Category: Gospel

At my ordination at Exeter Cathedral, we walked down the aisle in twos – rather like Noah’s ark. I was paired with a young guy who would become a good friend. James and I liked and understood each other immediately. Whilst we were assigned to different churches, we did our post-ordination training together. I recall a particular retreat with the late theological giant, Alec Motyer. Reverend Motyer, was vice-principal of Clifton Theological College and vicar of St. Luke’s, Hampstead, and Christ Church, Westbourne before becoming principal of my seminary, Trinity College. In the course of the retreat, Reverend Motyer was keen to assure us of our absolute security in the love God. I have a vivid memory of James asking the question that we were all too proud (or anxious) to ask. James politely, but earnestly, interrupted, “Reverend Motyer, but what if, in all the challenges of ministry and the Christian life, my faith should weaken? What if, in disappointment or exhaustion, I should slip away from Jesus?”

I have heard speak of “godly rebuke.” Oftentimes, “godly rebuke” is not especially godly and the phrase is used as a faux theological foil for common or garden-variety rudeness. But without hesitation, Reverend Motyer modeled the art of godly rebuke; with extraordinary tenderness and cast iron firmness, he looked my friend straight in the eye and said, “Oh, beloved, you are entirely mistaken. You believe you have taken hold of God when in fact He has taken hold of you.”

The Christian life is full of challenges. The apostle Paul described it as a life full of tribulation, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril and sword (Romans 8:35-36). In the condensed version of Paul’s autobiography (with thanks to John Piper) he tells us: three times I have been beaten with rods; once I was stoned. Three times I have been shipwrecked; a night and a day I have been adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brethren; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure. And apart from other things, there is the daily pressure upon me of my anxiety for all the churches. [2 Corinthians 11:25-28].

For all of Paul’s disappointments and trials, Paul was adamant that we can have absolute, unfailing security in the love and power of God. Renee Swope wrote, “As we process the pain of our yesterdays, learn through the disappointments of our todays, and face some fears in our tomorrows, doubts will still creep up and threaten to steal our hope. But each time that happens, we can stop and seek God’s perspective in that place.” In Romans chapter 8, Paul gave us three great assurances that help us to recover that Godly perspective. (I am grateful to Keith Krell for his insights in Paul’s writing):

1. No Contest

In Romans 8:31, Paul posed a critical question: “If God is for us, who is against us?” Notice that the question isn’t simply, “Who is against us?” Rather, Paul qualified it with the phrase “If God is for us.” Paul then answered with a rhetorical question, “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things?” (verse 32). Standing upon this truth, Renee Swope comments, “You and I have the choice to either let doubt beat us up or let God’s truth build us up. If we have Christ in us, we have full access to God’s power and His promises to live with a confident heart.”

2. No Condemnation

Paul went on, “Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us.” (verses 33-34). The question he is asking is, “Who would dare bring a charge against God’s elect?’” The truth is that no one can. God has acquitted you and declared you righteous. His plea for you is based on the finished and sufficient work of the Cross. Again, Renee Swope: “Satan intends to deceive us by getting us to take our eyes off who we are in Christ and focus on our flaws — and then spend our days figuring out how we can hide them.” For each and every one of us, the truth is God’s grace and mercy always precede His calling.

3. No Separation

Paul’s next question was “Who will separate us from the love of Christ?” (verse 35). Notice that it is not who is going to separate us from our love for Christ, but who is going to separate us from Christ’s love for us. And that, as Alec Motyer was keen to reassure us, is a very big difference. Paul wrote that through Christ, we are not just victorious, we “overwhelmingly conquer!” Notice that he wrote in the present tense, indicating right now this is true.

As chapter eight concludes with verses 38-39, Paul pulled no punches. As fast as we can imagine exceptions, potholes and crevices in his argument, he scrupulously filled in the cracks in our doubts and fears: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” And notice that Paul’s list deliberately includes us, “nor any other created thing” — by which he very much had you in mind!

Across the centuries, followers of Jesus have come to see that, even in the midst of challenges and trials, God will always call us beyond our limitations to do seemingly impossible things —  impossible things that require a simple but profound trust in the security of His love. It’s not so much about what Jesus wants you to do, as what He wants to do in you, as you depend on Him. It was always thus.

