Author: alistair50

Cautious boldness

We use maxims, aphorisms and proverbs all the time. Short, pithy sayings that we think wise and helpful.

My parents taught me ‘Waste not, want not’ and ‘Every penny counts’. The Scouts gave me the motto ‘Be prepared’. Nowadays we warn children about ‘stranger danger’. Signs and ads say ‘Don’t drink and drive’. Short sayings are remembered, and often keep us right.

A few years back I coined my own to improve my golf game: ‘Cautious boldness’. Those two words have helped me win trophies. With golf, it’s sometimes best to play safe. Perhaps there are deep bushes alongside a fairway – time for caution. But you can’t be cautious all the time. If you’re on the green, putting from only a few metres, you must be bold. ‘Never up, never in’ is the right thought, because, obviously, no putt has ever been holed which didn’t reach the hole. So, I realised being cautious all the time was no good, and being bold all the time was no good. Therefore cautious boldness became my maxim – sometimes one, sometimes the other. Winning depended on knowing which was right in each situation.

That seemingly contradictory mix, cautious boldness, is also relevant to living life wisely and well. I’ll illustrate how it could apply in four contexts. The first two concern important life-directing issues. The other two are more down-to-earth, but perhaps will make you think and smile.

Relationships

Like many I suffered the teenage angst of wondering ‘Does she like me?’ and ‘Will she laugh if I ask her out?’ But I worked my way through my inner turmoil, occasionally holding back wrongly and occasionally pushing forward wrongly. Sometimes too much caution. Sometimes too much boldness. (It was all better in my early 20s when I met Alison…)

Getting the caution/boldness balance right is important too in long-term relationships. Let’s imagine Colin and Christine. Colin is struggling with depression. He feels his life is useless; he can’t see a good future. The last thing he needs, at that moment, is Christine telling him to pull himself together, to brighten up and be positive. Colin can’t handle that. Christine needs to take a more cautious, gentle, reassuring approach.[1]

A few years earlier Christine had her own struggle, albeit of a very different kind. She excelled in her administrative role for a large firm, and was often called on to supervise new colleagues. She had a gift for bringing out the best in them. One day the managing director asked Christine if she’d consider being appointed department head. Christine’s head spun, and sensibly asked for a day or two to decide. At home Colin listened as she poured out a catalogue of doubts and fears about her abilities. Wisely, Colin let Christine get it all out of her system, and then carefully but positively drew out from her an equal catalogue of abilities and strengths she knew she had. He followed that with encouragement, helping her believe this was a deserved promotion, and one good for her and for her firm. She took the job, and never regretted it.

There are times to exercise caution and times to offer boldness.

Career / work

In my journalism years I had two types of colleagues. One group were ‘journeymen’ (they were all men at that time). The news editor could send them to a meeting, where they’d take shorthand notes and write an accurate report of what had happened. Or they might interview someone making news, and write an acceptable story. But that’s all they did. They didn’t spot news opportunities. They never wrote in an exciting, captivating style. They just went about things in their quiet and cautious way year after year.

Some were different. They could do the routine stuff, but they had eyes and ears to discover news. Maybe it was something a politician let slip. Maybe they picked up on gossip about a sports star. They followed up on their leads, and often had a front page story in the next edition. They showed initiative and talent, and moved on fast in their careers.

I’ve seen the same distinction in other places where I’ve worked. One type of worker is slow and dependable, another type creative and pushing forward. Each has their strengths. But most of us can have both strengths. There is wisdom in moving between times of caution (working carefully and steadily) and times of boldness (offering new ideas, striving for advancement). Those with only an abundance of caution may come to regret the tedium of doing the same thing constantly. Those with overmuch boldness may find themselves promoted beyond their competence (aka, promoted to the point of incompetence).

Caution at times and boldness at times – when rightly judged – has much to commend it.

Driving

My friend Keith, a policeman, was an examiner for motorbike riders attempting to pass an advanced test. He’d been my examiner, and we’d remained friends afterwards. ‘You wouldn’t believe,’ he told me one day, ‘how many flagrantly break the speed limit while taking their test.’ Keith eventually realised they never rode within the speed limit, so it didn’t occur to them to ride differently during the test. ‘And speeding is a definite failure,’ he said.

Interestingly, though, just as you can fail an advanced test for going too fast, you can also fail it for going too slow. I’ve taken both car and motorcycle advanced tests, and, thankfully, remembered the formula for getting the speed right: ‘make good progress’. In other words, don’t go too slow because then you’re a hazard, and don’t go too fast because then you’re a danger. So, in a 30 mph area, I should aim to drive or ride very close to 30, but not more than 30. That’s good progress.

Not everyone makes good (and safe) progress. We’ve likely all moaned about a slow driver on a standard (single lane each way) road, with tight bends, oblivious that there’s a queue of 20 cars behind with frustrated drivers because there’s next to no chance of a safe overtake. It’s little better on a busy motorway. The slow driver cruises along at 40 or 50 mph in the middle lane, causing a blockage and hazard as cars jostle to move into the outside lane to get past. (In the UK, going past another car on its nearside isn’t allowed.)

Of course I’ve seen many dangerous attempts to overtake on narrow roads, and plenty times, when I’ve been driving on a motorway at the speed limit of 70 mph, a car has roared past me doing at least 90 if not 100 mph. Is it a sin to pray there’s a police speed trap just ahead? If so, I have sinned.

