to that. 

Yet it is also a journey through a world that, at its core, will fail to satisfy us, deep within our soul.

We realise we were always meant to change, it’s in our DNA. But into what we wonder. Is all of this life meant for something more? Who am I really meant to become?

“If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy,
I can only conclude that I was not made for here
If the flesh that I fight is at best only light and momentary,
Then of course I’ll feel nude when to where I’m destined I’m compared.

Am I lost or just found? On the straight or on the roundabout of the wrong way?
Is this a soul that stirs in me, is it breaking free, wanting to come alive?
Cos my comfort would prefer for me to be numb
An avoid the impending birth of who I was born to become.

Speak to me in the light of the dawn,
Mercy comes with the morning.
I will sigh and with all creation groan as I wait for hope to come for me.
For we, we are not long here,
Our time is but a breath, so we better breathe it.
And I, I was made to live, I was made to love, I was made to know you.
Hope is coming for me.”

C S Lewis Song | Brooke Fraser

Max Lucado, pastor, speaker, and best-selling author comments, “If we think that this life is all there is to life, then there is no interpretation of our problems, our pain, not even of our privileges. But everything changes when we open up to the possibility that God’s story is really our story too.”

God’s story – the one written in the stars and carried on the wind – is the story of who each one of us was intended to be. It’s a story that confirms we were made for more than just this life, that we’re meant to cross over into something greater, something eternal.

It’s a story of promise; of knowing and being known, of being fully and completely alive.

God is not far from each one of us, as near as the tongue in our mouth, as close as the heart in our chest (Acts 17:28, Romans 10:8). Another kind of life awaits us on the other side with God, but, Jesus says, unless a person is born again, they cannot cross over (John 3:5).

There is another crossing, more important than any we’ve ever made before. One that will cause us to once again pass through water, this time emerging as a new kind of human, breathing a new kind of air, into a new kind of life.

Jesus came preaching of this other kind of life. The gospel of Matthew writes that when Jesus arrived on the scene, he went and resided in the land of Naphtali, the ‘way beyond the sea’, so that the words spoken so long ago by Isaiah the prophet might be fulfilled: “the people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them, a light has dawned” (Matthew 4:15-16, ESV).

In fact, he was that life itself, and he demonstrated its power through the miraculous; healing sickness, forgiving sins, multiplying bread and fishes, walking on water…raising the dead (Matthew 15:30, Matthew 14:13-33, Luke 8:49-56, John 11:25).

He was the light that dawned in the darkness, illuminating what lies on the other side of the crossing; a kingdom defined by mercy and love, failure and forgiveness, exile and homecoming. Its citizens, he said, were otherworldly; children of light and salt. (Matthew 5:2-11, 13-14, Luke 15:11-32).

He told us how to get there; by going through him. He is the crossing, the gate, the door, the way to this kingdom. No one finds that life, but through him. His is the only name under heaven by which we can be saved.

To believe Jesus really is who he said he is begins another crossing.

“For God loved the world in this way: He gave His one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Anyone who believes in Him is not condemned, but anyone who does not believe is already condemned, because he has not believed in the name of the one and only Son of God.” | John 3:16-18, CSB

Moving from skepticism to belief, we choose to pass through water and are buried with Jesus in his death (Romans 6:3-4, Romans 10:9-10). Emerging once again from water, this time we have been reborn, by water and by spirit, into a living hope. From spiritual death comes a resurrected life; the process of radical regeneration through the Spirit has begun (Titus 3:5, Colossians 2:12).

Breathing. Sentient. Alive.

Like newborn babes seeing the world for the first time with wide-eyed wonder, we survey the spiritual landscape that now stretches out in front of us. The real journey – the journey of a lifetime – lies ahead.

But we are not alone in our resurrected life; it comes with the promise of help (Ephesians 1:13-14). The spark that has been lit in our hearts will grow and be sustained by nothing less than the same power that raised Jesus from the dead, renewing and transforming us day by day into the likeness of His image.

Spirituality alive and redeemed to God, yet our mortal body remains at the mercy of time and change. The curse of Eden has not yet been completely undone.

We age and decay, even though inwardly we are being renewed day by day. And though we may die, yet we will live again, of this we are sure. The resurrection of Jesus is our touchstone; we’re confident that what was done in Jesus will be done in us also. The Spirit living in us assures us that we are God’s child.