The Exeter Cathedral nave that James and I walked down together was built in 1400. Two hundred fifty years later, a minister named Thomas Brooks published a book entitled Heaven on Earth: A Treatise on Christian Assurance. In it, he concluded, “Beloved, in our dearest Lord, you are those worthies ‘of whom this world is not worthy,’ (Hebrews 11:38.) You are the princes ‘that prevail with God,’ (Genesis 32:28.) You are those ‘excellent ones’ in whom is all Christ’s delight, (Psalm 16:3.) You are His glory. You are his picked, called, prime instruments which He will make use of to carry on His best and greatest work against His worst and greatest enemies in these latter days.”

My mom, who lives in the UK, is active and well. She is, however, by dint of her age, classified as “vulnerable” for the purposes of the Coronavirus threat. This week, she received a note through her door, from her immediate neighbor (a young mom with kids). The note read, “We just wanted to let you know that we are here to help in any way we can. Just in case you have mislaid it – here is my cell number. Please text me with your groceries and it would be our pleasure for me to fetch them for you. We can leave them on your front doorstep if you prefer. And if it is not raining on Saturday, why don’t we stand with a cup of coffee on our respective sides of the garden fence and let’s catch up! Shall we say 10:00am?” My mom was so blessed by this gesture. It was such a simple thing to do but it meant the world to my mom that someone would choose to take a moment out of their own busy day to bless her day.

In Jesus’ teaching about the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25: 31-46), Jesus communicated that there will be eternal consequences to the choices we make. Get it right and we follow the way of the “sheep” (“Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance…” – verse 34). To get it wrong is to go the way of the goats — what C.S Lewis calls, “the other thing.” This is Jesus saying that we are going to be held directly accountable for something that we might not even notice or recognize. (“Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or ill or in prison, and did not help you?” – verse 44). Where is the love of God in the whole sheep and goat thing? Where is the grace of God in that? To which Jesus is saying: well, where is there grace in any of us walking past the sick, those vulnerable to the Coronavirus, the hurting, the poor, the prisoner, the destitute or the hungry — without a second look? Where is the grace in us concluding that it is okay to ignore people who are suffering or vulnerable because we are stronger, healthier, younger, and better fed than they are?

And after all, Jesus’ instructions in this teaching are very straightforward: welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, give the thirsty something to drink, tend to the sick and visit the prisoner. So, what do you do?

Well, you could try to dial it down. The first response might be to say: Well, when Jesus said this, He did not really mean it literally. He’s just stirring us up a bit. Let’s give that a fancy theological name to satisfy our intellectual pride and call it “rabbinic hyperbole” — a little bit of ancient near-eastern sensationalism to catch our attention and make us think! Yes, that’s what we’ll call it. Except that it is not rabbinic hyperbole. What Jesus is describing here is the shape of God’s heart. “There will always be poor and vulnerable people in the land. Therefore, I command you to be open-handed towards your brothers and towards the poor and needy in your land.” (Deuteronomy 15:7) And it’s a heart that we find throughout the whole Bible.

So, what standard of care toward the poor is going to make me fit for the afterlife? Jesus is again offering very little comfort here when He tells us that the standard is perfection: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matthew 5:48) and “Jesus answered, ‘If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor.’” (Matthew 19:21.

Which brings us to the second response: dialing it up. We say, well, if this is what it is going to take, then I had better get on with this. And so, in our own strength, we begin to take on the world and the Coronavirus. The problem is that this is way beyond any of us to fix, and we end up with an unsustainable counterfeit version that ultimately leads us to any number of reactions: sick, overwhelmed, disappointed, burned out, apathetic. Or we may even become legalistic or self-righteous. We recognize that perfection is out of reach and apathy is not an option — and yet we are still called to this standard of excellence. So, what do you do?

What is left for us is to step into a process of spirit-led transformation. This begins with our acknowledging our own poverty — we simply cannot do this in our own strength. We do not have the moral fortitude to do this. This is about recognizing our powerlessness to change ourselves or this world in our own strength. And from this place, it is about coming to the Cross of Jesus Christ. Here, we willingly submit ourselves to the Holy Spirit to be transformed into the image of Jesus who is perfect. We accept that this is a process. A process that is mapped out one person at a time, one kind note at a time, one cup of coffee across a fence at a time. Quite rightly, we have made a lot of plans and taken a great deal of trouble to prepare virtual worship, but this is not a virtual crisis. We are dealing with a viral threat that is passed person to person.

