The British Humanist Association is running a bus campaign. I had heard about it a month or so back, and was bemused; I thought the slogan they were running was a bit daft, but only a bit. But recently I saw a bus in Oxford with the advert upon it.

Photo © Jon Worth / British Humanist Association. Used with permission.

There's something about seeing such a thing on a bus that helps focus the mind a bit. One sits there and actually thinks over the message and the values that produces such a sign. As a consequence of actually thinking about the Humanist Association's advert for a more sustained period of time, I no longer think it is a bit daft; I now think it is one of the strangest things I have seen for a long time.

To begin with, it's daft to be running the campaign in the first place. I think it would be hard for Aussies reading this blog to get how disinterested in God the British are. Down Under, we are used to seeing ourselves as living in a very secular society. That's true by any standard of measurement. But the average Australian doesn't have the almost passive aggressive indifference towards God that I sense over here. It is almost an active lack of interest, if it is possible to have an active absence. It is almost as though the British find the God question socially embarrassing, and so deal with it by ignoring the question until it shuffles shamefacedly out of the room.

So, in such a context where a practical atheism rules the country by default, because no-one wants to consider the question one way or another at all, why on earth would you run a campaign to provocatively put the God question back on the agenda when you want people to not believe in God? They already don't believe in God in any meaningful sense; you've already won. By reopening the question, humanists can't do any better than maintain the status quo—most people not believing in God in any meaningful sense. But even that is only possible if the Humanist Association does very, very well with its advertising campaign. Anything less and they end up going backwards. This is because muddle-headed practical atheists have a tendency to start recognizing God and coming to some kind of theism when:

1. they start thinking seriously about the God question and
2. there is some kind of Christian witness going on.

Accordingly, where there's a small number of genuine theists (who are, by and large, relatively clear as to why they believe in God) and a large number of non-theists (many of whom are just confused as to what they believe and why, because practical atheism is the ‘default option’ in a secular society), and both sides seriously examine their beliefs, then the most likely outcome is that you'll end up with more theists at the end of the process. It's just the way human people work in the world God made. More theists isn't necessarily a ‘win’ for Christianity, but it's definitely a loss for atheism. So, given sheer pragmatics, the presence of the campaign is an own goal.

But let's put that aside for the moment and focus on the advert itself. It's self-defeating on multiple fronts.

Probably

Firstly, there is that wonderful word ‘probably’: there's probably no God. At one level, it is very British understatement. The British seem to have an almost pathological dislike for certainty. For a while, a café here in Oxford claimed not ‘the best coffee in Oxford’, but ‘probably the best coffee in Oxford’. That sign really captured the way in which the British seem to draw back from making definitive statements. So, at one level, it is very culturally appropriate.

But when the sign is self-consciously in dialogue with Christianity (as the supporting website makes clear), ‘probably’ is just dumb. ‘Probably there is no God’ means that it is quite conceivable that there is a God; it is just that the speaker has, in their personal judgement, concluded that the balance of probability is against such a possibility. But that clearly invites the person reading the sign to consider seriously themselves whether they think God's existence is that unlikely. And when such a question is asked seriously, very, very few people are prepared to accept that the balance of probability is against the existence of God. Atheism is like designer drugs: it's a lifestyle choice for a small westernized elite.

For my money, even if someone concludes that God ‘probably’ does not exist, that still does not simply translate into taking up atheism. There are many things that probably will not occur that we still take steps to make even more unlikely, because the consequences are so significant if they do. The entire health and fitness enterprise is predicated, at least in part, on people's desire to take a two-in-five chance of illness/medical condition x occurring and reducing it to something less, even though it probably won't happen if they take no steps at all. For example, to prevent some overwhelmingly unlikely foetal abnormalities, mothers will often still take tablet x and avoid food y to reduce that chance even further. The God question, like global warming, can't simply be resolved by deciding that one's rubbery figures end up with odds greater than 50 per cent against, and therefore, concluding that, the entire question can be shelved.

So ‘probably’? That's an own goal.

Now stop worrying and enjoy your life

Secondly, there is the great imperative: “Now stop worrying and enjoy your life”. Why is God's non-existence the reason to stop worrying and ejoy your life? The attending website for the campaign argues that it is because the atheist adverts are responding to a prior Christian advert campaign which, on its supporting website, mentioned that unbelievers face eternal hellfire. It's a telling point: one aspect of the Christian message that wasn't even directly part of the original advert campaign (but merely supporting web-literature) has become a key focus of the atheist campaign.

At one level, I think they've again chosen a defensible strategy from a rhetorical point of view. The Humanist Association seems to think that most people are going to find the notion that God will condemn them personally and sentence them to an eternity of suffering the most offensive aspect of the Christian message. And so they are trying to capitalize on that in promoting atheism. I think, at this point, they are dead right. It's a sound strategy: as a teenager who was gripped by a fear of hell, I think I would have found a strong belief in the non-existence of God a more enjoyabale alternative, even though I could also see it meant that my life was inherently meaningless. It was just that, well, the non-existence of God didn't seem probable. But sure, there's no question I had a vested interest in trying to believe that God didn't exist.

