Who do you say I am?

"Jesus ... asked his disciples, 'Who do people say the Son of Man is?' They replied, 'Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah; and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.''But what about you?' he asked. 'Who do you say I am?'Peter answered, 'You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.'"
Matthew 16:13-16 NIV

I've read this many times, and I read it again the other day and suddenly it meant something new. Simon Peter spoke up for all the disciples - I wonder what they were about to say or if there was going to be a long, painful silence? Either way, Simon Peter piped up, 'You are the Christ.'  He didn't say, 'We think that you might be the Christ.' or 'Are you the Christ?' He stated it as a fact. 

And then, this amazing bit:

"Jesus replied, Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven.'"

Simon Peter knew who Jesus was. I don't know how he came to this realisation, whether it was gradual or sudden, but Jesus tells him that it wasn't a conclusion he was ever going to come to on his own. God had revealed it to him. That's what He does. By His Holy Spirit, He reveals things to people.

Now, God, you are the same these days as you were then, aren't you? You are eternal, unchanging. You don't need to evolve, or learn, or develop in any way. You are the same God. So how is it that I, too, like Peter, can say of your Son, 'You are the Christ'? 

Isn't it amazing? Just as you gave Peter the understanding to grasp who he was, you have given it to me. How else would I know? 

Wow. 

The enormity of this struck me and left me pondering. You are the same God. 

'Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.'
Hebrews 13:8

So if you blessed Simon Peter with the realisation that Jesus was the Messiah, and then all the normal everyday people down through history, then you have blessed me too. It therefore follows that just as you had a relationship with each of those people, spoke with them, directed them and spent time with them - you will do all that for me too. Because you don't change. 

AW Tozer summed it up for me, speaking about Peter's revelation and the foundations of the Christian church through him:

'If all of this is true - and everything within me witnesses that it is - we may insist that God is able to do for us all that He did in the days of the apostles. There has been no revocation in our charter!'
Mornings with Tozer

I don't really know why we read the Bible and believe that you did amazing things for and in and through the apostles and all those other Great People of the Old and New Testament, and then we look at our own lives and fail to apply what we've learned. It's as if we somehow think that you had your golden days back then and somehow you are a more distant, watered down sort of God now. Maybe in retirement, feet up, not much energy. Capable of watching over us in a benevolent sort of way but without the dynamism and drama of the Bible. Without the love and the power. 

But here's that little tiny but hugely important thing. Without you, Peter would not have seen who Jesus is.

Without you, neither would I. 

Thankyou, God Almighty. 

God of the Israelites, Father of Jesus Christ, and God of me too. 

Letter to explain: Dear me

Dear me.

Ha. That's a great start to a letter, isn't it? 

Dear me. Deary me. 

What I mean to say was, 'Dear Me'.  The 'Me' that I thought of the other day; me a few years ago. You came into my mind somehow and it was as if I was back there in the days when I was still muddled up and mostly miserable.

That makes it sound as if I'm all sorted out and ecstatically happy all the time! Well, not exactly. God knows that I still chew my fingers when I'm anxious and that I constantly over-think. I'm sure you're familiar with those habits. They're proving difficult to get past, to be honest, but I'm not beating myself up about it. Does that surprise you? Well, I do my best, and if that means two steps forward and one step back, then I am gentle with myself. God picks the battles, these days, and I'm so much better at listening and working with Him instead of charging off on my own agenda and getting nowhere. 

I wanted to write to you to explain a few things.

I know that you catch a glimpse of me now and again, and I can remember the combination of despair and hope that you feel when you see me. I know that you have mountains to climb before you can leave behind some of the rubbish that you carry around with you and I wanted to tell you that it's simpler than you think. I suspect that you won't believe me because it's all very well for me to say, having come out of the other side of the mess, but I have to say it anyway.

When I said simpler, I didn't mean easier. I know how hard it is.

Trust. That's all there is to it. I'm not sure that you know what it means, if you don't mind me saying. Of course, you will mind me saying that, because you're very sensitive to criticism, but I think you need to have a close look at the whole area of trust. You've made big strides in recent years, but I think, deep in your heart, you know that you struggle to trust anyone, don't you? You've been hurt and let down over and over and you've put up so many barriers even against those who are closest to you. 

Do you actually trust anyone? Is there anyone that you don't have a defence against? Anyone with whom you can be completely yourself? You think you're good at vulnerability but there are places in your heart that nobody can go, aren't there? Not even God. 