This is also about allowing Jesus to give us the gift of faith that, together, in the power of God, we can make a difference. The problem is when we read the Bible and it says “you” we have a tendency to take it as “me” when we should take it as “we.” In God’s power and leading, we are supposed to work together. Up and down New England we are a family of churches on mission together.  And because of Jesus, because of the Cross, we discover our place on a trajectory that says that the heart of God will prevail. Healing, redemption, peace, hope and justice will all prevail.

My mom’s neighbor is a follower of Jesus and she knows that my mom loves the Lord too. My mom’s neighbor concluded, “We will be praying for you. I can’t help but think that the Lord would take this opportunity to wake us all up, to encourage His church to be His love in action.” That handwritten note is the best sermon I have heard for a long time! Let’s not pretend that loving our neighbor in this time of fear is an overly complicated action. It really can be this profoundly simple and beautiful. And imagine what we can do together in the power of the Spirit.

So, I am on the mountains of Southern Italy, hazardously near the edge of a six-hundred-foot precipice. All that’s behind me is deep, dense, dark forest with not the faintest trace of a path. For three hours I have been alone: lost, with no cell phone and a solar operated wristwatch that has stopped because the leaf foliage is blocking out all sunshine and all conceivable hope of rescue. I might also add that my legs are torn to shreds and I am remembering a guidebook that warned me that these remote parts of Italy are inhabited by wild boar who, like sharks of the deep waters, are the sharks of the deep woods and can smell the blood pouring down my legs from quite some distance.

This episode (which is unfortunately all true) began with a family vacation and my waking at 5:00am with a notion that I could run to the top of the mountain that was directly behind our guest house. Fabrice, the owner of our accommodation, had mentioned something about mountain paths and the idea was lodged. It all started out well enough. The sun was rising, the birds were singing, and I congratulated myself as I spotted all of the little painted red and white painted markers that identified the trail. And when these ran out, I remembered my Cub Scout Training and made a few little crosses out of twigs in the unlikely event that I should lose my way. And when the path really narrowed, and it got really dark (and everything inside of me said “Turn back!”) I pressed on up the mountain. 

What happened next is what I shall refer to as an “herbaceous mirage.” That is, as I looked through the dense forest, it looked like a rough kind of path was in front of me but as I ran toward it and then looked back, it was clear that there was no path at all. At this point I still didn’t realize I was nowhere near any path! This went on for about an hour and a half by which time I was completely disorientated, and only then did it begin to dawn on me that I might be just a little bit lost. So, I just kept on running… with progressively more stumbling, tripping and full-on falling over. It won’t be a surprise to you to learn that I did pray a bit. My prayer was something along the lines of, “Please Lord, this is not going terribly well, my family is expecting me for breakfast, so please could you bless my best attempts to get myself out of here!”

And then I came up against a wire fence with barbed wire curled around the top. Hallelujah! This was the first “non-thorny shrub/tree” I had seen in over two hours. I quickly imagined a scenario that somebody must have built this fence so there must be a road nearby and if I can find a road and I can make it home. That was when I noticed that my legs were bleeding into my running shoes from all the thorns that had embedded themselves into my calves. This was also the moment when I was pretty sure I heard the ominous snorting of wild carnivorous boar. And this was absolutely the moment that I witnessed the six hundred foot precipice that was just on the other side of the wire fence. These circumstances kind of kick-started a new kind of prayer.

The curious thing was that while crashing into this dead-end certainly felt like the absence of God, it was actually the beginning of being found. I had now stopped running. My prayer had changed from simply a petition that the Lord bless my best attempts to fix the situation myself, to a desperate cry for rescue. It was only then that  I noticed a single white polythene strip tied to a tree: just maybe someone had put it there? So, I walked in that direction for about ten minutes (which was indeed a kind of test of faith) until I found a second little white plastic tree ornament. It was like following plastic breadcrumbs and when these dried up, I suddenly spotted a little red and white painted marker, and then another one and then another and then an opening. I felt sunshine on my face for the first time in over three hours. I now recognized a small dirt road that was just five minutes from our guesthouse. Had I been able to jump with joy I would have done. I looked up to say, “Thank you” and saw, for the first time, that this entire debacle had taken place under the shadow of the cross. I know that is the kind of thing you expect me to say – but literally – on the top of the adjacent mountain was a very large cross!