I would suggest that this part of the humanist campaign feeds in to a debate occurring within Evangelicalism about how the gospel should be preached. This tactic they are using indicates that those voices in broader Evangelicalism who argue that we should displace justification to the side in our evangelistic preaching in favour of more relational categories (because issues of guilt and forgiveness just aren't that important to contemporary westerners) are wide of the mark. Forensic categories (guilt, righteousness, forgiveness, justification and the like) are clearly still something that people react strongly to, which suggests that they haven't been rendered irrelevant by the slow march of time. People care about the idea that God will judge them, and resent it. That suggests to me that self-righteousness continues to be a big issue for human beings, even if some of its particular details might have experienced generational change. In the relationally starved context that is life in the big city, we may want to give the relational aspects of the gospel more prominence than has been previously the case, but I think we have here a good argument for ensuring that such a move complements and does not compete with a strong focus on the notes of objective guilt, judgement, forgiveness and justification. People don't react badly to things they don't care about.

That to one side, this is another own goal for atheism. One of its greatest rhetorical tools, used to devastating effect throughout the last century, was to run the Freud/Marx play-the-man argument against theistic belief. It went along these lines: “Religious people project a bigger version of themselves into heaven, and call it God, because they need to believe in that to cope with life”. Belief in God was the invisible security blanket for adults who were still craven and weak at heart, but who couldn't suffer the social embarrassment of carrying their childhood fluffy toy around with them. As an argument against the existence of God, it was a poor effort. As CS Lewis indicated in The Pilgrim's Regress, it was on a par with saying that “You only say that 1+1=2 because you're a mathematician”. But then popular atheism has never seemed overly scrupulous about the intellectual integrity of its arguments.

Against weak God-believers, atheists were able to position themselves as the religious equivalent of the ideal journalist or scientist: self-sufficient, caring only about evidence and reason, having the courage and inner pluck to stand on their own two feet and face life for what it really was without the need for any comforting lie. It was a bizarre bringing together of Enlightenment values with the lonely Byronic hero of Romanticism, but it was still an effective rhetorical device—as seen in the way that Richard Dawkins is the latest in a long line of celebrity atheists being presented along these lines.

But “Now stop worrying and enjoy your life” kind of blows both sides of the critique out of the water—a nasty case of friendly fire. On the one hand, it turns out that it isn't that comforting to believe that God is up there and is going to pass judgement on us. So the argument that theistic belief is a crutch made up by people who need to believe in it and who do so in the face of compelling evidence to the contrary simply evaporates. It can't be true that belief in God is both a comforting crutch and a barrier to not worrying and enjoying life. So this part of the advert, which seems to be part of a broader move on the part of contemporary atheism to try and argue that God is evil, primarily serves to undercut what has been one of their greatest rhetorical tools in the modern era—presenting belief in God as a crutch for the weak. That's an own goal all by itself.

But this argument also serves to undercut their positioning of themselves. Suddenly, it turns out that atheism is not the consequence of brave warriors for truth, letting the evidence lead them to the only rational position; rather, atheists have a vested interest in the question as well. Go figure. They are not the disinterested referees they make themselves out to be. If God exists, then they cannot stop worrying and enjoy life. They need God to not be there, otherwise life will lose its savour.

So the conclusion that God ‘probably’ does not exist is being offered by someone who really wants God to not exist. How trustworthy do you think their weighing of the issues is likely to be? Probably does not exist? Would you buy a used atheism from this salesman?

Again, this has nothing at all to do with whether atheism has any credibility; good beliefs can be held by people of dubious credentials. But it does have loads to do with whether atheists have credibility. In an era where atheism's popular appeal (such as it is—a muddle-headed practical atheism that only rarely translates into a clear-minded ideological atheism) seems very much tied to an implicit “Trust us; we're the disinterested, rational ones in this debate”, this is an own goal of massive proportions.

No doubt this is more than enough for a single blog entry, gentle reader, so we'll finish this in a concluding post.

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How are you feeling about the year that's just begun? Are you optimistic and ready for its demands? Or are you anxious and stressed, worried that you won't be able to cope with the months ahead?

I've been regarding this year with trepidation. Normally by early January, I've reflected on the year that's passed and the one that's coming. I've thought about what areas of godliness I want to work on, and written a list of resolutions to be observed or ignored, as the case may be. I've drawn up a budget, and typed out a daily and weekly plan. But an overly busy December and illness during our post-Christmas vacation left little time for reflection and planning. What's more, last year was a hard year, which scared me a little. I've been anxious about my ability to cope with the unknown, and worried that the known will look all too familiar.