For this perishable part of us must put on the imperishable, and this mortal part of us, the part that is capable of dying, must put on immortality. After all, mortality cannot inherit the eternal. We must have complete and utter freedom from death. It was promised, long ago in Eden, and so it will be. He who has promised is faithful.

Our earthly existence, clothed in the only body we have ever known, will make one last and great crossing. A final and breathtaking change will occur and we will be instantly and irrevocably clothed in a body which comes from heaven itself; our mortality utterly swallowed up by life.

“I came”, Jesus said, “that they may have life and have it abundantly.” | John 10:10

This will be the moment of our most significant crossing and we will never be the same again.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Because of his great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” | 1 Peter 1:3, CSB

This article was first published 18 November 2021.

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I don’t know about you but sometimes I feel bad for not knowing then what I know now.

Bad, as in, I wish I’d known better, I wish I had known more, I wish I had known sooner or responded better or chosen differently.

But here’s the thing. We only wish this because of what we know now. Which is to say, in all the time that’s passed from then until now, we’ve learned something, we’ve grown, we’ve become more equipped, less reactive, we can make better choices only because of what we’ve experienced in the past, both good and bad.

This is the value of life experience, it’s what we often call the beauty of hindsight; those lessons from life that can be seen today only because they’ve been learned from what has been experienced in the past. In order to gain the wisdom needed for our tomorrow, we had to learn from experiences, both positive and negative, in our yesterday.

If I’m Honest…

There are things in my life that I look back on and still blush over. There are things said and unsaid in my past that still cause me regret when I recall them today. There’s definitely a sense, at times, that if only I could go back and do that thing over, things would be different.

But do you know what? Things probably wouldn’t be any different. Because that was then and this is now. I’m not the same person I was yesterday or the day before that. Life is changing me.

I may face a similar situation in the future and have learned enough from the past in order to do things differently. I perhaps wouldn’t make the same choices or mistakes today as I did then, but only because those choices in the past taught me differently and made me different.

But I can’t change the past, no matter how much I wish I could. I can’t take today’s insights into yesterday’s mistakes, I can only use today’s insights to grow tomorrow’s wisdom.

And perhaps I shouldn’t wish to change the past. Maybe I should be learning to make peace with it. Maybe I should be more thankful for yesterday’s mistakes, as strange as that seems, because of the valuable lessons I learned, not just about life but also about myself.

We often look back on our past, our mistakes, or our decisions and hate ourselves for them. And while I’m not for a second suggesting we glory in sin or our mistakes (Romans 6:2), these things can nevertheless be seen from a different perspective – as powerful lessons from life – and what we learn from them can be used for good in the future. We can take the pain or regret or shame that spills over from the past and use it to empower us to do better today, to choose more wisely, and love more deeply.

We do not need to be only the sum of all our mistakes or regrets, we can be so much more than that.

Cancel Culture < Grace

I’ve been thinking a lot about cancel culture and how it’s the antithesis of grace. The current climate seems so quick to cancel others, on account of one mistake, one indiscretion, one ill-formed thought spoken out loud, one ugly sentence spoken out of the season. Yes, those things are disappointing when they happen, and sin is still sin. We ought not to shy away from calling out sin and calling each other to repentance, reparation, and renewal.

But in others, and, specifically in the light of this article, in ourselves, our mistakes only become who we are when we embrace and celebrate them. When we show remorse, or regret, when we apologise and repent, and commit to doing better in the future, our mistakes become valuable building blocks to a better version of ourselves. Grace towards ourselves or others becomes the fertile ground for spiritual renovation and renewal. It is in our weakness that God’s power is perfected (2 Corinthians 12:9).

We cannot condemn sin or mistakes or the things in our past that we’re ashamed of without also offering ourselves the much-needed balm of grace that dispenses kindness, favour, advocacy, and forgiveness. We hold both in tension; the disappointment of our (or life’s) failures with thankfulness for what we learned from these experiences; the grief of sin that stains alongside the healing embrace of grace that cleanses.

I can recall some unthoughtful words I once spoke about someone, a criticism of sorts I suppose. I think about these words often, actually, and still deeply regret speaking them. While I can give all sorts of reasons as to why I said them and argue that my underlying feelings were justified, I still wish I hadn’t said them. They weren’t particularly kind or graceful and, mostly, I can look back now and see that, in that moment, I was a terrible witness for Christ. The way I spoke and acted was so detrimental as an example of discipleship to others and was deeply hurtful to another person.