People die trying to overtake someone who’s dawdling along at a dangerously slow speed. And people die because they’re driving far too fast, killing not only themselves but possibly others too. There are times to be cautious and times to be bold. Lives depend on judging which is appropriate.

Practical tasks

I have no memory of my father doing DIY jobs around the house. He worked, played golf and did gardening. He didn’t repair or maintain things. So, when I left home aged 16, I’d no idea how to look after a property.

I learned fast when, with family help, I bought a near 100-year old tenement flat in Edinburgh. It was affordable for two reasons: 1) It was very small, just two rooms; 2) it had never been modernised – it had an old range, electric wiring hung loose, there was no bathroom, and so on. There was plenty to fix. I couldn’t take on a complete renovation of the place. That would involve new walls, new electrics, new plumbing, which would require experts. But there were innumerable small jobs.

I got hold of a DIY book, read the relevant sections, and did my best. Much was trial and error, but I soon learned how to drill holes, use wall plugs, and hang towel rails or shelves. I replastered a section of wall – not perfect but acceptable. I stripped about seven layers of wallpaper away, including varnished wallcoverings which may have dated from the flat’s construction. After a while I was quite good at DIY.

It was several years before I had a car, and the first was not at all in good condition. I set about treating the rust with metal brush, fiberglass, filler, hardener and careful, gentle rubbing to get the surface perfectly smooth. Eventually I resprayed the whole car. In the engine area I put in new spark plugs, adjusted the tappets and fitted a new clutch. The sills on the underside of the car were rusted through, so I welded fresh metal in place. I had to do something about the car’s poor braking, so bought new brake shoes, fitted them, and, thankfully, the car stopped when it was meant to.

As the years went on, I did less DIY work. For three reasons:

  • I simply didn’t have time. My real work was all-consuming.
  • We had enough money to pay mechanics, plumbers, electricians. They did things better and in a fraction of the time I would have taken.
  • I realised the limits of my skills, and that I’d probably overstepped those limits in the past. There were no disasters, but there might have been. It was time to be more realistic about what I could do and what it was best I didn’t do.

But I’d learned that with a lot of courage and a bit of skill I could do many practical things. There was no mystery about most of them; nothing about which to be frightened – and a lot of money could be saved. But, the wisdom of the years taught me about my limits, and when it was best (and sometimes legally required) to bring in professionals.

Times for boldness and times for caution.

Two last things.

First, I don’t believe for a minute that DIY is a ‘man thing’. While working in America, a colleague mentioned his wife was visiting her parents for a few days, so he’d be on his own. ‘But,’ he said, ‘I won’t be idle. She’s left me a long Honey Do list’. I had to ask what a Honey Do list was, the answer being ‘Honey, I want you to do this and do that’ – a long list of jobs his wife wanted done while she was away. (Go online, type in Honey Do, and you’ll find templates for a Honey Do list, plus innumerable posters or cartoons related to it – my favourite is of a skeleton on a bench with the caption ‘Waiting on that honey-do-list to be done’.)

I’m happy to report that my wife, Alison, is very capable with DIY – mending our shower, unblocking sinks, laying carpet, painting, wall-papering, sharpening tools, repairing appliances. She’s about to replace a tap washer (which she’s done before). But, like me, she’s well aware of her limits.

Second, I’ll tell the story of when we literally pushed our personal boundaries.

Alison and I lived in that tenement flat after we were married. We modernised most of it, but of course it was still very small. When Alison was pregnant, we knew a baby came with baggage, and we’d need another chest of drawers to store baby things. Except, we didn’t have anywhere for another chest of drawers. There never was a lot of wall space, and every inch had something against it already. Except the back wall of a deep cupboard. We measured its width, bought a chest of drawers an inch or two smaller, and thought ‘problem solved’. It wasn’t solved. We’d only measured the back wall, and the doorway into the cupboard was narrower, even with the door removed. We could carry the chest of drawers into the cupboard by turning it sideways, but then it had to be straightened, and at an angle it was wider than the cupboard, so that didn’t work. So, we took the chest of drawers out again, thought hard, thought some more, and then we knew what to do.

First we took out the drawers and then dismantled the ‘carcass’. Off came the top, sides and back panel, leaving us with the equivalent of a modern ‘flat pack’. We took all the parts into the cupboard, and reassembled the chest of drawers facing in the correct direction. Alison was at the far end of the cupboard to screw the back panel into place. She did her job perfectly. But, of course, Alison was now completely blocked in behind the chest of drawers. However, we had a plan. I’d lift the chest of drawers as high as I could, spread my legs as wide as I could, and Alison would crawl out underneath the chest and underneath me, and then I’d lower the chest in place. At any time that plan was at the far edge of boldness because the chest of drawers was not light and the space for Alison to crawl through was small. At this time there was another complication. Alison was now fully nine months pregnant. But we had to try. I spread my feet to each side of the cupboard, lifted up the chest of drawers, Alison crawled, and all was well. Our son was born two days later.

(When we eventually left the tenement flat, the chest of drawers was dismantled again to get it out of the cupboard, then later rebuilt, and used in four other homes for over 20 years.)  

I tell that story hoping only to amuse. But perhaps it has some lessons. We were thoughtless in our purchase, but bold with our idea for how we could fit the chest of drawers into the cupboard, and then actually quite cautious/careful about how we did it. But I would urge: be bold about what you do, but super cautious when someone is nine months pregnant.

—————————

[1] During my own time of deep depression, Alison had the wisdom not to scold me for feeling so low, and not to offer trite solutions. But, when I was at my worst during the darkest hours of the night, I’d feel her hand take mine gently and just hold on. It was all I could cope with, but also all I needed.

