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Hi Josh, can you please tell us a little bit about yourself?

Sure. I moved to Durham in 2012 as a student. I’m married to Ruth and am part of the Achor Community.

What has being part of Kings, especially the Achor Community, been like for you?

Being part of the Achor Community since I graduated has been the best part of being at Kings. Achor is an intentional missional community on the Sherburn Road estate. I have got so used to sharing life and sharing in mission together on the estate that I find it really hard to imagine not being part of the community.

I know that you work for Just Love – can you tell us more about that?

Just Love is a movement inspiring and releasing Christian students to pursue the biblical call to social justice. The movement started because we believe that if God is not OK – not apathetic – about all that is wrong and broken and unjust in our world, then we shouldn’t be either. We want to raise up a generation into a whole-life, life-long pursuit of Jesus and His justice. When I was a student in Durham, a group of us started the second ever Just Love group. I began working for Just Love once I graduated and since then we’ve grown to 25 groups in universities across the country.

That’s amazing. What exactly does your work for Just Love involve?

My role mostly involves looking after our staff team and overseeing our strategy and direction. There are basically two phases to what we do in Just Love – first with students and second with graduates. I like to think of it as a greenhouse and a garden.

Our student groups function like greenhouses – creating the sort of conditions that enable seeds to germinate and young plants to grow. University is a time of formation – you build the relationships, start the habits and make the choices that will set the trajectory for the rest of your life. So, the coaching and training we give our students is about helping them to lead communities which form deep rhythms and habits of justice – through serving, campaigning, fundraising, praying and learning.

So, first the greenhouse, then the garden. We want to ensure that the plants grown in the greenhouse get established and thrive in the garden. The real impact of what we do, the real change that will be done for the world’s poorest, will come through what our graduates go on to do for the rest of their lives – in their work, in their communities, in their giving and in their lifestyles. Our alumni network is about equipping and sustaining that.

So that’s what we’re aiming for: catalysing change among students and transforming potential into impact over the rest of their lives. My job is to make sure that happens.

That’s such a helpful illustration to understand Just Love’s vision, and really inspiring. How would you encourage each one of us to engage personally with social justice?

Social justice is complex, so I think principles are a better starting point than specific actions, which can easily become a tick-box exercise. When it comes to seeking justice, how we do it matters just as much as what we do. Here are a few principles I find helpful…

1. Ground your pursuit of justice in the Bible. This doesn’t just mean having some proof texts about justice up our sleeves; it means inhabiting the big biblical story – from Genesis to Revelation – and living in a way that stays true to that story. Our practice of justice is about pointing back to the God of creation and covenant, exodus and the cross; and pointing forward to new creation – to a world of perfect justice and perfect peace. We live into that future hope – we long for it, we pray for it, we work for it, and we allow it to shape what we value, how we live and how we love.
2. Justice is a posture, not a gesture. Biblical justice isn’t a switch that we flick on or off as the mood takes us. It’s not a box we tick by volunteering once a month, or occasionally donating to a charity, or buying Fairtrade. Biblical justice is a posture, not a gesture. It shapes and transforms our entire life – what we value and how we spend our time; how we use our money and how we use our power; the careers that we choose to go into and the communities we choose to live in; the lifestyle choices that we make. It offers a beautiful, radical alternative to a world addicted to consumerism, status and self-fulfilment.
3. Justice goes beyond charity. John Perkins, the great civil rights leader, pointed out that you can do charity from a safe distance, but you can’t love people from a safe distance. Charity is fine, but the way of Jesus calls us beyond charity – towards costly self-giving love. Here’s an uncomfortable question for many of us: ‘are we making decisions that move us towards places of brokenness and pain, or are we insulating ourselves by keeping injustice at a safe distance?’
4. Be humble. The cross reminds us that the salvation of the world does not ultimately depend on us. That’s really important when it comes to resilience and staying in the fight for the long haul. We need to be humble in our practice of justice. We are not the heroes. If you haven’t read When Helping Hurts (Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert) I’d highly recommend it. All sorts of damage can be done when we assume that we are the ones with all the solutions.
5. Use your head as well as your heart. A lot of damage has been done by well-meaning Christians who are guided by emotion without the balance of critical thought. Good intentions are great, but not enough. If we want to love people well, then we need to give careful thought to what actually makes a sustainable, long-term change to the root causes of injustice. This applies to the sorts of charities we might support or give money to. It also applies to ethical living, which is a justice issue because it is the world’s poorest who are already being disproportionately affected by climate change. Some actions are thousands of times more impactful than others. By all means use bamboo toothbrushes, but also bear in mind that reducing flying, reducing meat consumption, switching to a renewable energy supplier and moving your money out of high street banks and into an ethical bank will have literally thousands of times more impact.
6. Don’t try to do this on your own. Seeking justice is not simple – there is always more to learn and we will always make mistakes. All of this could be a bit paralysing, but like with any other part of discipleship, we need to see this as a long obedience in the same direction, and we need to surround ourselves in community who will support us, push us to go deeper and hold us accountable.