Although I felt I was on the receiving end of critical words, instead of taking a beat, thinking the situation through, and responding with grace, I simply responded in kind. There were a million different ways I could have probably responded but the reality is, at that moment, I didn’t. Of course I wish I could do it differently now but I can’t. I can only apologise (and I have done so), learn from this mistake, and use it as wisdom for tomorrow.

I learned four valuable lessons from that experience, which I have endeavoured to implement today.

Words Matter

Words matter, even when said in the heat of the moment or when we believe our feelings are justified. There’s a way to speak truth but do so in love, in a way that isn’t harmful or wounding. Just because we’re upset, or feel maligned, criticised, or challenged doesn’t mean that the way we speak doesn’t matter.

I think we have all been taught to avoid having difficult conversations as a way of securing some kind of false peace. What we really should have been taught is how to have civil conversations with those very different from us, in a way that communicates our feelings or opinions well, without wounding the other.

I learned that words matter. And that I needed to guard my heart for it’s out of the heart that the mouth speaks (Proverbs 4:23, Luke 6:45).

The second thing I learned flowed from this:

I Belong To Jesus

I was painfully unaware of just how important other people’s opinions and validation were to me. I had long considered myself to be a bit of an island, quite secure in my own company, likably sociable when necessary, and generally unaffected by others’ criticisms. But this piece of stray criticism, directed at me in a time of deep upheaval in my personal life, struck like a barb in my soul. I learned at that moment just how affected I actually was by what other people thought of me and how little security I was actually placing in Jesus’s opinion of me. It came as a shock and it really rattled me.

I had to seriously rethink where I was getting my validation from. I had to reevaluate what was guarding my heart. Was my validation placed in Jesus, the rock of the ages, or did I have it resting on the unpredictable, shifting sands of popular opinion? Was I living in the freedom of Christ or stifling under the suffocating need to please people?

I needed to get more intimate with Jesus and this was an invaluable lesson to learn.

There Are Consequences 

Every choice, every decision, and every failure has consequences. Sometimes we or others do or say things that have irrevocable consequences in our life. And sometimes those consequences are painful and hard to live with. Other times, those consequences prove to be God moments, times when our focus was redirected or the direction of our life shifted, for good. Sometimes, they’re both.

Sometimes that regretful indiscretion spurs a greater commitment to faithfulness in our relationship. Sometimes that reduced income refocuses us on what we really need in life. Sometimes that failed leader redirects our gaze towards the One we should really be following. Sometimes that disappointing verbal exchange convicts us to do better with our words. Sometimes that closed-door signals a new beginning.

And in every choice, in every consequence, Jesus is with us in it all. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, he is the same. He’s been with us in our worst moments – yesterday’s regrets, he’s with us in our current circumstances of fear, doubt, growth, and joy – today’s insights, and he’ll be with us in our greatest triumphs – tomorrow’s wisdom.

Don’t Beat Yourself Up About The Past

Choices have consequences and sometimes those consequences are negative, with reverberations that echo down through our and others’ lives. You only need to look at the life of King David to realise that one poor decision can cause ripples of pain and fracture in individuals and families for generations. Where we can, we ought to make reparation and we should, rightly, regret our part in consequences that cause pain or injury to others.

But I think we also need to draw a line in the sand. We need to learn to forgive ourselves, to afford ourselves the same kind of grace that God so willingly offers to those who repent. We are not that terrible decision we made five years ago, five months ago, or five days ago. We don’t have to stay in that place or be that person.

Jesus’ sin-covering sacrifice means that we get to start each day new, means that we are washed clean and made perfect in his righteousness and that, although we are weak and often stumble, God is committed to completing His good work in us (Philippians 1:6). Jesus died for us, not because we weren’t at fault but precisely because we were, sinners completely unable to save ourselves. God is not surprised by our weakness or our failure; it was part of the equation in the sending of His Son.

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” | 2 Corinthians 4:16, ESV

We are like clay jars in which this treasure is stored. The real power comes from God and not from us. We often suffer, but we are never crushed. Even when we don’t know what to do, we never give up. In times of trouble, God is with us, and when we are knocked down, we get up again. We face death every day because of Jesus. Our bodies show what his death was like, so his life can also be seen in us. This means that death is working in us, but life is working in you.” | 2 Corinthians 4:7-8 CEB

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Come walk with Me.