Kindness

My day began in New Delhi, India, around 7.00. I was due at a school to address their morning assembly. I’d skipped breakfast because I’d been told my colleague and I would have food after the assembly. Delhi traffic was as crazy as ever, but we arrived safely, the assembly went well, and a small group of us gathered in the headteacher’s office afterwards. Breakfast was served – hamburgers. So began the day of seven cooked meals.

It was one of those days when visit followed visit in rapid succession. And at every project and in every home, we were fed. Perhaps a few were motivated to please foreign guests who might provide funding for their organisation. But mostly the hospitality reflected a culture of kindness: guests should be honoured, and honoured guests are served food.

Most of our meals that day were traditional for north India. I preferred that. I had no wish to be given European-style meals when in India. Every stop was another breakfast or a lunch or, as the day wore on, a dinner. These were not snacks. They were substantial meals.

Can you have too much of a good thing? Yes, you can. By mid afternoon I was moving from feeling full to feeling ill. My queasiness wasn’t helped by city traffic. We veered this way, that way, stopped and then roared ahead. Thankfully, each time we arrived at a new destination, I could walk around. Soon I’d be fine again.

After six stops – now at nearly 8.00 in the evening – we paid our final call to thank friends who’d helped organize our day’s visits. We were invited into their home, and politeness required we accept. The inevitable happened. Their politeness meant they insisted on giving us a meal. And our politeness meant we couldn’t refuse. Our seventh cooked meal in one day.

Other days rivalled that one, but happily none ever beat it. I loved the food, and loved the people even more. But if seven meals a day happened every day I’d have been charged for excess baggage for the flight home.

I was shown great kindness by people in many poor countries, and it’s left the enduring thought that they had so little but gave so much. Sometimes we were able, quietly, to pass on a ‘gift’ in thanks, because otherwise their generosity to us would have meant their family didn’t eat for several days. But their kindness was given without knowing there’d be any reimbursement; they simply used the little they had to bless us.

I saw that principle – ‘those who have little give much’ – during my years as a pastor in the UK. Senior citizens, often with little money, were the first to give when the congregation were asked to help the poor at home or abroad. Relative to their means, they were super generous. They reminded me of the poor widow Jesus saw putting a couple of coins into the temple offering. He said she’d given more than any of the rich people because the rich had plenty left whereas she’d given everything she had.[1]

Kindness matters, and there are good principles underpinning it, including these.

As people have done for us, so we should do for others

In America, I finished my supermarket shopping, waited in the checkout queue, the operator scanned my purchases, and I got ready to pay. Then I was told, ‘Your bill has already been paid’. I looked puzzled, and said I didn’t understand. She explained, ‘The person two places in front of you has already paid for the next three customers after him’. I walked away, humbled and grateful.

I’d just experienced an instance of ‘pay it forward’. Pay it forward has a long tradition which has been popularised in books and film.[2] The core idea is that when someone has been good to you, there’s no need to repay them but you should pass on an equivalent kindness to someone else.

How would the world be if everyone followed that principle? We’ve all been helped by others, probably many times. What if the benefit they gave us was ‘paid back’ with equivalent kindness to others who need it?

Kindness means you meet some strange but wonderful people

The culture of the ancient Middle East included hospitality to passing strangers, welcoming them into your home for a meal, and perhaps providing a bed for the night. That custom is the background to a strange Bible verse:

‘Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.’ (Hebrews 13:2)

Many believe the reference to ‘angels’ is meant literally, that unknown guests may actually be angelic creatures. Others think the Greek word used here – angelos (ἄγγελος) – only has the general meaning of ‘one sent’ or ‘messenger’. If that second view is correct, the guest must still be a VIP++. There’s no reason to call visitors angels unless they are very special messengers, likely messengers sent by God.

I’m not aware that we’ve ever given hospitality to angels, but some who came our way were certainly special. During their stay we were helped, encouraged, motivated and even sometimes guided regarding what we were meant to do. Without these guests, our lives would not have been complete. Kindness introduces you to the best and most important of people.

We don’t show kindness for our own sake.

How could kindness ever be for our own benefit? Surely kindness is always about helping others? It is about helping others, but there can still be the issue of motivation.

In the entrance halls of many public buildings in America – including churches – I’d see a wall of plaques containing the names of those whose gifts had built or furnished that building. The names of the biggest givers were usually in the largest type, with progressively smaller font sizes for lesser donor categories. Outside there might be a pathway with donor names inscribed on the stones. Or a room would be named after a donor. Of course, a very generous donor might have their name emblazoned right across the whole building. Publicising donors’ names isn’t unique to America; I just saw more of it there.

Why would anyone want their name on a building? Or on a plaque promoting how much they’d given? Some motivations will be good. But others perhaps less so. I know from fundraisers that the offer of a donor’s name on a building can be a ‘hook’ to secure a very large gift. So, would that donor be motivated by generosity? Or motivated to be thought generous? Only they could know the answer.

Jesus gave the perfect antidote to seeking glory by your giving – don’t reveal your generosity to anyone.

‘But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.’ (Matthew 6:3-4)[3]

Is that an impossible standard? That we should keep our generosity secret? It’s not impossible.

In one church where I was pastor, several times a couple presented me with a box of groceries and other necessities to give to families they saw going through hard times. I was to pass on the gift, but say only that it came from friends who cared. Those packages fed families with food and also warmed their hearts. Someone had seen and someone had cared. But they never knew who the ‘someone’ was.