Thanks so much for sharing, Josh, that’s really helpful. May the Lord bless you as you continue to live a life of biblical justice and missional community!

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Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Chris, give us a sketch of your journey with KCD. When did you start coming to Kings, and how did you end up as our Operations Manager?

I came to Durham as an undergrad back in 2007, to study Maths & Economics. I quickly got stuck into Kings as a student being involved in cells and clusters and serving in the worship and tech teams on Sundays. As I was coming up to graduate in 2010 I had a number of options for my next step, most doing things within a ministry context, and following a few conversations with staff at KCD I decided to stay for the Internship. That then led to being in the first year of Ministry Trainees before taking on the Student Worker role full time in 2012 alongside doing an MA at Cranmer Hall.

As I reflect back I didn’t foresee that I would end up staying in Durham as long as I have; I’ve always trusted Jesus with my next step, knowing that he will always guide into good things. As I’ve got married and had a child my sense of how far in advance I want to plan to be in Durham has grown and we now see ourselves here for the foreseeable future.

I stayed in student ministry right through to just before COVID hit last year and transitioned to the role of Operations Manager. I have experienced God’s timing in that transition for myself and I also believe for the church.

What will you miss most about your role as Student Minister?

Obviously all the lattes and flat whites!

Joking aside, it’s the walking alongside people on a regular basis and seeing people grow in their faith over time. When you’re able to sit back after 10 years of doing a job like I had and see all the students that have come through KCD and gone onto fantastic things, it fills me with a sense of pride and thankfulness to God. I have missed this hands on ministry over the past year.

What are you enjoying most about your new role in Operations?

Being involved more strategically in the way all ministries in the church work, in order to enable more effective ministry and healthy working patterns for all the staff and interns who are involved in facilitating ministry at KCD. In my previous role I had an intimate understanding of how student ministry should run. Being able to take that understanding and translate it into helping other ministries work within church is really enjoyable.

Obviously the circumstances of this year have meant that the way ministry looks on the ground is dramatically different to any time in living memory. Having to make decisions that enable us as a church to adapt quickly has been stretching, and at times stressful, but for me extremely stimulating at a purely mental level.

When we think about church ministry and ministry leadership, we often think of preaching, worship leading, administering Communion and other ‘front-and-center’ activities. What would you say to someone who wants to serve the church but does not feel comfortable with those centre-stage ministries?

In my new role I have a ministry of enabling and empowering others. Without someone putting the jigsaw pieces together, our capacity to facilitate what we do from the front on Sundays and throughout the week would be very limited. It is a crucial and vital job. But I’ve also been able to get alongside many people in the last year to pastor folk in the informal interactions whilst doing tech on a Sunday through to checking in with staff in the week.

Where do you find your role of Operations Manager in Scripture? Do any passages or key ideas come to mind?

I’ve been reflecting on the story of Ezra-Nehemiah in recent months, when the people of God return after some time away from their “normal” forms and places of worship. There is complaining from those who remember the old ways, and there is a genuine place for grief in that. But behind the scenes there is a character, Nehemiah, who leads by directing, facilitating, serving, praying and communicating to reform some of what was, while leading the people into new things.

Finally, we know you have worked really hard this year leading behind the scenes during the pandemic. I am curious: what would be your ideal vacation if all restrictions were lifted?

Ideally I want to get over to Greece, to see some family who live out there (who incidentally used to come to KCD 20 years ago). Rach and I have had a couple of cancellations in the last 15 months and are both desperate to get back out there.

Thanks, Chris. We are so grateful for you and Rachel and your faithfulness in ministry! We hope you get away soon (but then come back to keep the jigsaw pieces in place!

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Photo by Ross Sneddon on Unsplash.

After helping my four-year-old daughter brush teeth and get into pyjamas, we climbed into bed for storytime. One of the books we read was called ‘Joshua and the Wall.’ An illustration shows three city guards looking down from the top of the wall of Jericho at Joshua. Israelite soldiers are depicted below marching around the city while blowing trumpets. One of the city guards looked angry but the other two looked scared. On the next page, we see the walls tumbling down and the book finishes by saying, ‘God helped his people enter the Promised Land.’ 

But instead of moving on to the next book, my daughter turned back to the page with the guards, pointed to the one of the ones who looked scared and asked, ‘What happened to him?’

Should we be disturbed by a God who judges?

As we go through the book of Joshua, we tend to cling to verses like Joshua 1.9: ‘Be strong and courageous, do not be terrified or discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’ We praise Joshua for his faith and obedience. We see his example and want to be strong and courageous and do whatever God calls us to do. However, we don’t often linger over verses like Joshua 6.21 which tells us what Israel did to the people of Jericho: ‘Then they devoted all in the city to destruction, both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and donkeys, with the edge of the sword.’  

It is not just the taking of Jericho where we find this utter destruction of Canaanites. Chapters 10-12 show that Israel conquered and put to the sword more than 31 kings and their peoples. We hear phrases like, ‘He left none remaining,’ ‘he struck with the sword every person in it,’ ‘He devoted to destruction all that breathed, just as the LORD God of Israel commanded.’  