Imagine we are once again in Eden, walking together in the cool shade of the trees.

Listen to the sound of the great river, flowing through My garden paradise. Hear the rush of its distributaries, flowing north, east, south, and westward out from My garden. Living water springs from this place, refreshing and pure.

Close your eyes and breathe in the rich, loamy scent of this good earth. There is gold here, and precious stones too, hidden in abundance beneath the surface. Catch the sweet scent of resin floating on the crisp, clean air, the call of the mountain eagle soaring up and away from his nest, the whisper of the wind through the pasture grasses.

I am here with you. I am beside you, all around you. I go before you and I come after you; a burning torch and a defensive shield. I am closer than your very own breath. Nothing will hurt you in this place.

Catch your breath. Rest beside the quiet pools where you will find water for your thirsty soul. Rest here in the stillness. Feel My presence and be restored.

I see your weariness, your unsettled and aching heart. I know your questions and feel your pain. I see the heavy burdens that you are carrying.

Have you forgotten what a life walking with Me should be like? Have you forgotten that I am the One who has breathed life into your dry bones, that I know the very heart of you, and that I love you?

I am your refuge, your redeemer, your restorer. Lay your burdens down.

Rest alongside Me now, beside the still water, and let Me remind you of My love.

You are made for life, an abundant, overflowing, God-shaped and God-filled life. Of everything made in the beginning, your kind alone were made in My image, made to reflect My glory. Body and soul, you are marvellously made.

You were made for belonging, with others like yourself but most of all, with Me.  You were made good, so, so good.

When catastrophe fell in Eden and a great chasm arose between us, I was not defeated. When darkness fell in your world, My light shone even brighter, a shimmering beacon of hope to bring you home. I had known from the beginning that this would happen and I had already made a way.

I sent My light into your world; the glory of My presence cutting through the darkness and lighting your path back to Me. I called you to Me and you heard the sound of My voice. Like a sheep that had wandered and was lost, you have returned to Me, the great shepherd of your soul.

As you drew close to Me, I drew ever closer to you; can you not feel Me close even now? I have not left you, you are not walking alone.

You feel small and insignificant but I tell you, you are My deeply treasured child. Does your heart not stir within you, as My Spirit testifies to this truth?

You say you are weak but I tell you, My power is made perfect in your weakness. I have put eternity deep within you, like treasure in jars of clay.

You say you feel inadequate and unworthy but I tell you that you have been made white like snow, whole and worthy in My righteousness. You say you didn’t know My saving power could look like this and I tell you, this is grace, My grace, and it is sufficient for you.

I am the bedrock on which your feet find firm footing, the Alpha and Omega, encircling you in My safety and protection. I will hide you in the shadow of My feathered wings and My faithfulness will be a shield for you throughout all your days.

I have wept for you, fought for you, bled for you, died for you, and I have been made alive again, for you.

There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.

Quiet those voices in your head, clamouring to be heard, telling you that you must earn My favour, that you must do something to deserve My love. I have borne the cost of our reconciling, it is My gift to you. I have secured your passage home and I will walk that path with you.

Quiet those voices around you, telling you that simply being in Me isn’t enough. I tell you, I Am leading you and renewing you and transforming you. You need only abide in Me.

The curse of sin is broken. I have broken it and you are free in Me. My life flows into yours, My Spirit breathing its refreshing wind into your heart. Walk with Me and work with Me and you’ll recover your life.

Are you feeling burned out, forced into patterns that are ill-fitting and heavy? Are you tired and anxious, carrying burdens too heavy to bear? I say again, lay those burdens down.

Lift up your weary head and take heart. I am still here, I have always been here and I will never leave you nor forsake you. The good work that I’ve begun in you, I promise faithfully to complete.

Come walk with Me, I’m all you need.

“So you’ll go out in joy, you’ll be led into a whole and complete life. The mountains and hills will lead the parade, bursting with song. All the trees of the forest will join the procession, exuberant with applause. No more thistles, but giant sequoias, no more thornbushes, but stately pines—monuments to me, to God, living and lasting evidence of God.” | Isaiah 55:12-13, MSG