Kindness is not about what we get; it’s about what we give.

Our goal must be to provide the kindest, not to provide the finest.

I’ve visited and preached from the northern islands of Scotland to the south coast of England and across to the west coast of Wales. And also in many other countries of the world. Often I’ve eaten and stayed overnight in people’s homes. Some of those houses were lavish; others were very humble. If I was to draw up a list of  the top 20 homes I’m grateful to have visited, none would be on that list because of how grand they were. The best were those with gracious, helpful, thoughtful people who made it clear I was welcome and ensured I was comfortable. I felt cared for, and didn’t mind at all whether their furniture came from high-end stores or charity shops. It was simply a joy to be looked after by good, kind people.

Kindness counts. It’s a wonderful privilege to be able to bless people with acts and attitudes of kindness. It may be life-changing for them. And it’s wonderful when we’re on the receiving end of kindness, though it may mean eating seven cooked meals in the same day.

[1] As Jesus looked up, he saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. ‘Truly I tell you,’ he said, ‘this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.’  (Luke 21:1-4)

[2] Nicely summarized by Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pay_it_forward

[3] Almost all of Matthew chapter 6 is teaching of Jesus about not making a ‘show’ of our spiritual or humanitarian actions. God sees it all, and that’s enough.

The left-handed ironing board

My skills at ironing were close to non-existent. But I was alone in America for two months before Alison could join me. I needed smart shirts each day, so ironing would have to be done. Surely it couldn’t be difficult.

I was living in temporary housing so owned none of the furniture or household objects. Thankfully there was an iron and ironing board. I got it all set up, and took a shirt from the basket.

Now, Alison could probably watch TV, juggle four balls, drink tea and iron a shirt all at the same time. My ability was in a different league. A much lower league. For understandable but inconvenient reasons, shirts are not flat. They just won’t lie down and stay still on an ironing board, so I was creating creases as fast as I was removing them. It took me an hour to iron that first shirt. Shirt number two fought me as fiercely as its predecessor, but I did better – just 55 minutes for that one. However, a rate of two shirts ironed per movie watched was appalling.

As I was picking up shirt three, I stepped back and looked closely at the ironing board. That’s when I saw my problem. Whoever had lived in this house before me must have been left-handed because they’d bought a left-handed ironing board. Since I’m right-handed that explained why I was crossing my hands, reaching awkwardly, and fighting constantly to apply the iron to uncooperative shirts. But leftie was the only ironing board available, so I kept going, got marginally quicker, and drove my average down to 45 minutes a shirt. It seemed I’d be wrestling with that ironing board for a long time.

Two evenings later I assembled my left-handed ironing board again, ready to restart my inept ironing. Suddenly – iron held over a rumpled shirt – I stopped. I was experiencing an epiphany. Carefully I placed the iron off to the side, put both hands under the ironing board, picked it up, turned it round, and then stepped back and looked.

Now I had a right-handed ironing board!

How on earth had I not realised what was wrong before? Well, the first time I’d taken the ironing board from its cupboard, I’d struggled to assemble it at all. Bits moved in all directions simultaneously, almost worse than an old-fashioned deck chair. But finally I got there. The tricky beast stood in front of me. It never occurred to me that the ironing board was anything other than correct now. But it was correct only for a left-hander. And I’d concluded that’s how it had been manufactured, as a left-handed ironing board.[1]

Looking back I see my stupidity was a mix of perspective, faulty assumptions, ignorance and inexperience. Any or all of these can cause problems. And they occur with things much more serious than ironing boards.

When we don’t really understand what we’re seeing or what’s happening

Let me explain this with a strange example. I visited friends David and Irene in Sindh Province, Pakistan. They were involved in humanitarian projects in a remote area which, to me, seemed impoverished and lawless. The journey to my friends’ home was across mile after mile of desert, at the mercy of a local driver who didn’t hesitate to steer his car off the far edge of the road in order to complete an overtake. An accident in an isolated area would have been disastrous. Thankfully I arrived safely.

David and Irene had a shelf of family photos, placed prominently so they’d see and remember their loved ones back home. Given the landscape all around, it was impossible to stop sand blowing into their home, so they employed a local lady to clean. With a smile Irene said, ‘something odd happened after the first time our cleaner dusted the shelf with the photos’. Apparently the cleaner had taken all the pictures off, wiped the shelf, and then put the photos back. ‘Except,’ Irene continued, ‘she replaced some upside down, some on their sides, and some the right way up. The problem was our cleaner had no idea what a photo was; the frames they were in were just objects to her, so she had no idea of a right or wrong way up.’

I was astonished. I’d never imagined anyone could be unaware of what a photograph was. But the cleaner was unaware. She’d never used a camera, never had her photo taken, never seen a photo. Therefore, she didn’t recognise these objects as images of people. In any case, people aren’t three or four inches tall. So, all she saw on that shelf were things with flat edges which, after dusting, she could put back any way that was convenient.

Likewise it had never occurred to me that there was a right or wrong way round for an ironing board, so, when using it was awkward, I assumed that board had been made for a left-hander.

We can all be guilty of not realising what we’re seeing, not understanding what’s really going on.

An industry magnate may gaze out across the idyllic beauty of a forest and a gently flowing stream. But what he sees isn’t beauty. Nor is it a pristine environment that must be protected. The only thing he sees is the perfect site for his new car plant. The magnate’s focus is functional, thinking only of what increases his business empire and personal fortune. He’s not concerned with aesthetics or valuable ecosystems. Hence he doesn’t see what he’s not looking for.