And that's the key.

He wants you to know how much He loves you. He's endlessly patient, and He knows that you need to be handled with care. He will never rush you, and He will never barge in unannounced. But I remember those days and it's nearly time. You're starting to understand that to find healing on that deep level, you must first understand who you are. You cannot expect God to make you whole if you don't know what's missing.

You are a precious daughter of the Living God. You are perfect just as you are - no, don't shake your head and look away like that - He loves you with a breathtaking love that you can only begin to imagine and that love is not dependent on anything that you do or don't do, anything that you say or achieve - and certainly not on your appearance. 

He's going to help you believe this. You're going to be amazed at the difference it makes. You'll be transformed. He's going to show you that you are loved by the Creator. He's going to write on your heart in big, easy to read letters that He knows you and He loves you and He will never stop loving you. He's going to keep saying it until you begin to believe it, and once you do the hard work of healing is done. 

You still don't understand, but you will. I know, that sounds intensely patronising coming from me, but I have the benefit of being a few years down the road.

He's going to teach you that because He loves you so faithfully, you can trust Him. He is equal to any task and He will never let you down. He will give you rest when you're weary, He will keep you safe when you're afraid, and He will give you courage when you need to be brave. Believe me, it's true. You don't have to look anywhere else for anything. That's what you do now.

I know, because I've been there. What do you do when you're worried, or afraid, or depressed? You look around desperately for something that will help. You anxiously contact a friend, you reach for something to eat, you go to sleep. You think those things will help, but they only treat the symptoms, not the cause.

People will be unavailable when you need them, or they'll make mistakes and let you down. Unnecessary food just makes your self-esteem and body image problems worse. And if you go to bed to shut out the harried voices in your head, you still have to wake up again the next day.

Stop hedging your bets. Food may comfort temporarily, but God is the Comforter. You may wrap your cardigan around you defensively but His arms are stronger, safer and warmer. They offer real protection.

You're starting to work it out, I think. You write in your journal a lot more, and you pour out your heart to Him sometimes and you feel the relief that it brings. You're starting to recognise the difference that laying everything before the Lord makes, and any time now you'll begin to realise that it is possible to overrule that temptation to play with your phone or read a novel when you know that it would be wiser to spend time with God.

Don't get the idea that it's all down to you, though. I don't want to mislead you. You have a part to play, but He will come and meet you. He promised, and He never breaks His promises.

Looking back, I'm pretty sure that this is the thing:

'Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you...' (Matthew 6:33) 

You're on the right track. Spend time with God just for who He is and not so much for what He can do for you. I know you find it hard to separate those things but don't worry. Leave it to Him. Just enjoy His company. Let the truth of His love sink in. Start to relax. You're in good hands.

'Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.' (Psalm 37:4)

It's why you were made. To enjoy Him, and He you.

He already does, you know - He delights in you, and He longs to see that delight reflected in your face. I know, you have trouble believing this, and that's a big part of the problem. When I began to wonder if it might be true He let me see how happy it made Him. There's nothing like it. You're going to be amazed at how different life is when you start to understand. How... free.

Straight after that verse there's this:

'Trust Him, and He will help you.' (Psalm 37:5b) 

He will help you. He has helped you, but you don't yet realise how much.

Be with Him. Enjoy Him. Trust Him.

It's a long process; you won't get it cracked this side of heaven, I don't think. The older I get the more I realise how far there is to go, but I know that there it gets a lot better than where you are right now.

Please don't worry as much as you do. You're not going to get it wrong. He is for you, you know. The God who made the Universe thinks that you're great, just as you are, right now. And He's got something amazing for you.

You're always asking Him for more faith. You're ready to step out, and He'll show you the way. Your faith is going to grow exponentially and I can assure you, you're going to want to tell the world! He wants you to do just that.

It's almost time. 

Hang in there.

With love from

Me
x


The first letter in this series was: Letter to a Stranger, followed by Letter to the brave: No I have the Lord. This is the third in the trilogy!

Linking up with Ruth Povey and Sabrina Fowles for 'Letters To...'
This time the prompt was 'Letter to explain'.

Getting a word in edgeways

Afternoon, God.

Someone asked me last night when the last time was that I asked you how you were feeling.

Have I ever asked you how you were feeling?  Ever said, 'What's on your mind?'

