The Value of Human Life: 14 Years On

It is really interesting going back and reading something I wrote 14 years ago. I can hear the heart behind it, but I can also see how much has changed in me since then.

What I was really wrestling with back then wasn’t just abortion. It was judgement.

Over time, I’ve come to see that we, as humans, have a tendency to point to the failures of others as a way of confirming our own goodness. In a Christian sense, we can dress that up as righteousness, but often it’s something else entirely. It’s comparison. It’s self-preservation. At its worst, it becomes a way of weaponising faith.

Because if everything in us was laid bare, every thought, every motive, every failure, how would we measure up then?

I’ve often thought about the contrast between Judas and Peter. Both failed. Both betrayed in their own way. One publicly, one more quietly. One is remembered with a kind of finality, the other with restoration. But the truth is, neither of them sits under my judgement. I don’t see what God sees. I don’t understand motive, timing, or the full weight of a life.

The longer I live, the less confident I feel in drawing hard lines around other people’s lives, and the more aware I am of how limited my perspective really is. The question of the value of human life hasn’t become simpler for me, it’s become bigger. Bigger than a single decision. Bigger than a single moment. Bigger than what I can see or understand.

I still find myself forming quick conclusions. I still catch myself measuring, comparing, deciding where things sit. But I think of that moment, where what looked like a clear judgement was only ever a fragment of a much larger story, a story I could not see.

And that has changed something in me. Not what I feel, not even what I wrestle with, but what I do with it.

Because the more I see, the more I realise how much I don’t see, and how careful that makes me with what I do with it.

Peace & Victory – Part III

 

The Final Lamb

For generations, Passover had followed the same pattern: a lamb was selected, examined, and found to be without defect. It was brought into the home, then taken and slaughtered. Its blood was applied to the doorposts, and that night, death passed over. It was specific, deliberate, and it worked. The people were spared.

Another lamb.
Another sacrifice.
Another covering.

It dealt with what was in front of them, but it didn’t remove the need for it to be done again. It was never final. By the time of Jesus, this pattern was well established.

And then, at Passover, He was put to death.

The timing is not incidental. At Passover, with the system continuing as it always had, He was crucified. Not outside it, but within it. Not disconnected from it, but aligned with it in a way that is difficult to ignore.

A life given. Blood shed. The pattern holds.

There is nothing in that moment that suggests anything has changed.

But the matter of the body is where it diverges.

Each year, the Passover lamb was fully consumed. It was eaten, and whatever remained was burned. Nothing kept. Nothing carried forward. The act was completed in full, each first night.

But here, we have a body laid to rest in a tomb. Three days later, the tomb no longer holds it.

The resurrection is not separate from the cross. Three days later, the tomb, which should contain a body, does not. There is no sign of interference, no indication that something has gone wrong. Just the absence of what would normally be expected.

The crucifixion was not another instance within an ongoing system, but the point at which that system finds its conclusion. What had always required repetition no longer does.

Not another covering.
Not another year.
Not another sacrifice.

Something final.

The crucifixion is not an addition to the pattern, but its completion.

Peace & Victory - Part II

Image Source

A Centurion’s Account of the Cross

It started like any other shift. Passover always made things harder. The city fills up, tempers run short, but as long as you stay alert and keep the crowds moving, trouble can be contained.

But to be honest, there was something different this year, more than other years.  The whole week felt unsettled.  There seemed to be more people than usual, and we had a harder time containing the crowds.  It started on the Sunday when people began calling this Nazarene a king.  Can you believe that? A Nazarene. Anyway, this man drew crowds wherever he went, which is a headache for us.  Where there are crowds, disorder usually follows, and so it did.  There was even an incident at their temple.  I have to say, as I stood guard trying to contain the crowds, I did find what this man Jesus was saying intriguing.  It was radical.  He definitely divided the crowd, and a divided crowd is just as bad as a united one.  But at least in this instance, they were going at each other.

He’d been arrested overnight. Things had obviously moved quickly.  He was back before the governor just as I started my shift.  The religious leaders headed the crowd and pushed hard to get things moving.  It is unusual to see them at the steps of Pilate.  They usually send their officers.  But today, they were there in person, demanding Pilate act on their behalf.

And that’s when I saw him again, as the three of them were led out. Two were what you’d expect: angry, loud, and still resisting as much as they could. The other one was different. He’d been beaten, but he wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t trying to defend himself. Most men say something eventually. With him, there was almost nothing.

He was wearing a crown made from thorns, and my colleagues were jeering, “King of the Jews!” And that got a reaction. Not from us, but from their leaders. They didn’t like it. They pushed back on it, wanted it stopped. It didn’t matter to us. It was just mockery. But they cared about it more than I expected.