As I walked free of those dark woods it was so clear that God had come looking for me. In all my naiveté, I had radically underestimated the extent of the danger I was in.  Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” [John 10:27]. That is so gracious. He could so easily have added, “but not always,” because we both know that I ignored a very keen sense of His wisdom to turn back long before I got into trouble. The Bible reassures me that one day I will be united with God and I will never get lost again. In the meantime, however, neither Jesus nor the apostle Paul ever promised me that I would be perfect (and this is not an invitation for reckless living, but rather a hard reality).  He is gracious, and I see that day by day He, regularly saves me from myself.

The Lord knew that this trip was important to me. After a period of too much illness and too many surgeries, I wanted to reassure my family that I was fully present, alive and well, and that I loved them. As I stumbled out from the woods it struck that my heavenly Father is led by exactly the same desire!

The Anglican Diocese of New England remains full of extraordinary God-centric surprises! Canon Brian Bethke and I drove 130 miles yesterday to visit a church that meets on Saturdays. With a congregation of over 200 people, this is one of our larger ADNE church families. It was so good to be with them. They worshipped with all of their hearts. They shared bread and wine together, praying the liturgy with real conviction. They read the word together and the word was preached with passion. The entire congregation leaned in and audibly sounded their agreement. They took up an offering. They prayed for their city. They prayed for each other. And at the close of the service, they had lunch together – some really good soup and fresh bread. I have to add that their coffee was spectacular. I learned later that a local supplier had sourced and provided the best coffee in the city. I am a something of an expert on church coffee and let me tell you, this really was exceptionally good!

In many ways, I am sure that our own Sunday experience is not entirely dissimilar.  Except this church has no roof, no walls, no pews or chairs. Instead, they meet on the steps of City Hall in Hartford every Saturday morning come rain, freezing rain, snow blizzard, hail, or blistering heat and the large majority of its members are homeless.

Sharing Holy Communion with our church family in Hartford that morning was deeply moving. Bruised and cold hands, shaped by the harshness of the elements, reached out for the sacrament. Prayer pervaded every moment of their time together. At one point in the service church members were encouraged to huddle up in groups of three, laying hands upon each other and praying with power and compassion. Prayers of this nature broke out all of the time; in the coffee line, standing together with soup or in the line for clean clothing.

At one point, they invited me into the middle and prayed for me as their Bishop. The man who prayed for me had recently given his life to the Lord. My intercessor was homeless and had given his life to the Lord in prison. The presence of the Holy Spirit was profound. There was a particular quality of glorious silence that fell, as we celebrated communion, that spoke to me of the inbreaking of heaven.

As the service drew to a close, spontaneous worship broke out as a young man called Eric (whose father had died that week) sang, “You are here, touching every heart, I worship you, I worship you. You are here, healing every heart. I worship you, I worship you. You are here turning lives around, I worship you, I worship you. You are here Mending every heart. I worship you, I worship you.”

The entire operation was seamless. I met two members of the leadership at a U-haul storage facility, just a few miles outside the city. A U-haul truck was packed to perfection with open-sided tents, tables, coffee, food, and clothing. As we arrived in the van, the volunteer set-up team had already assembled in front of County Hall in readiness. We stood in a circle, introductions were made, and we prayed together.  Many of the set-up team were themselves home-less. Within fifteen minutes the contents of the truck were unloaded, and the church rose up out of the cold, concrete sidewalk. A sound system was assembled together with a fold-out communion table complete with chalice and patent that was set before a small iron cross. Tables were unpacked, unfolded and positioned under the open tents to keep coffee, soup, and sandwiches dry.

And in this simple but extraordinarily thoughtful process, the Lord established a place where his Spirit began the work of recovering the beauty and nobility of the image of God, in each person. This included the simple grace of holding out the dignity of choice. What kind of sandwich would you like? Would you like cream and sugar with your coffee? I was helping distribute new underwear to the guys. They got to choose – boxers or briefs? The simple task of asking someone who feels forgotten and has lost sight of themselves, what they would prefer, was a simple but beautiful act of recovering God’s image buried within them.