I am so full of words that I fill our space, don't I? Every time, I fill our space with taptaptap and yapyapyap and you don't get a word in edgeways. This place that I come to be with you - it may be filled with you, because you are everything, but it's me that provides the soundtrack.

It made me stop in my tracks, the idea that I should ask you how you were. I have no idea why the idea should take me by surprise, exactly, since I know full well that you are a sentient being who loves, hates, sings with joy and weeps with sadness; it says so in the Bible. I know that you care. I know that you interact; I know that you speak. I don't have to fill every gap with Me. I'm just good at it.

It's no wonder that when you want my attention you use song lyrics, or someone else's words, or a sermon, or a book, because those are the times when I'm listening, rather than talking, filling the space with noise. I wonder if, given the chance, you'd use the silence.

 What would you say, if I asked you how you were? Would you smile and say, 'Fine, thanks'? Then I'd go back to talking about me?

Would you say, 'Well, since you asked...' and tell me how the world grieves you, embarrasses you, hurts you? Would you lay your heart next to mine for a brief moment so that I might see what you see, and understand the urgency?

Would you just let me sit for a while and fill me with peace?

It's odd, really. If a friend came round for a chat, one or other of us would start the conversation off by asking how things were, and at some point the other would definitely get a turn, but not so with you. I'm sorry that I don't extend you the same courtesy.

I come at you with a list of woes and hopes and anxieties and regrets and sometimes I might remember to insert a bit of confession or praise... but rarely do I leave you an opening. I know that you don't need anything from me - it's not as if you need to unburden yourself as I do, but you never stop listening to me. You listen and you listen and you never lose patience with me. What sort of friendship never asks in return, never wants to know?

What would you tell me, if I listened to you?

I'm not very good at listening. I think I'm getting better at noticing, and so you, ever gracious, show me things. I'm getting better at laying down my worries in front of you and you are infinitely compassionate and you take care of them. But I forget to ask about you.

I'd love to know how you are. I'd love to know what you have on your heart.

Or at least I think I would. Something deep within me felt a bit uneasy as I said that. Blimey, what might  you lay on me if I asked you what was on your mind, and you took me at your word? What would I do if you gave me the tiniest glimpse of the heart of Almighty God about something?

There are any number of things that you might say to me, if I asked you. You might show me the depth of your grief at the state we're in. You might fill me with your frustration that we live in a world that allows people to starve while we order Christmas turkeys that won't fit in the fridge. You might give me a burden for the lost or homeless or persecuted. I'm a bit nervous about burdens. I might never be the same again.

If my daughter slid onto the stool next to me right now and asked me, 'Mummy, how are you?' what would I say?

'Well, darling, apart from being tired and full of cold, I'm disappointed with the way you said you wanted baked beans tonight and then left them all on your plate. I don't like the way you stamp when you don't get your own way, and you're not working hard enough at your handwriting. And your room is a terrible mess, do I have to keep on telling you and telling you?'

Hardly. So why do I assume that you'd lay something awful on me?

You're not in the business of guilt. You know how fragile I am, and you don't bear a grudge. You would never crush me like that; you love me too much. If one of my daughters came to me that way I'd pull her close to me and I'd say, 'Thankyou for asking. I'm happy that you're here next to me.'

Or possibly right now I wouldn't, because I've been working hard at putting them to bed, but you know what I mean.

You might sit companionably by my side and tell me that you're pleased. Pleased with my baby steps in the right direction and that little bright bit of my heart that does, genuinely and honestly, does want to make you happy. You might overlook the great hulking dark portions that are selfish and mean and bitter and you might stick a 'Great Work!' sticker on my chest to reinforce the good things.

You might share something of your dreams with me. The Plan. Your vision. You might blow my mind with possibilities. I might be so inspired that it changes my life direction. You might reveal something to me that I need to share with other people. You might trust me with a message to pass on.

It's a big question, I'm thinking. If I ask you how you are feeling, do I want to know?

You would adjust your answer to fit, wouldn't you? Just as my husband doesn't go on about thermonuclear physics when our five year old asks why the sun is warm, You're not going to overwhelm me. You know how small and weak I am, and you love me just the same.

I am your child, and you are my Father. I want you to be happy. I want you to know that I care. If you want to talk to me, I want to listen. Or if you want to share a little bit of silence, then I'd like to learn how to do that too.

You are El Roi. You see me.

Lord God, how are you?

I don't know how I know you, but I do

Morning, God.