Colleagues criticise the woman who arrives late most days, especially because she’s also one of the first to leave when work is over. What they don’t see is her husband at home with advanced cancer. He’s too ill to work, so she must. Every day she rises at 5 a.m., and spends three hours caring for him and making sure he has everything he needs while she’s away. Then she rushes off, and after her job is done for the day, she hurries home to check he’s all right, and then to start on six hours of caring, cooking, washing, cleaning, and everything else. Day after day after day. Her colleagues see none of that and, in their ignorance, they judge her.

There are times when all of us are blind. We can’t be blamed for what we don’t know. But we can be blamed if we’re so focused on our own agenda or own opinions that we never see another point of view or make hasty judgments.

If we care, and take time, we will understand better what we’re seeing.

When we see only what we expect to see

When I unfolded that ironing board, it looked right to me. It was just like every ironing board I’d ever seen. So I assumed all was correct.

An assumption that this thing must be the same as that thing is a form of ‘cognitive bias’. I believed the ironing board I set up was identical to other ironing boards. And it took me two days to realise something fundamental was wrong. It was the wrong way round.

What is a cognitive bias? Fundamentally it’s about a skewed way of seeing things. Exactly what that involves can vary enormously. Those who’ve counted reckon there are over 150 kinds of cognitive bias. Most of them can be summed up by descriptions like these:

  • They result in prejudiced judgments – we have slanted views of things
  • They’re usually unconscious – we’re not aware of our bias
  • When we try to avoid bias, we become convinced that our perspective now is the correct one – the ‘I think it, therefore it’s true’ effect.
  • Some cognitive biases are useful – such as for those living on the grasslands of tropical Africa who can’t afford the luxury of taking time to examine whether the movement behind a bush is a pig or a lion – they must respond to their gut instinct and flee.

Almost no-one doubts the existence of cognitive biases, but many think bias doesn’t affect them. The way they see things, that’s how they are. Unfortunately pride is far from an infallible guide to reality. Here are two examples about seeing what we expect to see.

Mississippi    My first visit to America began with two weeks in Mississippi. I stayed in three different houses. None were mega-mansions but very pleasant and comfortable middle-class homes. Less than a mile away African-American people lived in very different houses. We drove through those ‘black’ neighbourhoods, and I was shocked. Almost every home was the simplest of wooden structures – small, often leaning, some needing repair, children playing out front in the dirt. I saw proud people beside their homes, but my heart went out to them. The contrast between where I was staying for two weeks and where they’d spend their whole lives was stark. One of my hosts didn’t share my feelings. He said: ‘The black people are lazy. That’s why they live like this.’ Again I was shocked. I disputed those statements as much as a guest in someone else’s culture can. My host was unmoved. That’s how he saw them. He didn’t seem to consider the legacy of slavery, the laws that still disadvantaged black people, the inferior schools their children attended, the lack of opportunities for even the brightest, and so on. ‘They’re lazy.’ That’s how he saw them.

Edinburgh    I studied theology at the University of Edinburgh. That worried my Christian friends, because they considered the university’s ‘divinity school’ to be liberal in its theological positions.[2] But it was a great experience for me. I heard mind-stretching lectures and engaged in challenging conversations. One of those conversations happened in a seminar group gathered to discuss ‘the problem of evil’ – how can a God who is almighty and all-loving allow suffering? Far from an easy subject. There were about 12 of us, and I was in a minority of one coming from an evangelical perspective. But I argued my case, and they argued theirs. We both listened and learned. Afterwards, two or three came to me privately and thanked me for what I’d said. Then each of them added a sentence like this: ‘You’re the first evangelical I’ve met who had reasons for his faith’. They thought evangelicals, faced with difficult questions, simply resorted to blind faith – ‘I don’t know why this is true, but I believe it anyway’. No thought. No evidence. Apparently I’d been different. But they were wrong, hopefully not about me but certainly about many other evangelicals. There were and are many evangelical scholars, preachers and ordinary believers who have studied and thought deeply about their faith, and then put forward sound arguments in favour of evangelical views. But my divinity school fellow-students had, at least until that day, dismissed evangelicals as people who never thought things through.

I can’t teach anyone how to rid themselves of their cognitive biases. If they’re unconscious, you can’t even identify they exist. And many a cognitive bias is comforting, reassuring, it props up our way of seeing the world and justifies the way we live in it.

But I can ask you to be open to the possibility of cognitive bias in your thinking. I suspect all of us have biases – could be about religion, or politics, or sport, or women in the workplace, or people of colour, or those with alternative lifestyles. For example, a few years ago I met people who identified with goth subculture.[3] Initially, I found it hard to get past their strange looks, dress, ideas, but eventually I got to know them. And discovered they were people who were kind, thoughtful, and really worth knowing. Biases can be unseen barriers to good people, good ideas, and good experiences.

So, this blog has taught you how to turn a left-handed ironing board into a right-handed ironing board (or right into left). About 0.0001% of the population needed to know that.

Beyond that, hopefully there’s been something here that helps you ‘see’ and therefore understand our world more completely. Nothing should be frightening about getting a truer perspective on the world. We’re better people for that. And ironing might become a bit easier.

————————

This blog is posted the day after a new year dawned. Today is just one day more than yesterday, but psychologically most of us flip a switch – ‘off’ for the year gone by, and ‘on’ for the year ahead. It feels like a fresh start.