As we go through our sermon series on Joshua, many of us will be understandably disturbed by this depiction of God, perhaps all the more so given the recent news reports out of Israel. Ruth Perrin helpfully pointed out in her sermon on Joshua 6 that the Bible called for a code of ethics during warfare long before the Geneva Convention of 1949 (see Deuteronomy 20.1-20).

I confess, however, that, personally, I have never been deeply disturbed by this dark side of the conquest story and yet neither have I had a very satisfying explanation for it. I have read articles written by sharp scholars who have taken much more time than I have to tackle the issue and I have found many points in their work which help to frame the discussion. I will mention some of these points below along with a short list of different approaches people have taken. But while these works have certainly refined my thinking, nothing has made me say, ‘Aha! That’s the answer! Tick, issue resolved.’ 

Why did God pronounce judgment on Canaan?

So is it wrong for me not to be deeply disturbed by all this and yet not to have a very satisfactory explanation for it? I don’t think so. In the first place, neither the Old nor the New Testament is embarrassed by Joshua’s taking of the Promised Land. The rest of the Bible is not rushing to cover it up or explain it away. Secondly, while I recognize that the killing of men, women and children is horrific, I also believe that God is just. In his justice he doomed the people of Canaan to utter destruction. Why?

The Bible provides some explanation. In Genesis 15 God tells Abraham that his descendants would return to the land of Canaan in 400 years when the sin of the Canaanites had reached its full measure. And so, while the people of Israel multiplied in Egypt, the sin of the Canaanites multiplied in the Promised Land. Leviticus and Deuteronomy tell us that the people of Canaan participated in gross sexual immorality and even went so far as to burn their children in the fire as sacrifices to their gods (Leviticus 18; Deuteronomy 9.5; 12.31; 18.10). Though God had borne with the mounting sin of these people for over 400 years, his long-suffering eventually came to an end. I wonder if God ever reached out to them? Did he send them prophets? Give them signs? Warnings? We are not told. That is not part of Israel’s story. 

What we are told is that, having been delivered from slavery in Egypt and having grown in number, the people of Israel are told to return to the Promised Land and to exterminate all the inhabitants, making no covenant with them and showing them no mercy (Deuteronomy 7). Israel is told to take this approach to avoid the possibility of intermarrying with the people of the land, serving their gods and so ultimately being destroyed by God. In Deuteronomy 20, they are given one set of rules for warfare against enemy peoples outside the Promised Land and another set of rules for those living within the Promised Land. For peoples outside the Promised Land, they are to offer terms of peace and if the offer of peace is refused, they are to enter into battle and only kill the men but spare the women and children. However, for peoples inside the Promised Land, no offer of peace is to be issued. Instead, they are directed to ‘save alive nothing that breathes.’ 

Joshua carries out this extermination at Jericho as well as a number of other cities in the Promised Land and this is presented within the first half of the book of Joshua as faithful obedience. However, if we go on to read the second half of the book, we find in Joshua 13-24 that the Israelites did not completely destroy the people of Canaan as they were commanded. Many cities and peoples remained and the Israelites dwelt together with them in the land. As God had warned, the people of Israel ended up intermarrying with the Canaanites and worshiping their gods. For this reason, following the death of Joshua, God determined that he would no longer drive out the Canaanites who had remained in the land (Judges 2.20-21). As we read through the history of Israel, we find that intermarriage with the Canaanites and the worship of Canaanite gods continued generation after generation and this unfaithfulness was borne by God for about 400 years. Nevertheless, his long-suffering eventually came to an end. Though God sent them prophets who performed signs and delivered warnings, they were ultimately destroyed. The land vomited them out, as it did to the Canaanites before them.  

When I consider this broader Old Testament narrative, I hear two primary reasons why the Canaanites were meant to be utterly destroyed. In the first, their sin had reached a tipping point. God determined that their judgment would be utter destruction. Secondly, they were meant to be utterly destroyed because if they were not, they would seduce God’s people to go after other gods, which is exactly what happens as the broader narrative plays out. 

Justifiable explanations?

How ‘satisfying’ are these reasons for God’s judgment to you? Do you feel that they provide adequate justification for the killing of men, women and children in Jericho? Or are you left unsettled? Many who read the book of Joshua and are aware of the scriptural and theological explanations but nevertheless remained unsettled for a number of reasons. I will mention two. 

Firstly, some feel unsettled because the account of the conquest of Canaan has been used to justify genocide today. All commentators that I have read admit this is a danger but view it as a misreading and misappropriation of the text. Some explain this by pointing to the fact that Israel did not use extermination as an ongoing practice. It was only sanctioned by God in the period associated with Moses and Joshua (and then in the time of Saul in connection with the Amalekites, as a piece of unfinished business.) In other words, it was context-specific and limited to that particular moment in history. Others argue that it is a misunderstanding to use the text to justify genocide today because it never really happened. The tale of the conquest is understood as something of a historical parable meant to teach Israel the importance of holiness and separation from idolatry. While I would agree that it surely teaches that, I am not persuaded that Joshua should be taken as a parable. 