That's how I was feeling until I picked up my Bible the other morning. I turned the pages to the well-known words of Psalm 23, and read each sentence slowly and prayerfully.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
   He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
  He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
  for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
  I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
  your rod and your staff,
  they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me
  in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
  my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
  all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
  forever.

My fear and anxiety show what’s in my heart. At some level, I've been thinking, “‘He restores my soul’—but only if I've had enough rest during our vacation. ‘He leads me in paths of righteousness’—but only if I write a list of New Year's resolutions. ‘I will fear no evil’—but only if I tick everything on my ‘To Do’ list before the kids go back to school. ‘Surely goodness and mercy will follow me’—but only if I plan my year with the precision of a US Marines Operation. ” But God’s sovereign care for his people has no contingency clauses.

Yes, God can work through my wise plans. Plans help me to prioritize what's important, resolutions can be useful aids to holiness, and routines enable me to use my time well. But if I depend on plans to give me peace when I'm anxious, on resolutions to relieve my guilt, and on routines to make me feel in control, I'm on dangerous ground. The day I trust in my plans is the day I stop trusting in God. No plans can avert disaster, ensure growth or guarantee happiness this year.

I don't know what the year will hold. I don't even know what will happen tomorrow (Jas 4:13-17)! I don't know if I’ll cope with ministry and motherhood, if my son will settle into his first year of school or if my family will stay healthy. I don't even know if I, or those close to me, will be alive by the end of this year.

What I do know is the one thing I need to know: God's goodness and mercy to me in Jesus.

I know that God is good to his people (Ps 73:1). I know that in my Good Shepherd's sheep fold, there is protection and pasture (John 10:1-18). I know that every morning I will wake to new mercies (Lam 3:22-23). I know that all things work together for good to make me more like Jesus (Rom 8:28-29). I know that I need fear no evil, even if I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (Ps 23:4). I know that God leads me in paths of righteousness for his glory (Ps 23:3). I know that goodness and mercy will pursue me every day and into eternity (Ps 23:6). I have nothing to fear, and everything to hope for.

And so, every time I feel anxious about this year, I repent of my unbelief, preach the following words to myself, and choose once again, with God's help, to believe them: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever”. Amen.

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Rick Warren's prayer at Barack Obama's inauguration seemed excellent. I could certainly say “Amen”. Al Mohler has written a more extensive prayer for this most important and powerful man—full of thanks, yet also asking for him to be sensitive in areas where he seems weak from a Christian point of view (e.g. on preventing abortion and defending marriage).

By sad contrast, here's the prayer of openly practising homosexual Bishop Gene Robinson who was at the Lincoln Memorial at the start of the inauguration celebrations. There's much in his sentiment I agree with—praying for the President's safety, praying for him as the father of two young girls, praying for us to remember that he's not the messiah, praying for us to be generous and to be concerned for those suffering in poverty, and so on. But his prayer totally failed to mention the name of Jesus, or even anything specifically Christian about God (well, he promised he would not pray a Christian prayer). Instead, he addressed his request to the “God of our many understandings“. This is simply astonishing for a leader in the church of God.

His prayer also made the claim that every religion's god judges people by how they treat the most vulnerable. These are noble sentiments, but

1. I am not sure his claim is true. For a start, one major wing of Buddhism doesn't appear to have any traditional idea of God, but rather denies God's existence, and Hindiusm's teaching of karma seems traditionally to have encouraged people of higher castes not to be consistently compassionate to people of lower castes because, in their suffering, karma means they are allegedly getting their just desserts for wrongs in a previous incarnation.
2. Even if my brief summary that challenges this claim that every religion is the same here is incorrect, Robinson's prayer tends towards the popular idea that all religions are really the same at heart. But this glosses over massive differences and contradictions (one God versus many; is Jesus God in the flesh or not, and did Jesus die on the cross or not? etc.), alongside some matters held in common, at least, to some religions.

Robinson's prayer also presumed that all discrimination is always wrong—specifically mentioning gay and lesbian people, alongside women and people of colour. (Notably, the former involve lifestyle choices; the latter is something entirely beyond one's control). Discrimination is always wrong if there is an unjust or illegitimate reason for it. But there are sometimes legitimate reasons for discrimination.

For example, we discriminate against young people—not allowing them to vote, buy cigarettes or alcohol, and so on before a certain age—because of our views about their vulnerabilities due to the intellectual, emotional and social development levels typical at those younger ages. In a different way, we discriminate against prisoners, denying some categories of prisoner the right to vote. I could go on to illustrate my point that there are some circumstances where we do discriminate for a variety of legitimate reasons.