May this new beginning be the best it can be for you, with far more about which to be thankful than regretful. My warmest wishes.

And, if you would like to read a blog specifically for a new year, my first blog one year ago was about ‘resolutions’. You’ll find it here: https://occasionallywise.com/2021/01/ (It’s dated January 2, 2021, therefore at the beginning of last January’s list.)

————————–

[1] I once told this story of my ‘left-handed ironing board’ to an audience in America. Thankfully they laughed. Afterwards, several women said to me ‘You iron? I’m impressed.’ I’m not sure now if they were surprised a man did ironing, or surprised that anyone in the household did ironing. Certainly some never did – either they only bought ‘non-iron’ clothes, or they sent out their laundry to a cleaner where it was washed, dried, ironed, and then delivered back to home.

[2] On the whole the label ‘liberal’ wasn’t wrong. But, as I told my friends, the school was so liberal that I was never marked down for my views providing I gave academically credible arguments. Besides, if we mix only with people who think exactly like us, we don’t learn much.

[3] If goth subculture is as unknown to you as it once was for me, this may help: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goth_subculture

The odd ancestry of Jesus, part 2

This blog is about a prostitute, a widow, and an adulterer who killed to keep his affair secret. What they have in common is that they are ancestors of Jesus.

Last week’s blog described three of Jesus’ odd ancestors. Now we have another three who are at least their equal. After telling their stories, I’ll sum up the situation of all six.

1. Rahab

Who would write a novel in which the local prostitute would be key to a victory for God’s people over Jericho and entry into the Promised Land? But that’s what happened. Here’s Rahab’s story (from Joshua, chapters 2 and 6).

Moses had rescued the Israelites from slavery in Egypt and, after years of wandering, brought them to the border of the Promised Land. Then Moses’ days were over, and Joshua became the new leader. His job was to take the people forward into their new homeland.

But it really was new to them. This generation of Israelites had never lived there. They’d little idea about the terrain, or the opposition they’d face. So Joshua sent two spies to scout out the land, and especially the strategic city of Jericho. They slipped quietly into Jericho, but where could they stay? The one door that would open to them without any questions belonged to a prostitute called Rahab.

But the spies’ entry into Jericho wasn’t a secret. Perhaps they were seen or news of their arrival leaked; whichever, the King of Jericho was told there were spies in the city. What’s more, he knew where they were and soldiers were sent to Rahab’s house to capture them. But Rahab hadn’t put the spies in her usual beds (thankfully), but hidden them on her roof among stalks of flax. ‘No spies here,’ she told the soldiers. She agreed men had come, but she’d no idea who they were, and they didn’t stay long in Jericho. They left just before the city gate was locked for the night. ‘That was only a short time ago,’ she continued, ‘so if you hurry you may catch them.’ Rahab must have been a good liar because the searchers immediately headed off into the countryside looking for the spies.

But those soldiers might come back, so Rahab had to get the spies out of the city. She got the men down from the roof. ‘I know that the Lord has given this land to you,’ she told them. (Joshua 2:9) She’d heard how God had dried up the Red Sea for the Israelites to cross, and about the victories they’d won in battle during their travels. These things had turned her heart to God ‘for the Lord your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below’ she said. (Joshua 2:11)

Rahab then negotiated a deal. She would help the spies escape from Jericho but, ‘please swear to me by the Lord that you will show kindness to my family, because I have shown kindness to you … spare the lives of my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all who belong to them … save us from death.’ (Joshua 2:12-13)

The spies swore her family would be kept safe when Israel captured the city. That deal done they had to escape quickly. Rahab’s house formed part of Jericho’s wall, so, using a rope, she lowered the spies down the outside of the city wall. And off they went.

In due course the supposedly impregnable city of Jericho was conquered and its citizens killed, but the oath the spies had sworn to Rahab was honoured. (Joshua 6:22-25) She and her family were spared, and they became part of the people of Israel.

Eventually Rahab married Salmon of the tribe of Judah, and gave birth to Boaz. Many generations later Matthew includes her name in the genealogy of Jesus. (Matthew 1:5)

Three things, however, make it surprising that she’s included in the family line of the Messiah.

  • She’s a woman – not the only one in the genealogy of Jesus but there are very few (only five, including Bathsheba who is not named). Predominantly the genealogy is about the fathers in Jesus’ legal line of descent (40 men listed).
  • She had been a prostitute. By the time the spies came, she may have come to faith in God and changed her work. But prostitution can cast a long shadow over someone’s life, so she might well not have been named.
  • She was not born an Israelite, and the significance of that will be clear with our next character.

None of these three factors would be welcome in a Jewish genealogy, but Matthew includes Rahab. He’s clear that she is one of Jesus’ ancestors.

2. Ruth

Ruth’s story is a favourite for many – because of her love and loyalty toward her mother-in-law Naomi, and the romance and marriage to wonderful, caring Boaz. (All told within the four chapters of the book of Ruth.)

It’s all true, but often left out is what came before, and that’s a story of tragedy upon tragedy.

There was famine in Judah. People were desperate for food, so a man called Elimelek decided he would take his family to Moab. That meant a journey east, approximately to where Jordan is today.

Escaping to Moab was an odd choice: a) to get there meant a walk of some 2000 miles; b) much of Moab lay on a high plateau, so overall the journey was an uphill climb; c) the family might not be welcome because the Moabites had their own gods, and were frequently in conflict with the Israelites. Some consider Elimelek’s decision to go to Moab faithless. The family’s home was Bethlehem, and they could have stuck it out through the famine, trusting God to preserve them. Instead they went to live among hostile foreigners.