Secondly, others feel unsettled because they seem to have a no-win choice. In his commentary on Joshua, Gordon McConville suggests that readers often feel that they must choose between the authority of Scripture and the character of God. Some choose to protect the authority of Scripture by saying that God did command the slaughter of the Canaanites and so put God’s reputation under a black cloud. Others insist that no such black cloud should pass over his character and so reject the scripture that says it. Of course, as Christians we want to uphold both. Some will seek to do this by taking the literary approach discussed above, viewing the conquest narrative as something of a historical parable. Because a parable is meant to teach a point and not primarily to describe events that happened in the past, some argue it is not a rejection of Scripture to deny that God commanded the slaughter of the Canaanites. Approached from this angle, one could retain the important message of holiness and separation from idolatry without endangering God’s character or rejecting Scripture. However, as I have said above, I am not persuaded that the conquest narrative should be read as a parable. 

God’s heart: just… but also heavied and torn

McConville himself says that God really did command the slaughter of the Canaanites but adds that too often those who uphold the authority of Scripture in this way do so simply with a cold affirmation of the right of God to bring judgment. Without denying this, he argues that God’s heart in the matter must be understood. Following the murder of Abel by his brother Cain, the earth descended into bloodshed until the violence and wickedness of humanity reached epic proportions and grieved God’s heart so deeply that he was sorry that he had made them on the earth. In deeply pained reaction, God brought the waters of the flood and wiped out men, women and children. Nevertheless, the prophets looked forward to a time when swords would be beaten into ploughshares. In short, God abhors violence and is ultimately committed to bringing in a time of everlasting peace. But ‘if and where God ever commands what he abhors, we may be sure that he does so with a heavy heart and as the alternative to wiping out evil and suffering at a stroke, on the one hand, and turning his back on it so that it follows its own godless course, on the other.’ Therefore, the annihilation of the people of Canaan must be understood as ‘part of a whole concessionary scheme of operation, an accommodation to the fact of rampant evil which he detests but has not abolished.’

I find McConville’s point to be helpful. I believe God did command the destruction of the Canaanites. My primary reason for feeling that I don’t put the reputation of God under a dark cloud in affirming this is because I believe that God has the right to mete out judgment as he determines. Whether I can explain or defend his justice is not as important as my belief that he has the right to do it. However, even as I affirm the point, I am aware that it is difficult to accept and digest. It is justice but it feels painfully lofty and cold. But McConville’s point that God may have done it as a concession to reckless evil and with a heavy heart, does help my unease. 

More than that, it points me to the cross, where God ultimately poured out his judgment and wrath upon his only son, Jesus, Yeshua… ‘Joshua.’ This divine Joshua is committed to justice and as a warrior, he will ultimately crush evil. But he is also long-suffering and his ultimate conquest involves  sending his son, born of a woman, to take the judgment upon himself. 

Tom Judge is Chaplain to Postgraduates and Internationals at King’s.  He also teaches Hebrew at Durham University, where he received his doctorate in Old Testament for his study of the relationship between the worship of other gods and the worship of idols.  He and his wife Catherine have two beautiful daughters.  

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Image from Wikimedia Commons

Once when Joshua was by Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing before him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went to him and said to him, “Are you one of us, or one of our adversaries?” He replied, “Neither; but as commander of the army of the Lord I have now come.

Joshua 5.13-14

Imagine the day finally comes when you can organise a long-awaited football match. Your team shows up and after a hearty reunion you survey the competition gathering on the other end of the pitch. Turns out, they have an intimidating line-up. Maybe they spent more time with Joe Wicks than with Zoom and Netflix. Hmmm… this match could be ugly.

Then someone appears out of nowhere and you can tell that this is a true player. He is dressed for action. If you could nab this fellow for your team, a triumphant outcome would be almost guaranteed. Who is he? Where did he come from? Why is he here? You decide to approach before the other team’s captain notices his daunting presence.

“So, mate—are you here to play on our team or theirs?”

“Neither.”

This little scenario is meant to capture something of what happens to Joshua after he has led God’s people across the Jordan and into Canaan. He has a big job to do. Battle after battle await. Nearby Jericho is tucked within sturdy walls.

Joshua has every reason to be confident in his task. God has been clear not only in the instructions, but also in the encouragement (“be strong and courageous”). But he looks up one day and sees a warrior who seems to have stepped out of some epic fairy tale, a soldier of myth and legend. His sword is drawn.

“Are you one of us or one of them?” Joshua asks (paraphrased, of course).

“Neither.”

This mysterious figure is none other than the commander of the Lord’s divine armies. He did not step out of a fairy tale, but out of the divine realm of a cosmic war. He did not show up to bless the army of Israel like a medieval priest on the Scottish/English border. He did not pat Joshua on the back and offer himself as available and at Israel’s service.

He represents God. And God does not view himself as “one of us” or “one of them.” He is uncategorisable. And God is on only one side: his own.