This remarkable ministry started with just one-man, ADNE clergyman, Reverend Bryan Bywater.

This one man, with one fold-out table, and a broken heart for the forgotten and the marginalized also had faith that, if we came together, in the power of God, we could really can make a difference. The problem is when the Bible says, “you” we have a tendency to take it as “me” when we should take it as “we.” In God’s power and leading, we are supposed to work in this together. This is now gloriously evidenced by the large number of volunteers, including students and older children, who now come each Saturday to worship and serve as part of this church family.

One lady told me that she had felt God’s call to join this church fellowship for some time and yet Saturday was always crowded with other demands. At the same time, she asked the Lord, “But if I came, what could I possibly do? She prayerfully sensed the Lord encourage her, “My prayer, poured out upon your heart and lips – is the prayer that keeps them alive until you pray for them again the following week.” She is now there every week and men and women wait patiently in the cold to have her pray with them. She knows them by name and by heart.

If Hartford were not quite such a drive, do you think you might be persuaded to be a part of one of the largest churches in the Diocese? And yet, maybe we don’t need to drive 130 miles to be part of a church like this? What if we let the Spirit take the lead and asked him where to set up His table? What miracles is He longing to perform through His presence in us – if we had the courage to step out in faith? How many more might know His life, through His prayer, poured out upon our hearts and lips? Is it possible that God is calling us to build church family for the outcast, the prisoner and the homeless up and down New England? Can any of us think of a city or town in New England where this kind of vibrant street church is not desperately needed?

Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.”

As I was headed back to the welcome warmth of my car (my feet so cold, I could no longer feel them), I noticed three Street Church members sat on a low wall. A young man with an older man and woman. The older lady asked me if I would pray for her arthritic knee and so we stopped. After we had prayed, she asked me if I had anything to eat. I said we had given everything away but before I could say another word, the young man (also homeless) reached into his back-pack and reassured her, “Don’t worry you can have my sandwich. I was saving it for later, but here, you take it.” Here is the church of Jesus Christ, alive and serving on the streets of Hartford. Jesus is where He always said He would be. The only question is, are we willing to join Him?

About ten years ago, over the course of a particularly harsh December in the UK, there was a terrible series of events in the city that I was ministering in which women working in prostitution were serially disappearing. It seemed that every day the news would show yet another picture of another victim — a young woman smiling at the camera, never suspecting how that snapshot would one day be used to notify the world of her tragic end. These terrible events caused a great wave of fear across the whole country. We were deep in preparation for our Christmas services but amidst all the festivities and caroling we felt that we needed to publicly pray for these women and their families. It fell upon me to shape those prayers. How do you pray in such terrible circumstances? I was very clear about one thing: nobody was going to pray for them by profession. We were going to pray for someone’s daughter, sister, grandchild, mother… and we were going to pray for their families who were left to grieve. 

I shall never forget the soft silence that fell upon the service as we led these prayers — a silence only disturbed by the sound of weeping that came from one part of the  crowded church. Later we discovered that a young woman and her friend (girls who worked the city streets) had come to church that night because they were very afraid and, in their words, “We wanted to feel safe in God’s house.” Later they told us that they had wept because we had called the victims by name. They came back for several more services over the Christmas period and each time they brought more of their colleagues with them because, they said, “This was a church where God knew them by name and not profession. This was a place where they felt safe.” 

I can’t help but recall the faces of these young women whenever I read the account of the Biblical story of Rahab. There was something in this raw instinct to reach out for God’s protection and rely wholly upon God’s mercy that was embedded in their lives and in Rahab’s life.

Let me personalize Rahab’s story. Under Joshua’s leadership, the people of God are now poised to possess the land that God has given them. Part of this Promised Land is the walled city of Jericho. Built thousands of years before Joshua was born, Jericho was one of the oldest cities in the world. It was also one of the most corrupt places on the face of the earth. Jericho made Las Vegas look like The Vatican! 