Many have also argued it is legitimate to discriminate against people who do not meet the traditional definition of eligibility for marriage—a definition outlined in the Bible from the first pages (Genesis 1-2) and upheld by Jesus (Mark 10:1-10), but also held pretty consistently across cultures down through the ages. This definition involves one man and one woman for life, thereby giving the possibility of conceiving children in a stable environment with two parents, one of each gender.

For other situations, I would argue it is quite legitimate to discriminate by preventing ineligible people from being married. For example, we do not permit a man to marry two women (bigamy) or one underage girl just because he wants to. Discrimination regarding marriage is especially appropriate where conception of a child is not even possible for the whole category. And so we should not permit same-sex marriages either, which lack the basic component of the two genders. One might possibly argue that committed same-sex partners should have some similar rights in property and inheritance matters as other committed partnerships (which they now have in most cases), but it's still not a marriage.

In conclusion, Robinson's prayer is wrong to privilege a “warm embrace of our differences“ and “an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger“ over “mere tolerance“. There are some matters where diversity might be a fact, but we should not be forced to say it is good. Mere tolerance is actually far better than applauding immorality, for tolerance says that we do not agree with you, but we will defend your legitimate freedoms and rights as a person to express your religious and other beliefs and so on lawfully. Tolerance says we will love our enemies even though we cannot approve their behaviour.

This is obviously not a footnoted ethics essay, but I hope you will consider it food for thought.

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In light of the conversation I've been having with Jean and others about a previous post, and also in light of thinking a little recently about change (sparked, in particular, by reviewing a course dealing with porn addiction, and also by reading Tim Chester's You can change), I feel a strong desire to write again about defensiveness and the work of the Holy Spirit.

Let me say up-front that I always find this tricky to get right. The Holy Spirit is sovereign, and does his own work in his own time irresistibly (e.g. John 3:1-8). Yet the Scriptures also call on us to be responsible and not to grieve the Spirit (Eph 4:30). How to make sense of this in every detail I am not quite sure. What I am sure of is that the Spirit, who gave us both these passages, speaks through the New Testament to remind me regularly to live wholeheartedly for righteousness—whether in the injunction to put off the old man (Col 3) or the reminder to listen obediently when he speaks (Heb 3-4). While I cannot always make sense of the tension, the Spirit leaves me in no doubt about what I should do with it: listen when he speaks and walk where he leads.

But what I find often happens is that I hear the word of God and I feel the old clench in my stomach. God is asking me to do something that grates against my personality—something that I'm going to find uncomfortable. It's always at around about this time that the rationalizations begin. There are lots of possibilities, aren't there—for example, the preacher hasn't really understood the passage, or that applies to another part of the body; all the arms out there need to hear that, but I'm a foot. But I think what I experience most of all is fear—fear that this is going to be hard—that I will try and fail—and so it's easier to find an excuse. What do I need to do? I need to preach the gospel to myself again.

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? (Rom 8:31-32).

What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him! (Luke 11:11-13).

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified. (Rom 8:28-30).

God has declared his love for me and his commitment to my good in ways that I can never fathom or hope to match in my response to him. He has given me his own Son unto death, and his Spirit to dwell in my heart to transform me and bring to work in me the power of the resurrection. Why on earth, then, do I respond to his word by self-protection and self-deception? Why do I fear the pain that putting this word into practice will bring if I can be certain of God's intention in the pain to make me like Jesus? Yep, I definitely need to hear the gospel again (and again and again and again). When God asks me to change me life, it's for my good. Why would I ever doubt this?

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It's mid-January, and already I have read what could be my best book for 2009—although I have a suspicion it might not be for everyone. However, before you stop reading this, thinking you might be one of those it's not for, if you are involved in any sort of pastoral work (from church leadership to running a small group to one-to-one personal follow-up), this is the book for you.

Memoirs of an Ordinary Pastor by DA Carson (Crossway, 2008) is a moving and personal reflection on the life of Tom Carson, written by his well-known and, more importantly, biblically literate and pastorally insightful son, Don. Based heavily upon Tom's journals, we have the privilege of stepping through the front door of a household filled with biblical reflection, deep prayer and true concern for others above themselves—a household lovingly led by Tom.

Having graduated from Toronto Baptist Seminary in 1933, Tom, along with his wife Margaret, served the people of a majority francophone area of Canada for almost 60 years until his death in 1992. During this time, the churches he worked in were, by modern standards, small and unimpressive—small beacons of reformed Protestantism in a largely Catholic state. We read of the small highs and, more importantly, the deep and real lows of ‘unspectacular’ suburban ministry year after year. While the highs are impressive, and Tom's passion and commitment to his flock inspiring (particularly his prayer and study on their behalf), for me, the highlight of the book is the recording and reflection on the very real lows that pastoral ministry brings. It is in this area that we are so blessed to have someone like Don (Tom's son) writing about his father because not only does he beautifully allow us into the world of the man, he reflects on that world theologically and pastorally in a sensitive and encouraging way.