Throughout history, human powerbrokers have sought divine aid for carrying out their self-fashioned strategies. Mortal leaders have sought divine blessing on their well-laid plans. If heaven backs the operation, then it is incontestable. Who can argue with God? So kings, rulers, generals, and conspirators alike have attempted to co-opt God to legitimate their agendas.

“God is on our side!”

Which usually beckons the choral reply: “No, he is on our side!”

Yet if someone decided to pause and ask God himself about whose side he is on, he is likely to say what he says in Joshua 5.

“Neither.”

God interrupts the “us-vs-them” polarity. Like Joshua, we often oversimplify the complex problems and debates of our day and cut a tidy line that identifies a “them” against an “us.” And we may be tempted to assume that God can be easily placed within our dichotomies and effortlessly positioned into our tightly packaged ideas of right and wrong, true and false, us and them. We can then safely assume God’s backing once we have dismissively demonised the other. No need to ask his side, because of course he is for us. Right, God?

“Neither.”

When God shows up, he refuses to accommodate. He disrupts the boundary lines, bursts the categorical enclosures. The question to ask is not “Is God one of us or one of them,” or “Is God on our side or their side?”

Here is the real question: “Are we on God’s side?” Because that is the only side God is on.

Joshua had every reason to assume he was squarely placed on God’s side. He had received divine instructions, and he was following them carefully. He had been mentored by Moses. He had the instructions of the Law. He had the full support of the people.

But even with all this undergirding his confidence, Joshua made a category mistake. He mistook God’s representative outside of Jericho as “one of us” or “one of them.”

God is the ultimate Other. And later in the biblical story this Other will become flesh and take on the name “Joshua” (aka “Jesus”). He will become one among us. But he cannot be placed at the disposal of our agendas, domesticated as an upstanding Nazarene ready to behave (“Is not this the carpenter’s son?”), or enlisted as a member of the team we captain.

Are we on his side? Or are we assuming he should get with the programme and join ours?

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Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

Some might say I was a couple of years late to the party when I picked up Is this it? by Rachel Jones (The Good Book Company, 2019) a month or so ago. But I feel like, for me, it was bang on time.

Is this it? is a book for any Christian in their twenties who has questions about where their life is going and if they’re doing this ‘adulting’ thing right. The cover of the book, especially the avocado featured front and centre, catches your eye immediately. The subheading reads:

The difference Jesus makes to that… Where is my life going? Is God even there? Will I end up alone? Will this ever feel like home? I hate my job! I have no real friends! I wish I was back at school. Am I failing at life?! …feeling.

Rachel Jones, an editor in her twenties who is ‘married to no one, has zero kids, and frequently questions where her life is going’, artfully takes readers in her friendly and chatty style through a series of chapters tackling subjects such as:

         Dissatisfied: Has everyone else got it better than me?

         Lonely: Who are my friends anymore?

         Doubt: Is God even real or am I wasting my life?

         Single: Why is everyone else getting married?

         Meaningless: What is the point?  

Jones skilfully speaks biblical truth into the experiences of 20-somethings with gentleness, humour, and hope. Bringing in both her own anecdotes and reflections as well as those of her friends, it feels like Jones really ‘gets it’. Avoiding clichés and platitudes, she helps her readers to see their situation with God’s perspective, and to have a sense of meaning and purpose whilst staying grounded in truth.

My favourite chapter was entitled ‘Self-doubt: What if I fail in front of everybody?’ because it was exactly what I needed to hear! Using 2 Timothy 1.6-7, Jones reminds her readers that it is the Holy Spirit who dispels timidity and brings love, power and self-discipline. Likening a Christian to a dragon (which I loved!), Jones then shows that we are guarding the ‘good deposit’ in each of us with the help of the Holy Spirit. It is the Holy Spirit who sharpens, strengthens and perfects. She writes that ‘weakness leads to strength, and fear turns to confidence, if we rely on Christ’s power’ (p. 198). In many ways, I’ve heard it all before, but the act of slowing down and meditating on these biblical truths gave me another line of defence, another string to my bow for when self-doubt rears its head.

So why do I think you should read this book?  

Firstly, we have a lot of 20-somethings in our church. Some have graduated from university and stuck around, some have moved to Durham for other reasons. We put a lot of energy into our student ministry, but the period of life after graduating is notoriously difficult. People often feel like they’ve stepped off the prescribed treadmill of education and find themselves feeling lost and disappointed, with self-doubts – and sometimes faith-doubts – creeping in as life doesn’t go the way they’d hoped. Therefore, for these people in particular, this book would serve as a helpful guide for navigating these often turbulent times with God’s wisdom and truth.

Secondly, as we emerge out of lockdown, as it feels like our lives can start moving again, I imagine many of us, not just those in our twenties, will be asking the question, ‘Is this it?’ For many people, the big decisions of life which have been on pause for a year will start to play again. As we re-learn to socialise, as the job market shifts, as the choices and opportunities available to us increase, we need to be grounded in biblical truth lest we become carried away or disillusioned. And so, whatever your age, I recommend this book as a way of doing just that!