The crowd swelled as we made our way from the city to the hill of execution just outside the gates. It was loud, and louder still when his cross was finally erected. The crowd shouted at him, telling him to come down if he was who they said he was. I’d heard that kind of thing before. People always want to see something. Some kind of proof. But, he didn’t respond! Not to them.  Not to the accusations.  Not even to the ones mocking him.

That stayed with me, because it didn’t match what we’d been hearing.  If this was the man stirring crowds, if this was the one people were talking about all week, you’d expect something.  Some kind of resistance.  Some kind of claim.  But there was none.  And yet, he wasn’t removed from it either.

At one point, he spoke to the woman standing near him.  His mother, I think.  Made sure she would be looked after.  He spoke to one of the men beside him as well.  It wasn’t much, but it was deliberate.  Like he was still paying attention to people, even then.

I remember him saying, “Father, forgive them.”  That wasn’t something I’d heard before.  Most men don’t speak like that at the end.  Then later, “I thirst.”  Simple.  No strength left to make it anything more than it was.

By then, the day took a turn.  That undercurrent that had been building all week seemed to surface as darkness came and covered everything in the middle of the day.  You could feel the shift in the crowd.  The noise changed.  Less shouting.  More uncertainty.  People didn’t seem as sure of themselves anymore.

I’d seen plenty of executions.  This didn’t follow the same pattern. When he spoke again, it wasn’t to answer anyone. It wasn’t to defend himself. It was like he was finishing something.

And then he was gone. No struggle at the end, no last attempt to hold on.  Just finished.

And then the ground shook. Not something you expect or can prepare for.  It came suddenly, and the whole place shifted.  People who had been standing there watching only moments before started moving, scattering, trying to get out. The same crowd that had been so sure of themselves didn’t look so certain anymore.

We’d spent the whole week trying to contain the chaos, and now it had returned anyway, only this time it didn’t feel like it was coming from them.

But standing there, watching it unfold, none of it quite lined up with what I was seeing.  I’ve seen men die before. Many times. This wasn’t the same.  This man was different.  He hadn’t fought it.  He hadn’t defended himself.  There was no anger in him, no resistance.  And yet the crowd wanted him gone all the same.

Surely this was the Son of God.

The Table

The last supper isn’t just what Jesus said at the table, but how He carried Himself in it.

This was Passover. A meal already full of meaning. A remembering of deliverance, of sacrifice, of a people brought out from slavery. It wasn’t casual, and it wasn’t new. And yet, in the middle of that, everything is quietly shifting.

Jesus knows what is coming. Not in a vague sense, but fully. He knows one of them will betray Him. He knows the hours ahead. And still, nothing about Him feels hurried or unsettled.

He gets up from the table, takes a towel and begins to wash their feet. This is their rabbi, the Messiah, the one who is about to face excruciating pain and humiliation, choosing to wash his disciples’ feet. And notice He washed the feet of all 12 disciples, including Judas. That part stops me a little, because there’s no distinction made, no pulling back, no subtle exclusion. The one who is about to betray Him is still included in the same care.

In his final hours, Jesus continues to demonstrate the core of what he is there for, not exposing Judas or making a moment of it, but in a quiet way, He covers him. He simply says, “What you are about to do, do quickly,” and the others don’t even realise what is happening, there’s no shift in tone that matches what’s unfolding underneath it all.

Back at the table, He takes the bread and the wine and begins to speak about His body and blood. He is sitting within a meal that has always pointed to covering, deliverance, and quietly, without spectacle, He places Himself at the centre of it.

What stands out here isn’t just the significance of what He said, but the consistency of who He was as He said it. Nothing in Him shifts, even when everything around Him is about to.

And this is what I keep coming back to, not just what He said, but who He was in that moment. Steady. Present. Undivided.

Peace & Victory - Part I

In ancient times, palm branches symbolised goodness and victory. They were often depicted on coins and important buildings. Solomon had palm branches carved into the walls and doors of the temple. Again at the end of the Bible, people from every nation raise palm branches to honour Jesus (source)

A few days ago, Christendom celebrated Palm Sunday. On that first Palm Sunday, thousands of years ago, two things were happening.

It was the 10th day of Nisan on the Jewish calendar, the day families selected the lamb that would be sacrificed for Passover in five short days. The selection process eliminated any lambs with defects or blemishes. It had to be the best of the best, the perfect lamb.

This lamb was chosen in remembrance of when their ancestors, enslaved in Egypt, were commanded to sacrifice an unblemished lamb and paint its blood over their doorposts, which would act as a covering from death and usher the way to their freedom.