In October 1963, at the age of 52, Tom resigned as the pastor of the church in Drummondville—the church that had been his ‘baby’ (born with severe complications) since 1948. This was the conclusion of a year waiting for “conversions and other signs of grace”—signs that did not come (p. 90). For the purpose of helping discouraged ministers of the gospel today, Don takes a short break from recounting the life of his father to reflect on what he saw happening in his father, and what he sees happening in the life of many ministers today.

The nine points that follow (p. 92-96) will (or, in my humble opinion, should) become compulsory reading for any person taking on any position of leadership or pastoral responsibility in a church because they address the fact that disappointments and failures will come, and they give some sound reflection on what to do when they come. Here are the points (but read them in full and read the book to get them in context!)

1. There is always more pastoral work to be done, so remember that we serve under a gospel of grace.
2. As Marg Carson said, “Work hard and play hard, but never confuse the two”.
3. When other ministers in your sphere are working effectively and fruitfully, learn what you can, but keep envy at bay with rejoicing.
4. If you have a tender conscience, rejoice because that is a great gift. But be sure to combine that gift with a deep understanding of the limitless dimensions of the love of God.
5. No matter what is going on, never ignore your wife and children.
6. When change is necessary, pray and plan carefully, and act.
7. Be serious in working out what it means to be content in your busy ministry life.
8. Know yourself, and play to your strengths.
9. Fill your life regularly and deeply with the knowledge and love of God so that when the dark times come, the call to God is one of a cry for help rather than a judgemental curse.

As I read these pages, my mind was taken back to 10 years of small, suburban ministry and circumstances when I had struggled with many of the same issues as Tom. However, my reaction was much less godly. Tom's experiences encourages me to approach and reflect on them differently when they arise again.

This is a great read and one that I'm sure many will find encouraging and inspiring. As Erwin W Lutzer says in introducing the book, “In a day when we honor megachurch pastors, it is refreshing to read this account of an ordinary pastor—representing the unsung heroes among us who do not aspire to greatness but rather to godliness and faithfulness”.

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Last week we started looking at the Christian basis for prayer. This week we think about broadening our prayer concerns. Remember, this really isn't theory. How will this affect the groups you are a part of in 2009?

Expanding our concerns

Our prayers are often of a totally different character to the prayers of the Bible. For example, look at the prayers in the following passages:

• 2 Samuel 7:18-29
• Matthew 6:5-15
• Colossians 1:3-14

Note the concerns of these prayers: the grand purposes of God; the salvation of Israel through David's dynasty; the growth of the gospel and of believers; the coming of the Kingdom of God; the renown of God. In short, they are God-centred, not self-centred, prayers. They are full of thanks to God, rehearsing his holiness and saving power, and asking him to fulfil his plans to save the world.

Paul sets an agenda for prayer meetings in 1 Timothy 2:1-7. Read this now.

We are to pray for everyone, with the focus upon godly living and the salvation of all. Of course, we can bring our personal needs to God in prayer (see 1 Pet 5:7; Matt 6:25-34). By bringing all matters to God, even the minor details of our lives, we express faith in God's rule over all things. God has committed himself to provide and care for us.

Collecting prayer points

The old routine of collecting prayer points is a mixed blessing. It is good to hear others' concerns so that we can pray very specifically. It is one of the key ways we express our love for each other. But this routine does present some problems. It takes a lot of time, and the actual praying gets tacked on the end of the discussion. It can become repetitive, with the same issues being raised every week. It can be difficult at certain stages of the group's existence for people to be honest and open with their prayer requests. The main problem, however, with sharing prayer points is that it promotes self-centred praying.

Beyond our personal concerns, what should the group be praying about? Our prayers should reflect God's purposes in his world, so we should pray for:

• Gospel preaching. The group might adopt a missionary or evangelist for whom they can pray, as they keep track of his or her activities and needs.
• Unbelievers. Pray for the salvation of your unbelieving friends and families. Pray more widely for the conversion of those in positions of power, of people who have a public profile, or even of neighbours whom you don't know.
• The growth of the church in godliness. Pray for your church's programmes and plans. Perhaps adopt a particular ministry, such as Sunday School, and pray for it for a period.
• Our own growth in godliness. This is an important focus for the group. Pray about your responses to the sermons you hear. Pray about the Bible studies you do in the group—that God will help you to apply what you learn to your mind and behaviour. Most groups need help in doing this, lest they drift into their own concerns rather than God's concerns, as expressed in the Bible passage. We need to learn to pray with ‘open Bibles’, rather than forgetting what we have just studied as we start our time of prayer.

The group dynamics of prayer

It can be hard to get everyone in a group to pray out loud, especially when the group is quite new and people are not yet comfortable with each other. How can we make this easier for each other?