Joshua gave the order for two unnamed soldiers to enter the city as spies and bring back news of what they found. Where might spies go without fear of being detected? Where might two young soldiers go where nobody will question them? They call at the home of Rahab, whose house is conveniently situated on the city wall and whose occupation as a prostitute gave them what they hoped would be the perfect cover. The king of Jericho somehow discovers their arrival and sends his soldiers to Rahab’s house to arrest them. And in this moment, Rahab makes arguably one of the most heroic decisions in the entire Bible. Risking her own life and the lives of her family, she chooses to hide the Jewish spies on the roof of her house, telling the king’s soldiers that the men have left the city. If they had demanded to search the premises and found the spies, she and her family would have been executed on the spot. Why did she take this action? Why is a woman who was caught up in an immoral lifestyle and who arguably betrayed her city held out as a hero of faith? 

I believe the answer lies in the remarkable quality of her faith. Faith is always about who we are choosing to place our trust in. As a Canaanite woman, Rahab had myriad gods at her disposal and yet there was something about the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that had entered her heart. Even more amazing, Rahab knows nothing of this God, save for that which she has learned from the testimony of men who visit her home and pay her for her time, pillow talk from soldiers who are terrified of the God who parted the Red Sea. Their testimony touched her heart to the point that she can say to Joshua’s spies: “…for the LORD your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below.” (Joshua 2:11b).

This is perhaps the most important statement in the whole of the story. In this raw statement of faith, Rahab is declaring that upon the earth and under heaven there are no other gods. She is placing all her trust, all her hopes, all her fears in the sheer power and mercy of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. 

The Israelite army had absolutely no experience in any wall-breaching strategies! This had been the situation 40 years ago when they failed to take the city, and nothing had changed. The two spies did not glean one strategic fact about that city. They simply  returned to Joshua with just one statement: “The Lord has surely given the whole land into our hands; all the people are melting in fear because of us.” (verse 24). They are directly quoting Rahab who had told them, “I know that the Lord has given this land to you and that a great fear of you has fallen on us so that all who live in this land are melting in fear because of you.” (verse 9). And on the strength of her statement of faith, they are prepared to take the walled city — not by force, but by faith. Ultimately, they marched around it on a kind of prayer walk. Just as God said would happen, on the 7^th day and on the 7^thtime around, the walls crumbled, and this impregnable city was completely surrendered to them (Joshua 6). It was Rahab’s simple statement of faith that opened the sluice gates for God’s power to flow — through her to the spies and to Joshua and to the people of God.

How will Rahab’s little scrap of faith lay siege to her impossible life? Before they made their escape, the spies agreed to save Rahab and her family when the Israelite army came to take the city. What happened to Rahab? The Bible records that there was a man named Boaz, a man of great honor and of significant wealth within the Jewish community who showed great love and kindness in saving a young woman  named Ruth. Guess who Boaz had to thank for his good looks and Godly character? Rahab! Rahab is Boaz’s mother. So, we can know that Rahab not only married but married a man of honor and wealth. The impossible was overturned. The circumstances of her life that had kept her walled up in a prison of desolation and despair came crumbling down. Her fortunes were radically transformed, and all in just one generation. Furthermore, Boaz and Ruth had a son named Obed who grew up to father Jesse, who was father to David whose line begets Jacob the father of Joseph who was the husband of Mary of whom was born Jesus who is called Christ. There is the name of Rahab in the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah recorded in Matthew 1 — one of the only women included on the list. Rehab placed all her faith in the God of heaven and earth and ended up face-to-face with Jesus Christ. Is it remotely possible that God still does that sort of thing? 

Maybe we can identify with a sense of being walled in with some impossible circumstances. Maybe we feel that we are running out of faith. Rahab would encourage us that it was not the quantity of her faith that was most important. It was not even the quality of her faith. It is likely that what she shared with the spies constituted all she knew at that time about the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. What was most important was the identity of the One she chose to trust above all else. 

While saying goodbye after the service on that cold December night, one of the girls paused and told me quietly, “I am not proud of my life. This was not my dream. But what can I do but throw myself on the mercy and protection of God.” I think that is one of the sincerest statements of faith that I have ever heard. I don’t know what happened to this young woman. I do know that her faith was whole-hearted and not misplaced in a God who knew her by name, not by profession.