But ultimately, seasons come and go; there will always be periods of ‘lock’ and ‘unlock’ throughout our lives – periods of increased restrictions, periods of freedom. There will be times of hopefulness and times of disappointment. Jones concludes by reminding us that the relatively brief ‘narrative arc’ which is our lives is part of a much bigger story: God’s story of redemption. Incredibly, we play a small part in this bigger narrative to display and enjoy the glory of God. And Jones reminds us that it is this perspective which helps us to see the twists and turns of life with eternity in view.

Here’s a quote from the end of her book which sums this up perfectly:

When this story is the story we’re excited about, it closes the gap between what we imagine and what we have. With this perspective, we won’t be in free-fall for long – because it’s in this big story that we find the joy, meaning and purpose that we crave (p. 203). 

If you’re reading this review, chances are you’re either in or approaching your 20s, or you know someone who is. Read this book. Digest the biblical truths offered either for yourself or someone you know. And let’s start the conversation, not just for young adults, but for those of all ages. Let’s talk about our hopes, fears and disappointments so that we can love and support each other through them. Let’s be genuinely honest and open about the things we find difficult, whatever our age. And finally, let’s be a church of people with hearts firmly fixed on our eternal future so that, despite life’s highs and lows, we ultimately find our joy, meaning and purpose in God.

Sophie Bolton coordinates Student Ministry at Kings.

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Photo by Dmitry Schemelev on Unsplash

Consider how Christ looked on Peter, once he had denied Jesus. Was it a repelling look, a look of rejection? No. It was a look such as a mother gives her child when the child is in danger due to its own indiscretion. Since she cannot approach and snatch the child from danger, she catches him off guard with a reproachful but saving look. Was Peter in danger, then? Alas, we do not understand how serious it is for one to betray his friend. But in the passion of anger or hurt the injured friend cannot see that it is the denier who is in danger. Yet the Saviour saw clearly that it was Peter who was in danger, not him, and that it was Peter who needed saving. The Saviour of the world did not make the mistake of regarding his cause as lost because Peter did not hurry to help him. Rather, the Saviour saw Peter as lost if he did not hurry to save him.

Soren Kierkegaard, Works of Love (1847)

The story of Jesus’ suffering and death is an easy one to get back to front. The cross of Jesus out-foxed pretty much everyone. That is because it is really two stories at the same time. It is the human drama of a popular preacher harried to a cruel cross by his jealous detractors. The more important story is the narrative of divine rescue at the heart of that human history. These two views of the story are there in the Gospels themselves. We could call these two stories Peter’s view of the cross and Jesus’ view of the cross.

The Cross from Peter’s Perspective

That Satan, the invisible puller of strings—or his puppet, Judas—didn’t ‘get’ God’s purpose, is as obvious as it is unsurprising. They would not have played along. But Peter was not the betrayer of Jesus, only his denier. But even he could not see God at work. Until later. The trail of divinely laid breadcrumbs leading to the cross was an open secret, there for those with eyes to see. But no-one followed. I mean, really followed. Peter got as close as anyone dared. But even he and Jesus’ other closest students didn’t grasp that God’s way of salvation lay along Jesus’ path of suffering, sacrifice and death. Saving through his death, not saving him from it.

When his Lord and friend is led away, Peter follows as closely as he can, wracked with guilt. His guilt was compounded by the sudden realisation that he was powerless in the face of the rapidly escalating crisis. Jesus had predicted Peter’s denial, but when push came to shove, Peter still denied his Lord. His guilt was compounded by his earlier vow to stay true: ‘I will lay down my life for you’ (John 13.37). But even defiant courage failed him. His guilt was deepened by repeated denials, his failure at each of three opportunities. He lied to save his skin. It was a guilt hammered home by the painful echo of Jesus’ numerically precise prediction: you will deny me three times before morning cockcrow (John 13.38). The final blow was the immediacy of the alarm call: ‘at once a cock crowed.’ (John 18.27)

Peter was among those who followed at closest distance. But in the moment of danger, at the final crisis, he did not deny himself or set aside his need for self-protection. He could not deny himself and confess Jesus. Instead, he confessed falsehoods and denied his friend at a charcoal fire. 

As Kierkegaard says, we hardly know what it is to betray a friend in this way. But we do understand Peter—he is weak; we would be weak. He is human; we are human. It is the how people act, it is the way of the world. It is not commendable, admirable or good behaviour. But we see Peter, then look in the mirror only to catch a glimpse of his image. And we wonder: could Peter have followed Jesus if he only he had been a little braver or held his nerve a little better? Maybe that is the problem. We need to be braver and more courageous. 

The Cross from the Divine Perspective

The other way through Peter’s story is the view from the trail of the divinely laid breadcrumbs. It’s a trail that starts right back in Israel’s story, of course, with Passover lambs and daubed blood and divine judgment diverted. And with the suffering servant ‘pouring out his soul to death and bearing the sins of many’ (Isaiah 53.12).

From this alternative divine perspective Peter could never follow Jesus, he could never save Jesus from the cross and laying down his life would have been a fruitless gesture. Jesus told him as much: ‘Where I am going you cannot follow me now…’ (John 13.36). 