• Leading in prayer. When we pray with others, we are not only praying to God, we are also leading others in prayer. This is true in any Christian context, such as conferences, committees and church. We must be conscious of others, not in order to impress them; on the contrary, we must seek to serve them. Here are some practical tips on serving people in prayer:
  • Use the plural pronouns ‘we’ and ‘our’. This signals that we are all praying, not just the person speaking.
  • Say short prayers so that everyone can maintain attention.
  • Avoid jargon or complicated expressions; use language that everyone in the group will understand.
  • Don't switch into an unnatural ‘prayer mode’. Use your normal voice and keep a normal posture.
• Form smaller groups. Reducing your group size into twos or threes for prayer can lower people's anxieties and allow them to pray more openly. Single sex prayer groups can have the same effect.
• Formulating prayers. When time is spent discussing what we want to pray, people are often more confident and willing to pray. A sense of unity in prayer is developed, making it easier for people honestly to say ‘Amen’ to each prayer. Discussing and formulating prayers before praying need not make praying a formality; it simply brings the group together in their support of the prayer.

Prayer partners

You might wish to form ‘Prayer Partnerships’ within your group where small groups of people regularly pray together. This tends to build more prayer into group life, as well as deepening some of the friendships in the group. There are endless possibilities for how such a group might operate. Here are but a few suggestions:

• Pray together only during group meeting time.
• Pray together during the week, outside the group time.
• Pray for each other during the week, without meeting together.
• Change prayer partners every few weeks or months.

Exercise

Is your group too narrow in its prayer concerns?

What ministries could you adopt for prayer? List a couple here.

Does your group suffer from the ‘prayer point routine’? How could you improve upon this?

Read the full article online.

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I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me. But it did. It was almost funny in an appalling way.

I was recently part of an interview panel for a fairly senior position at a Christian institution. We were hoping to appoint a Christian person to the position, but the realities of the situation dictated that we were going to have to settle for someone who was at least comfortable to support the Christian stance of the institution.

And so as each applicant filed in, and as the interview proceeded, it was my job to ask the Christian question: “As you know, The X Institution is founded on Christian principles. What is your own understanding of the Christian faith?”

Now, judging by their applications, none of the candidates made any claim to be Christian. I wasn't expecting a theological debate. But I suppose I harboured an optimistic hope that there might exist at least some understanding or sympathy with Christianity, or that some of them might have prepared themselves to say something intelligent on the subject.

Then one answered, “Ahm, well, I'm a practising Anglican. I go to the Cathedral in Y, where I've been living. And to me, Christianity is about being loyal and honest and open, and willing to include others. It's about transparency and tolerance and ... sharing one's beliefs in [voice lowering, quavering] the Lord ... Christ ...”

Perhaps she couldn't believe that she had actually uttered the word in a job interview, or perhaps it was the first time she had ever said the word outside a church building. But the final almost whispered ‘Christ’ escaped from her mouth like a hiss of air from a long-unopened sarcophagus.

The candidates who followed were no better. There was the self-described ‘notional Christian’ who acknowledged that while he was not a practising Christian, he nevertheless was, in all probability, within the bounds of what the norms of Australian society would class a Christian to be. And he sent his son to a church school.

There was someone who declared that being a Christian meant that we were all created in the image of God (a slightly promising start), and therefore we ought to treat each other with care and kindness, which, along with an appropriate focus on academic achievement, would enable everyone to reach his or her own potential and make a meaningful contribution to society.

And there was a Catholic person, who warmed to the theme that Christianity was fundamentally about ‘giving back’—not to God, but to society, out of gratitude for the privileges and opportunities we've been given.

I suppose I didn't expect theological astuteness, nor any real clarity about the gospel. But I guess I had hoped for at least a mention of Jesus or God or the cross or the resurrection or faith or anything! I would have settled for a passing reference to the Sermon on the Mount. Or the Ten Commandments.

It was painfully and embarrassingly obvious that none of the candidates had ever given Christianity (as a subject) a moment's thought. It's not that they had wrong ideas so much as they had no ideas. They were saying the first thing that came into their heads, dredged up from who knows where.

And all of them were highly intelligent, tertiary-educated, experienced people, applying for a well-paid senior position at a Christian institution.

It was sobering reminder of just how mired in ignorance and apathy most of our friends and neighbours are—like an old friend of mine who had spent six years at a church school (going to chapel three times a week), and who looked up from his crossword one day and said to me, “Biblical baby found in bulrushes. Five letters. Third and fifth are ‘s’. That's Jesus, isn't it?”

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The Church of England in the UK has released a prayer for those who have been made redundant (along with other prayers for people affected in other ways by the financial crisis). It has been fascinating to hear various clergy on the radio here in the UK answer the question ‘why?’ as people have queried how this prayer can be of any benefit to anyone. It's a question that has at its heart the deeper question of ‘Why bother praying at all?’, and so provides a great opportunity to call people to repentance and faith in Jesus. It hasn't been used as such, as far as I can tell, but it is always difficult to know how people have been edited. Certainly the impression given by most of the sound bites I've heard or read have gone along the lines of, “We need to give people the words to share with God how they are feeling”.