As crowds gathered on the streets of Jerusalem that first Palm Sunday, they perceived Jesus as their promised saviour, the one who was going to free them from the suffering and intolerable conditions placed upon them by their captors.

They heralded Him as their saviour, waving palm branches, the symbol of victory at that time, shouting out “Hosanna”, which, translated from the Hebrew words hoshia na, literally means “save us, please” or “save now”.

Surely this man they had heard so much about: a man who, by reputation, knew the Scriptures intimately and the Jewish teachings back to front, better than anyone before him. A man who had already captured the hearts of people by the miracles he had demonstrated. A man who, despite having no obvious pedigree, was able to silence even the harshest of critics. A man who, somehow, carried both authority and humility.

This was, without doubt, the choice for the saviour who would take the Jewish people into their next chapter, out from under Roman control.

And if there had been any doubt about it, as the prophecy had been written in the Book of Zechariah, this saviour would ride in on a donkey.

So, what happened between Sunday and Friday?

The Protector

Image source

As I wake up this Friday morning I have a lot on my mind.  Filled with excitement at the thought of catching up with an old friend, yet feeling the weight of challenges that many of us are facing. Some have mountains that need to be moved, others have hard decisions to make, friends facing sickness, loneliness, pain..and the list goes on.  


One of my favourite scriptures in the Bible is Psalm 121, and with the weight of my thoughts, I turn to it this morning and meditate upon the beautiful, re-assuring words:

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
 My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

 He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
 indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

 The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
 the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

 The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
 the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore.

I love how Karl Jenkins entitled his arrangement of Psalm 121 'The Protector'.  How apt.  

While the word teaches us to rest in Him, doing battle against our struggles can be exhausting. He is with us (as so beautifully described in the Psalm above) but we are required to stand (to stand firm, no less!).  And I speak from experience (especially this week!) that standing and fighting, not bowing to pressures and challenges can be so damn exhausting - especially if victory doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight!   But the good news is, victory does come! If you can stay and not retreat I promise (actually He promises) that victory will be yours! 

Whatever you are facing today, know that The Protector watches over you.

Head of the year

L'Shanah Tovah Tikatevu

This morning something wonderful happened. While it may not have been the sound of the shofar I heard, it was definitely a calling. I felt the gentle wooing of my heart and enjoyed the most intimate time with God that I can ever remember. The really bizarre twist to my whole experience is that I realised it was Rosh Hashanah, and while I'm not an observant Jew (in fact I consider myself a Christian, but my roots are Jewish and I am blessed to enjoy such a rich heritage that overlaps so much with my own faith) so much of what was dealt with in my heart this morning was all themed towards the message of Rosh Hashanah.

From what I understand (and it is limited!) at the heart of Rosh Hashanah is our relationship with God – our maker, our sustainer and our redeemer. And central to that is our acknowledgement of God as King of the whole universe, our brokenness and failure and need for repentance and lastly new birth, second chances, the promise of sweet new beginnings...a new year.

Today I feel like a newborn – fresh and alive. Blemish free. Ready to start a new year, a new life. And, I am so grateful for a new beginning.   

Psalm 65 & Psalm 103

The Value of Human Life

As a Christian, I am horrified to admit the jury is still out for me when it comes to abortion.  I say this because murder outside the womb is no different to murder inside the womb. It's all that...murder.

I value human life, but you can bet your bottom dollar if I walked in on someone molesting my child and a loaded gun was handy consider that humans life gone!  Or, maybe if somehow I was transported back in time to Germany 1928 and I had a clear shot at Hitler.  Imagine...the murder of that one man could save the suffering and misery, not to mention the lives of millions of people.  How many Einstein's perished in the Holocaust? How many Leonard Bernstein's or Itzhtak Perlmans? Or, how many Sigmund Freud's? I also do wonder how many great lives never got a chance to shine outside of their mothers womb?  How is it possible that I can say this and at the same time wish Hitler never took a breath outside his mothers womb?

If I put on the mind of Christ I see value and hope in every life.  Even Hitler. I know there is a verse in the bible that says God looks beyond what is and sees what can be.  But can I? 

During my life, growing up I saw first hand the suffering of so many children who in my heart of hearts I wished had not been born due to the intolerable neglect and abuse they sustained in their tiny lives at the hands of their 'parents'.  What hope is there for those children who have experienced such despicable conditions?  What becomes of their lives and the lives of their offspring?  Sadly the stats tell us more often than not if they are kept in this environment they are destined to inflict the same kind of treatment onto the next generation and so on.  I want to cry.  I don't understand any of this.  I don't understand why some are saved from this, while other little ones endure such atrocities.