The loneliness of Jesus’ path to the cross is made up of the human story of unjust trials, execution by the authorities and abandonment by his followers. But Jesus’ aloneness on this journey, his social isolation we might say—that he was abandoned even by his powerless followers—has a flip side: the saving uniqueness of Christ: he carried his own cross (John 19.17). Only Jesus can walk this way. Only this lamb can take away the sins of the world. Only this perfect life and obedient death can save Peter. Or me. Or you. Or anyone.

The contrast between the human ‘take’ on the cross and God’s story becomes plain in the two occasions when Jesus rebukes Peter in John 13. Each involves a question where the emphasis makes the meaning. 

At the start of the chapter, as his Master and Lord kneels, half-dressed, and makes to wash Peter’s feet, Peter objects: ‘Do you wash my feet?’ That is proper humility, but misses the point entirely. ‘If I do not wash you, you have no share in me.’ Jesus’ rebuke takes us far beyond status issues and into the story from God’s perspective. Peter’s next demand, that Jesus washes ‘also my hands and my head’ (John 13.5-11), shows Peter persisted in missing the point. He is stuck in his own narrative.

At the end of chapter 13, Jesus tells Peter that he cannot follow him now. Peter says defiantly: ‘I will lay down my life for you.’ Jesus’ question turns the tables: ‘Will you lay down your life for me?’ In that question lies the heart of the whole matter. 

From the perspective of the human drama, Peter does nothing for Jesus. But the symphony of God’s grace is playing a different tune. On the cross Jesus will lay down his life to rescue Peter.  As Kierkegaard put it: The Saviour saw clearly that it was Peter who was in danger, not him, and that it was Peter who needed saving. From the perspective of the divine drama, it matters not that Peter can do nothing for Jesus. What matters is that Jesus does everything for Peter.

Restoration

So, is Peter exonerated in all this? 

In John 21 Peter comes splashing through the shallows of the sea of Galilee heading towards the risen Lord Jesus on the shore. Then he sees it. The whiff of another charcoal fire built at Jesus’ feet. Just as deliberately as the fire is placed there, Jesus asks Peter three times: ‘Do you love me?’ Peter’s pain is real as Jesus restores and commissions him to feed his sheep. 

The time had come for Peter to follow Jesus. Eventually to death. Because now Peter has had his eyes opened to God’s purpose. He has the crescendo of the divine symphony irresistibly ringing in his ears. The cross and resurrection are God’s work of salvation. We have a share in Jesus and with this tune in our ears we rise and follow him—even as those who let him down.

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Photo by Kurt Liebhaeuser on Unsplash

It’s been a year since UK churches were last allowed to sing together. Instead we’ve been singing to YouTube in our homes, and meeting in person with no singing. Neither seems to fill the gap. 

So, why is singing together such an important part of Christian practice?

You may be tempted to think that this is a modern question. ‘Worship’ as a music industry genre, complete with awards ceremonies and sales charts, is obviously a recent development. But the place of singing at the heart of Christian practice is not. Throughout Scripture and church history, wherever you find God’s people, you find singing.

In the Old Testament, singing is both commanded and assumed. Songs give voice to everything from salvation from enemies (e.g., Exodus 15) to the passage of love (Song of Songs). In every circumstance of life, the Psalms exhort us to ‘sing to the Lord’. The only time the people of God are tempted to fall silent is when their Babylonian captors demand the sacred songs of Zion as mere entertainment (Psalm 137, but note that they write a song about it instead).

In the Gospels, we don’t hear a great deal about singing, but where we do, it really counts. Jesus sings a hymn as a final act of fellowship with his disciples as the Last Supper draws to a close (Matthew 26.30). The following afternoon, he gives voice to the agony of the Cross with the opening line of Psalm 22.

Elsewhere in the New Testament, Paul instructs the early Christians to ‘speak to one another in Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs’ (Ephesians 5.19). If you have ever been stirred by Colossians 1 or Philippians 2, those passages may well be early hymns, so you have been led in worship by their songwriters. And the strange scene of heavenly worship in Revelation 4 and 5 initiates the familiar pattern of liturgy and song practised in church services ever since.

Scholar Ralph P. Martin says, ‘the Christian Church was born in song’. And that strand of DNA has found expression through all the centuries since – from Gregorian chants to Bach chorales, from Negro spirituals to the hymnody of Watts and Wesley, from metrical psalms to contemporary worship concerts.

We Christians are a singing people.

In the generous wisdom of God, there are endless reasons and benefits for this characteristic mode of expression. Allow me to briefly highlight a few:

We sing to remember

If we forget what God has done in history, we cut ourselves off at the roots. Singing to God in worship is a way of actively remembering God’s goodness throughout the generations, and passing that story on to the next generation, grounding our lives in the timeless rhythm of grace.

We sing to believe

To sing the gospel is to take a step beyond understanding concepts, into experience and testimony. To sing is to engage my will, my body, my imagination and my emotions with what my mind knows. Congregational singing invites me to be wholehearted (and exposes me if I’m not). I’m sure that’s a reason why people feel so strongly about what we sing in church, and a reason why joining in with singing can be such a battleground when we’re struggling.