The great thing about this sound bite is that it helps people realize that God is interested in them and their feelings. In an unfriendly economic environment where people so easily feel disposable and unappreciated—even if they're gainfully employed—it is good to say clearly that God is interested in us as people, not as numbers or economic entities. None of us are ‘useful’ to God apart from his work in us to enable us to serve him. He doesn't need people the way the economic system does, and so doesn't demand from us the anonymity and productivity that burdens so many, particularly during times of financial crisis. It can be a great relief to be conscious of this as we speak to God. He isn't part of the economic system that has let us down; he is completely separate from it and not tied to it, and his interest in us is not based on our performance.

However, one of the difficulties with this sound bite is its implication that prayer is primarily about ourselves and our feelings. Here, God is an unskilled therapist at best, and akin to a small domestic animal at worst. He only ever listens; he never speaks or critiques us in any sense. He is always on our side. This is profoundly misleading because prayer is not first and foremost about our feelings, but about our expressing to God that we depend on him utterly and that we want him to rule our lives. Certainly, when we know God as our Father because we trust Jesus for salvation, we instinctively tell him our feelings, fears and joys. But we do this as part of learning to trust him with our whole lives. Telling God we have been made redundant and how this makes us feel is normal for a Christian.

But, as the redundancy prayer shows, prayer is more than a means of self-expression. The redundancy prayer includes the plea, for example, to ‘help me to think clearly, and calm my soul’. When we ask God to keep our minds and order our ways, we ask him to rule our lives. It is far more radical than simply ‘sharing’, which does not imply change and which certainly contains no suggestion that God has authority or rules over us in any way. Talking to God about our redundancy means we're depending on him. We might look for other opportunities to work, and so forth, but if God does not provide them, then we have nothing. By calling out to God for his help, we are expressing that to God, and we are saying that this is how we want it. We don't want to depend on our own abilities, strengths or capacities; we want to depend on God. We want him to rule and order our lives, even in the tough times. In prayer, we say most eloquently that we are weak, but God is strong. Even in our praise of God for who he is, we still express our dependence. Indeed, we are dependent on Jesus to bring us to God and to forgive the sins we may inadvertently commit even in the most fervent of prayers. Even praise can only be done because of what Christ did for us apart from our actions. Prayer is our plea to God expressing our desire to continue in his strength with his presence always with us, relying on him for comfort in the distress of redundancy and other difficulties of life.

The Christian view of prayer is countercultural to western society, which values individualism, autonomy, strength, beauty and wealth. Our culture instinctively sees prayer as a meaningless act apart from its impact on the person praying. Whatever value prayer has is entirely due to whatever comfort or strength a person derives from the act of praying. But prayer is a bold act of faith—faith in a living and active God whom Christians know as Father because of the death of his Son for us. Prayer cries out for God in a harsh and difficult world, and is a radical statement of belief in the goodness of God, despite such a world. It cuts against the grain because it says of ourselves “We are weak and need God” and of God “He is strong and can save, and he orders the affairs of our world”.

An explanation of Christian prayer is an explanation of the message of Christ Jesus—that being weak, we need God and will come to him on his terms, through his appointed Saviour, confessing our sins and joyfully embracing his rule over our lives. What would your sound bite on ‘why pray’ include? Why do you pray?

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We recently tackled the important but somewhat unfashionable doctrine of total depravity in The Briefing, and, in response, received a letter asking about the place of preaching the law with regards to revealing sin. Let me post the letter in full and then open up the discussion:

I found the articles by Martin Foord and Simon Manchester in December's Briefing very helpful. It's always good to be reminded of the seriousness of sin both in our own relationship with God and in speaking to others. However, shortly afterwards I read two other articles by Jim Packer (‘Puritan Evangelism’) and Ray Comfort (‘Hell's best kept secret’) that made me wonder if there was something missing from what Martin and Simon said.

Martin ends his article with the helpful reminder that, “Becoming a Christian doesn't mean that you bypass the horror a sinner experiences before a holy God. We find this horror in the pre-modern saints ... [but it] is now so foreign to late modern conversions.”

Jim Packer and Ray Comfort forcefully argue that the biblical way to produce this experience is to use the law in evangelism to show the seriousness of sin and the futility of salvation by works. They highlight that it was the law that produced this horror in the pre-modern saints like Luther and Bunyan and that these saints always used the law in their own gospel preaching.

If this is so I wondered why the law wasn't mentioned in either of the Briefing articles. I am also aware that I have never been taught to use the law in any training that I have been to on evangelism. Is the use of the law in evangelism an issue that has been considered and then rejected on biblical grounds or is this something that we forgotten and desperately need to recover?

