Category: Evangelism

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2020: Fearless in This Great Adventure

“I, I am He that comforts you; who are you that you are afraid…” (Isaiah 51:12)

I wonder how many of us stand at the dawn of the new year and feel more apprehension than excitement. Jesus is faithful to meet us here but without His help, fear can be enormously disabling in our walk with God. There is, of course, a healthy fear or reverence of God – but there is also a fear of inadequacy, a fear of failure, or a fear of disappointing people. Surprisingly, this kind of fear has much more to do with pride. Isaiah records the Lord’s promise, “I, I am He that comforts you; who are you that you are afraid of man who dies, of the son of man who is made like grass?” (Isaiah 51:12).

It is curious that the Lord would say, “Who are you that you are afraid?” But the truth is that God knows us so much better than we know ourselves. He sees clearly that my fear is so often a manifestation of my pride. The Lord very emphatically says, “I, I am He that comforts you!” (Isaiah 51:12). And yet fear barges in and tries to take over God’s role of protector and guide and comforter. It’s as if fear climbs up on God’s throne and presumes to say, “Don’t do that; You could get hurt! You’ll be humiliated.”

Fear presumes to set its wisdom above the wisdom of God.

As we step into a new decade of mission, who are we really trusting? Is our faith founded upon our emotions or all that feels safe, comfortable, “doable” in our own strength, or are we looking to the promises of God, which of course are so much bigger? As a Diocese – a family of churches united by His Word, Spirit, Sacrament, and Mission – we are called to serve Jesus in the re-evangelization of New England. This is a task that is quite beyond us to accomplish. And yet together, upon our knees, in complete dependence upon God’s wisdom, provision, leading and strength we discover the Spirit-led posture of heart and action against which the gates of Hell cannot prevail. Here, the seemingly impossible is made possible in God. The poet, Minnie Haskins, puts it well, “I said to the man who stood at the Gate of the Year,” Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.” And he replied, “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.”

May the Lord Jesus make His face to shine upon you, the Lord fill you with a true and lasting hope and a greater joy than the world can give, the Lord make you and those you love to sleep in peace and dwell in safety. And the blessing of the Father’s protection, guidance, faith, wisdom, and love be with us, as we begin this new decade, held together in His Spirit in the great adventure of the increase of His Kingdom across New England and beyond.  Amen.

In His great love,

+ Andrew

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Sublime Sunrise

Many of us feel nervous about sharing our faith with another person. Do we imagine that we must have at our fingertips all the answers to the mysteries of the universe? The missiologist Michael Frost invites us to envision a more empowering perspective from which we might love more loudly, to share God’s love in word and action with more freedom and confidence. 

Frost asks us to imagine that we are in a darkened room with a single window in the corner, not unlike finding ourselves in a room after fire and smoke have swept through a building. The single window is encrusted with grime and allows no light to penetrate. We know that right outside this room the most beautiful, sublime sunrise that we might ever see is breaking. What could anyone perceive in that darkened room? Perhaps it would be just the faintest amber glow coming through the soot-coated window. Now imagine that in the room’s darkness our eyes begin to make out another person, huddled in the corner, head in hands and knees drawn to their chest. 

Our task now is to help the person inside the dark room see the sunrise. We cannot do anything to make the sunrise any more glorious, and neither can we make the sun rise. Thankfully, we are not called to do either of these things. What we are called to do is much simpler, though it does require a little humility and a servant’s heart. 

Our job is to take a rag and begin cleaning the window. Maybe the grime is so hard-baked that all we can manage on a day is to unveil a quarter-inch of clear glass. Yet even a quarter inch is enough for the person in darkness to press his face against the window and begin to see with his own eyes the spectacle of the sunrise. Our job was never to make dawn break, but to clean windows so that people can see it more and more clearly. As we clean windows, we reveal His love and presence. 

We are being sent out to clean windows, confident in the sublime sunrise of the sovereignty of God’s love. In the mercy of Jesus, the words that were first spoken by Zechariah over his infant son are now ours: “And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare His ways, to give knowledge of salvation to His people in the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1: 76-79).