We sing to agree

Singing in the congregation is an expression of unity with our brothers and sisters. As we give voice to our shared hope, we align ourselves with one another. Unison melody speaks of our unity in Christ, and harmonies speak of the diversity of parts we play in the body.

We sing to respond

Sometimes it feels like singing simply overflows in response to God’s goodness, but even when it doesn’t, it’s a healthy discipline. Singing in worship orients us towards God in gratitude, which opens us up to grace, helps us navigate through hard times, and forms us into people who carry the sound of the gospel into the world.

We sing to hope                                                              

Our songs cast a vision of our eternal destiny. At its most profound, singing together catches us up in a glimpse of the world to come. Those glimpses shape our hopes and desires, and energise our action in the world. There’s a sense in which what we sing, we become.

So, Church, don’t lose your song! Joining in with YouTube sometimes feels empty, but trust that it catches us up in something far greater. It won’t be many months until we can sing together again in our buildings, and even that is only a pale reflection of the song to come when we hear it on the lips of every tribe, every tongue, saints and angels, all creation. It is worth practising our parts now!

Hear Paul’s exhortation:

Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is. Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Ephesians 5.16-20

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Chris Juby coordinates Worship, Media and Arts at Kings, manages hymn publisher Jubilate Hymns Ltd, and writes songs for Resound Worship.

Photo by Susana Fernández on Unsplash

My 11-year-old asked, “How does the voice work?”

The voices of her older brothers, brimming with secondary school erudition, replied in unison: “The human voice is created by airwaves pushing over the vocal cords.”

And immediately I added, “Well, that is true, but really, it’s… well, it’s magic.”

This sibling interaction over breakfast featured the collision of a scientific reductionism with childhood wonder. A great mystery was noted in God’s creation (the range and beauty of the human voice—wow!) that was summarily demystified by a mechanistic explanation (air vibrating vocal cords—easy-peasy, ho hum).

This was a scene of disenchantment. 

Now, many scientists are filled with constant wonder, and ply their crafts with astonished joy. But through the gristmill of modern history and cultural change, one of the trends Western societies have inherited is a reductionistic approach to knowledge. As Charles Taylor observes in A Secular Age, the world has been mechanized in order to become more knowable within our frames of knowing. Once the mechanical explanation is provided, the wonder is gone. Knowing eliminates awe.

Taylor calls this “disenchantment.” 

From a contemporary Christian perspective, a healthy epistemology (i.e., an approach to knowing) affirms that air vibrating vocal cords produces chords of a different sort while retaining awe over such a marvelous act and recognizing its source as the inscrutable wisdom of an all-knowing Creator. No matter how finely we may dissect his creations, they cannot be truly sterilized of his supernal beauty or purged of his supernatural power.

Secularization, however, has eviscerated the numinous from our investigations of the world. In fact, we have come to associate the loss of wonder as a true sign of maturity. Chesterton memorably writes, 

…when we are very young children we do not need fairy tales: we only need tales. Mere life is interesting enough. A child of seven is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door and saw a dragon. But a child of three is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door. 

Parenting is the oversight of a child’s process of maturing. As a dad, I have mourned the loss of wonder in my home (like when the glories of the human voice are reduced to a mechanized process in the throat). But there are a lot of doors to open in life, and a kid cannot stand in fear of a dragon behind each one. Besides, marveling over closed door slows down the rushed routines for getting everyone to school.

Sadly, I must admit that my own parenting is a constant exercise of disenchanting the world for my children:

“Dad, I’m scared.”

“Son, there are no such things as monsters. Go to bed!”

“Dad, I saw a dragon! It was flying over there near that hill!”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

One of my favorite cinematic scenes of parenting appears in the 2014 film Boyhood. The boy, Mason (Ellar Coltrane), is in early adolescence and falling asleep on the sofa next to his father (Ethan Hawke). 

“Dad, there’s no, like, real magic in the world, right?

“What do you mean?”

“You know, like elves and stuff… people just made that up…?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean what, what makes you think that elves are any more magical than something like, like a whale? You know what I mean? What if I told you a story about how underneath the ocean there was this giant sea mammal that uses sonar and sang songs, and it was so big that its heart was the size of a car and you could crawl through the arteries? I mean, you’d think that’s pretty magical, right?”

“Yeah. But like, right this second, there’s like no elves in the world, right?”

“No. Technically, no elves.”

In this scene, a father tries to re-enchant the world for a kid whose process of maturing demands he relinquishes a world of elves and magic. He resists a return to what we might classify as “medieval” superstitions. But he awakens in his son a sense of wonder over the world that exists (an approach many scientists would welcome). 

Since the world is not just full of marvels, but reflective of a marvelous Being, I want to live as someone whose age and experience are marked not by a loss of awe, but by layered depths of mature wonder. I want my children to keep a curious eye on the door, the stairs, the wardrobe, the horizon—because God is up to something… and I do not want them to miss it.

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Photo by Dima Pechurin on Unsplash