In light of the questions raised here, let me make a few observations.

Firstly, I have not done the work to understand what the Puritans might have meant by “using the law” in their gospel preaching. But at one level, that is not the most important thing. The question is, what might it mean to use the law in gospel preaching, and what does the Bible actually do with this question?

Secondly, the apostolic preaching of the gospel in Acts (e.g. chapters 2, 3, 10, 13, 17) is interesting in this regard. Peter, Paul and the others refer the Jews to the Old Testament as a reminder of God's patience and their disobedience, and a reminder that God has fulfilled his promises in Jesus. The pointy end of their preaching is that God will judge the world, and they need to repent for their rejection of him. It doesn't seem to me that the apostles listed off a string of commandments, but rather they reminded the people that God had made them his, and that they had failed to listen to God.

When it comes to the Gentiles, the situation is even more interesting. Acts 17 is again about the fundamental truths about God: he is sovereign, he has set a day for the judgement of the world, you need to turn to him. But Paul doesn't seek to establish this so much from the law, but from their experience (cf. Rom 1:32: Paul apparently thinks that there's some general understanding of sinfulness present, even in those who act most shamelessly). So the question becomes how do you remind people of their position before God and of God's nature and character as holy and righteous creator and judge?

Thirdly, somewhat randomly, the whole discussion makes me think of the reciting of the Ten Commandments in the Anglican Prayer Book service. (Not that I am advocating a return to using the prayer book; I think that it is culturally inappropriate in most places.) However, what it did do was to draw a connection between God and his demands of us on a week by week basis (or originally, in fact, on a day by day basis). This is important because I don't think we speak in cultures where we are easily understood anymore. When we say, “God is love”, what do people hear us say? That he will let us do anything? That he is always on about seeing the good in people? That he cares for the little person? That he sent his Son to die because our sins leave us deserving of his judgement? We have the same problem when we talk about justice. Who's justice? What sort of justice are we talking about? When God is on about justice, does that mean saying that being gay is totally acceptable and that gay marriage would be acceptable in his sight?

Part of our problem is that, as we have lost any sense of a universal authority, the nature of individual rights and wrongs has been seriously called into question. I've realized that this leads me into a problem: I want people to feel the seriousness of sin. But in order to do that in a way that communicates effectively, I keep pointing people to the social consequences of sin. While these are bad, they are always open to question. For example, does divorce always lead to emotionally damaged children, or is it the parent's attitude to each other and what they communicate in the process? There are always ways to alleviate the socially damaging consequences of any sin, but in a world of consequentialist ethics, if there aren't bad consequences, then the original thing wasn't bad either. And pointing to the social consequences doesn't get to the heart of the problem. Our biggest issue with sin is that we sin against the God who made us and who has every right to judge us. We reject the Lord of life.

Fourthly, let's finish by thinking about what it might mean to ‘use the law’ in our evangelism. In one sense of the term, it could mean reminding people that God is the creator (Genesis is a part of the law). At another level, it could mean reminding people of God's specific commandments. At another level, it could mean looking at how God related to Israel and made promises that he fulfilled by sending Jesus for us. Whether these things were exactly what the Puritans were on about is not particularly important (although we may well learn a good deal from their example because they may not have been as tied to our culture as we are!). But the most important thing is to understand what God meant us to do when he encouraged us to preach the gospel: he wanted us to tell people that they are sinful, deserving of his judgement, and in need of life and hope, and that God deals with all of these issues and many more by sending Jesus to die on a Roman cross and raising him as the Lord and Judge of all. Jesus' death and resurrection is about dealing with sin and judgement, not about our existential angst. Those are the truths we need to keep communicating in any way we can.

I look forward to hearing some of your reflections on this question.

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In the old days when Al Stewart used to be fit and I used to run ahead of him, he used to say how competitive I was. Or it may be that I used to complain how competitive he was; I can't remember now. All we were doing was going for our daily 12 km run, and he hated losing. Me, I didn't mind losing. But I didn't enjoy coming second, and there were only two of us.

So I had this trick on certain days when he wasn't feeling so good, and it involved running just fast enough that, about the three-quarter mark, his stomach would give out and we would mutually enjoy a visual reprise of what Al had already enjoyed for dinner the night before. That left both of us in great shape for the breakfast Mrs Stewart would have waiting for us upon our sweaty return.

Years later, it occurs to me what a wonderful rebuke Romans 12:10 is to people like Al. Notice the nature of the competition: “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honour.” (emphasis mine).

What's that you say? That I could have listened to this verse a bit more carefully also? That Mrs Stewart actually defeated both of us in the ‘showing honour’ stakes just by feeding us breakfast?

Well, okay. But at least, 25 years later, we still work on the first half of that verse. (Me a bit better than you, I think, Al, though I wouldn't want to make too big a thing of it.)

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