I value those little lives - the ones that are being neglected and abused.  But the person that bought them into the world doesn't. Where is the value of human life there?

The reality is, I am not the judge. I am not the jury.  I cannot say what is right for one person, and wrong for another.  I cannot say one persons life has more value than another.

I do not like abortion, but it happens.  It makes me sad.  I hold no condemnation for someone whose had an abortion or for someone who is considering an abortion. And, for the record....either does God.

For Phyllis...

http://weheartit.com/entry/2266173

 There is hymn I love that I don't recall hearing as a child - you are probably wondering why this is unusual?...well, my earliest introduction into 'church' was a small brethren church, then we moved to a Baptist church, and then we moved to a large Pentecostal church and in addition to all of this I was educated in a musically centred Baptist school.  So hymns were part of my upbringing which I am ever thankful for, especially considering a large chunk of my church life has been spent within the walls of the Pentecostal church where hymns are rarely sung.   The fact is, I love what is known as the traditional hymn. I love the music, I love the words....the whole package in my opinion is a truly beautiful expression of worship, which more than often exclusively focuses on Gods might, His power and His love. 

Anyway, getting back to the topic...a few years back I first heard a beautiful hymn called 'There is a fountain' (covered by Selah) and the words are so beautiful...they ooze of such an authentic God encounter.  So, last week I decided to look up who wrote this beautiful hymn.  As it turns out, the author is none other than William Cowper.  Cowper is not known in history as a great orator, preacher or a revivalist - in fact, you've probably never heard of him!  To me, I simply knew him as a contributor to John Newtons 'Olney Hymns' and the author of John Giplin. As it turns out, after reading on wikipedia there is a lot more to Cowper than I realised.  He was crippled for most of his life with mental illness, disappointment and botched suicide attempts.  I bet my bottom dollar he died thinking he lived a quiet, inconsequential life.  However, the truth is his hymns are sung all around the world and have made a great impact on peoples lives.  Cowper probably never imagined in his wildest dreams that his struggles; his walk with God (in a nutshell: just life) would have such an everlasting effect on generations to come.

My point is that so many of us go about our days, to our jobs, to school or attending to our children and think that our actions are of no consequence, when the truth is that our struggles, our questions, our faith, our walk with God does indeed echo deep into the future and our footsteps after we die will be there for generations, evident for all to see.

You are important.  The smallest of actions you take have life changing outcomes that you will never have the pleasure of knowing until eternity. Do you sponsor a child?  Do you pick up a neighbours child so they can go to Sunday school? Have you smiled at someone?  Have you spoken words hope into someone?  Written a letter? Helped with the shopping? All of these things, while they may not seem life changing to you, nor make you feel you have such a 'grand' calling...they are all life changing for that person.  That support, that restored faith, that encouragement, that meal, that car trip, that smile, that prayer...


To listen to William Cowpers beautiful hymn, click here

Lost in translation

Image from weheartit.com

Here is something interesting I realised this morning...my PC desktop was so over populated with files and folders I could no longer see my desktop theme. 

I haven't been myself lately.  Earlier this year I was disappointed, really disappointed.  A chain of events left me with the revelation that someone I had held up (very high) was human and flawed.  I know this seems simple and almost ridiculous, but this disappointment came from someone I had idolised since I was a kid.  In fact, as I grew older I thought she could do no wrong and was the ultimate example of what I wanted to be...kind, gracious and wise.

The realisation that something isn't what you thought it was can be hard to accept (extreme case in point the earth is not flat!). This new knowledge causes us to grow, and sometimes growth causes pain.  The departure of something you held as truth can be an anxious separation.  And, as it turns out, I foolishly went through this growth pain kicking and screaming and it spilled ugly into other relationships and area's in my life.


I realised this morning my desktop looked a lot like my life at the moment.  Ugly, disordered and so busy with un-filed documents that I can't even see the theme in the background.

So, as I tidied it I got myself tidied up too.  With the clearing, look what I can see again...

The Christian Charter

I can't deny it.  I love church history, but at the moment I am struggling with church.  To be more specific, churches that have turned into businesses.  I am unable to reconcile my faith with church that is run like a marketplace.  Enough already...what I really wanted to talk about here was how I want to live.  What I want to be known for.

I want to be know by my actions.  Francis of Assisi once said "The deeds you do may be the only sermon some persons will hear today."  He also famously said "Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words." 

I made the 'wordle' above to define what I actually stand for and how I want to live.  I don't proclaim to be perfect and sin free, but God, please help me to be all these things that you are.