Despite these factors, Elimelek takes his wife Naomi, and sons Mahlon and Kilion, on that long journey, and they settle in Moab.

But they aren’t settled for long because Elimelek dies. That makes Naomi a widow, a vulnerable status in those times and in that place. Thankfully her sons are now old enough to marry, which they do to Moabite women: Orpah and Ruth. The family unit is again secure, and all seems well for the future.

But their security doesn’t last. About ten years after going to Moab, both Mahlon and Kilion die. Now not only the father is gone; the sons are gone too.

Three widows are left. With no protectors and no providers, they’re in danger of assault and starvation. Moreover, Naomi is now depressed, convinced God has abandoned her: ‘the Lord’s hand has turned against me!’ (Ruth 1:13)

She sees only one option – to return to Judah. She knows people in Bethlehem, and they may take pity on her. And news has reached her that the famine there is over; good harvests are being gathered in again.

So, all three women begin the arduous journey. But Naomi thinks while she walks, and decides there is no good future for Orpah and Ruth in Judah. Moabite women will not be welcome. She tells her daughters-in-law to stay in Moab where they can find new husbands.

Orpah accepts the advice and leaves. Ruth refuses and speaks what are now famous words, ‘Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.’ (Ruth 1:16)

Naomi and Ruth trek all the way to Judah. There’s shock at Naomi’s appearance. She’s certainly older and probably worn down by bereavement and by hunger. They arrive just as the barley harvest is beginning, so Ruth heads to the fields to glean grain, an accepted practice of picking up stalks the harvesters have left behind.

She meets the owner of the field, Boaz. He is a near relative, and might be entitled to take her in marriage within the rules of those times. One night she lies down at his feet, thus offering herself to him as a wife. His heart melts. And – after some careful manoeuvring – Boaz is able to marry her.

God’s hand is in all this, but so is Naomi’s. She’s the one who told Ruth to lie down beside Boaz, knowing very well what might follow. Yet it seems that Ruth and Boaz genuinely fall in love. In time along comes their son Obed. Eventually Obed is the father of Jesse who is the father of David, the shepherd boy who later became king.

Who would not want this wonderful love story of Ruth and Boaz in their family line?

The answer may surprise you: no Israelite would. Why not? A true Israelite sought a pure line of descent, and that was impossible with a Moabitess as an ancestor.

Moab had a track record of being hostile to Israel, and the nation was seen as immoral and idolatrous. Therefore there was to be no association with their people. Among the laws given by Moses is this: ‘No Ammonite or Moabite or any of their descendants may enter the assembly of the Lord, not even in the tenth generation.’ (Deuteronomy 23:3)

That’s why no Jew would want a Moabitess in the family line.

But Ruth the Moabitess is in the family line of Jesus. She had accepted Naomi’s God as her God so was welcomed into the community of those who worshipped the Lord. She would be a near ancestor of Israel’s great king, David, and an eventual ancestor of Jesus, God’s Messiah.

3. David

There’s no doubt David was a great king over Israel. Most would say that David was Israel’s greatest king.

And many children grow up hearing the heroic story from David’s youth, how the shepherd boy would not let the army of Israel be shamed by the Philistine giant Goliath, went out to fight him armed with only his sling and a few pebbles, and killed Goliath with his first stone. (1 Samuel 17) That boy eventually became king over Israel, and in many ways was God’s delight. But David was far from perfect. (As described in 2 Samuel, chapters 11 and 12.)

One night David was restless. He got up from his couch, and walked around on the flat roof of his palace. A woman in a nearby house caught his eye. She was bathing, possibly naked and certainly very beautiful. David wanted to know more about her, and learned her name was Bathsheba. She was the wife of Uriah, one of the soldiers fighting with David’s army (where David probably should have been as well). David wanted Bathsheba. That would be a terrible wrong. A king might have many wives, but not someone else’s wife.[1] But Uriah’s absence was David’s opportunity. He had Bathsheba brought to him, slept with her, and then sent her home again.

Maybe David forgot about his one-night-stand. But Bathsheba couldn’t because their liaison had unintended consequences. The most immediate was that she had become pregnant.

Bathsheba sent David word that she was expecting a child. Her husband couldn’t be the father because he was still with the army. ‘But,’ David thought, ‘perhaps I can make him believe he’s the father.’ He gave orders for Uriah to be brought back. He came straight to the palace. David asked him how his commander, Joab, was faring, how the soldiers were, and then how the war was going. When their meeting was over, David told Uriah to go home. His purpose, of course, was for Uriah to go to Bathsheba and make love to her, so he and everyone else would think the child was his. But Uriah wouldn’t go to his house. David made him drunk, thinking he’d then wander home. Still he didn’t go. More than once he resisted the King’s urging that he should spend the night with Bathsheba because he would not take advantage of being at home while all his fellow soldiers were fighting and had no such comforts. He told David: ‘How could I go to my house to eat and drink and make love to my wife? As surely as you live, I will not do such a thing!’ (2 Samuel 11:11)

Tragically Uriah’s sense of honour became his death sentence.

Next day David gave Uriah a secret message to take to Joab, the army commander, and then sent him back to the front line. The note he carried, but did not see, read:  ‘Put Uriah out in front where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so he will be struck down and die.’ (2 Samuel 11:15)

There was nothing ambiguous in that command. Joab positioned Uriah in the front line where the enemy were strongest, and then abandoned him and those near him to die.