I've been thinking about this origins of the universe thing. Evolution. Intelligent Design and all that. How and who and what and when and why. 

I know that opening line sounds as if I have some great insight to run by you but the truth is that yes, I've given it some thought and no, I still don't have a clue. 

What I did realise is that I really do believe. I really do have faith. I'm constantly beating myself up about not having enough, not being able to pray with enough expectancy and certainty to somehow convince you to make it happen, but when it comes to deciding what I think about how it all came to be, I don't have any problem in believing that it was you. 

Who else could it be?

It's always been other people who have the Big Faith. I've always looked around me in church and seen people who seem more alive than I do. More alive to you. More in tune with the Spirit. More committed in prayer and generally more switched on in a spiritual sense. For ages I've wanted to be one of those people. I've looked at myself and seen all that I don't have and, in typical me fashion, concentrated on the deficits.

But I do have faith. It's come as something of a surprise.

More than that, I realise that the faith that I do have is a gift from you. I couldn't have stumbled upon it by myself, or worked at it for long enough and with enough perseverance to get where I am; you gave it to me. I know that you have many more upgrade packages for me to install when I'm ready (and got rid of a few more bugs) - I know that there's a way to go, but I did feel a bit as if my eyes were opened the other day to recognise that I do have faith.

When challenged, I can't prove that you're there any more than anyone else can, and yet I know. How can that be?  It's hard to express. It's a feeling, a conviction, a sense, a knowledge. I know that you have answered prayers, I've seen your hand at work in my life, I've heard your voice, not in a booming or even a whispering sort of way but so clearly through other people, or the Bible, or things that I've seen or read. I've got to the point in my life that I recognise that there's loads that I don't understand but I am convinced that the only way that makes any sense is to follow you. Even when I have doubts - great looming, black-cloudy oppressive sort of doubts, I don't doubt you.  When things happen that I don't understand, or don't like; when I don't like what you're doing or I want to know answers, I might get down and wonder where you are, and I might get snippy and ask you what you think you're doing, but I don't at this stage of my life anyway, wonder if you're there at all.

I've read about the 'dark night of the soul' and all that; the places where people of great faith have found themselves lost in a place where you can't be found. I don't know about that. I know that I've had times when I've desperately wanted a hug from you, or a word, or something, anything comforting and it hasn't been forthcoming. There have been times in the past year where I haven't known if I'm getting it all wrong and I should feel something, or understand something or should be doing something that would make it all easier.

But I know after all these years of not knowing that I won't be shaken. I belong to you. There are days when you feel close and there are days when you feel far away but I know that you are there all along. There are days when I feel I can do it and there are days when I feel defeated but I know that you are there all the time. Someone reminded me the other day that you are for me, all the time. Wow.

I used to have moments where I wondered if it was all an illusion - if it was all true, or built on an exaggeration or even lies. Could so many people all be wrong? What would I do if it were all useless?  I've not had one of those moments for a while. I doubt myself, all the time, yes, but not you.

I can only speak for right now, can't I? Who knows what the future holds (but you?). I know that I am often weak and pathetic and lazy so I'd better not make too many promises; better not write cheques that I can't cash. But right now, thinking about our breathtakingly complex, beautiful, awe-inspiring planet, I see you, I know you and I praise you. Thinking about the hope that I have firmly tucked away in my heart, about the joy that I feel when I worship you, about the intensity of the love I find I can feel, I know that it's you and I love you.

People might challenge the Creationist view of the origins of the world, and I might not have an answer. People might come up with a compelling theory of something else and I might not be able to disagree. People I know get angry and confrontational and seem desperate to convince others that no sensible person can believe in you and anyone who does is a half-wit. All I have to say, when it comes down to it, is that I know, in my heart, that you are there.

It's not a touchy feely thing because I don't always feel you. It's a deeply personal thing based on experience and conviction and something else that I can't put my finger on. That's the gift bit. The bit that can't be described, can't be given away or shared simply because I would like someone else to have it. (Would be nice if I could do that). It can't be faked. It's the part that increasingly recognises your touch in my life. The part that wants to please you, to make you smile. The part that glimpses how wonderful it will be in the end to have nothing else to do but sit at your feet in the sunrise to end all sunrises and sing praises to you for eternity in a voice that never slips off key.

That's the Holy Spirit in my life.

That's how I know.

So I don't know how you made the world, but I know that you did.

I don't know how I know you, but I do.