Bathsheba mourned her husband’s death, but once that time was past David had her brought to the palace and married her. Bathsheba had a son. But God was angered by David, and sent the prophet Nathan to make David see the great sin he’d committed. David recognised his wrongdoing and found forgiveness. But that forgiveness of sin did not remove its consequences.

The prophet had two more messages from God for David. First, his future would be one of constant strife. ‘Now, therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house, because you despised me and took the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your own.’ (2 Samuel 12:10)

The second message was even more chilling: ‘because… you have shown utter contempt for the Lord, the son born to you will die.’ (2 Samuel 12:14)

The infant did become ill. David prayed and fasted – he was in total despair – but the baby died. And never again did David have peace at home or with neighbouring peoples.

But, in time, David and Bathsheba had another son whose name was Solomon. God loved and blessed him. Eventually he succeeded David as king and generations later Jesus became a descendant of both of them.

Of the six odd ancestors of Jesus we’ve considered in both blogs about Jesus’ genealogy, David disturbs me the most.

But now it’s time to sum up and draw lessons from these blogs.

Here are our six odd ancestors.

Abraham – saved himself by giving his wife away to other men, and then had sex with another woman to have the son he was promised.

Jacob – blatantly lied to his father and cheated his brother so he could have top position in the family.

Tamar – pretended to be a prostitute to trick her father-in-law into sex because he’d failed to give his son as her husband.

Rahab – a prostitute who hid Israelite spies and helped them escape.

Ruth – an immigrant from one of the nations Judah most hated, and who, in theory, should never have been allowed to marry into God’s people.

David – guilty of adultery, and then having the husband he cheated deliberately killed in battle.

Never suggest the Bible hides cold hard facts! And never suggest its heroes are flawless.

To be fair, I consider only the men in the list as flawed. The women are different. Tamar was badly maltreated, and she used desperate measures only because she was, indeed, desperate. Rahab had an undesirable past, but, when it most mattered, she chose a better way even though that way risked death for her and all her family. Ruth also chose a better way, but one that took her from her own people to a country where she might be despised. She risked all to support her mother-in-law.

I can’t find excuses for the wickedness of any of the men, though marvel how God worked through their flaws and sins to bring about his purposes. Ultimately they are significant figures along with the women in the family line of Jesus.

So, two final lessons.

What’s ahead of you is more important than what’s behind you

Many of us – probably most – have things in our past which we regret. Some find it hard to move beyond what they’ve done or what’s been done to them. They think their lives will always be troubled, or they can never be forgiven.

If anyone could have reacted like that, it would have been the Apostle Paul. In his pre-Christian days he hunted down some of the first believers in Jesus, several of whom died. But that cruelty didn’t define his future. He became a follower of Jesus, and an apostle (messenger) to many nations. He wrote that he forgot what was behind and strained forward to what’s ahead. (Philippians 3:13) He was picturing an athlete, in the final stretch of his race, totally focused on running flat out to the finishing line ahead.

That image – leaving the past behind, and giving yourself entirely to what’s ahead – describes how we should all live.

God brings both dark and light threads together in a perfect tapestry

An old illustration says that if you look at the back of a tapestry the threads seem to go in all directions; there’s no design to be seen. But turn it round, look at the front, and those threads are exactly where they’re meant to be, forming a wonderful picture.

God took some odd ancestral threads, including some very dark shades, and brought them together perfectly at the birth of his Son into the world.

He did that by his Spirit and by using the one other named woman in Jesus’ genealogy, his mother Mary. She was young, probably no more than 15 or 16 in age. But, instead of being a rebellious teenager, she accepted God’s will for her life which was to give birth to the Son of God.

Mary did no wrong in becoming pregnant, but initially her husband-to-be thought she had, and likely many others always believed she’d been immoral. Mary accepted the risks to her reputation and to her life in order to follow God. She’s not an odd ancestor; she’s the ancestor who gave herself to God and then to God’s will for her life, whatever that would mean, whatever that would cost. Mary is a woman with a deep faith and sincere humility.

And so God brought everything to the exact place he wanted. The wrongs and difficulties of past generations didn’t count now. It was time for Jesus to be born. Nothing was easy yet. The journey Joseph and Mary made to Bethlehem was exhausting. At first there was no accommodation there, even for a woman about to give birth. And I’m sure Jesus’ birth was as painful for Mary as birth is for any woman. But the Son of God was born. Soon the visits of shepherds and wise men confirmed the world-changing significance of what had happened.

But the family weren’t safe. They had to flee to save Jesus’ life from Herod’s orders that all male infants born in Bethlehem should be killed. Joseph, Mary and Jesus became refugees in a foreign land. But wherever they went, God was always there, always watching over his plan for each person and for his Son.

The message I hope we see in the ancestry of Jesus is, indeed, that God is always near, always guarding his people and his purposes. That’s been true down the ages, and also for the life of each person now. Which includes ours.

There is much for which to be thankful at Christmas.

—————————-

[1] That was punishable by death. Deuteronomy 22:22: ‘If a man is found sleeping with another man’s wife, both the man who slept with her and the woman must die. You must purge the evil from Israel.’

Have a wonderful Christmas!

Before I began writing this blog nearly a year ago, I decided to avoid highlighting special events or seasons of the year. And then, at the beginning of January, my first blog was about ‘Resolutions’. I failed right at the start!

And I’ve failed right at the end of the year because I could not ignore Christmas, writing two blogs on the odd ancestors of Jesus, that strange family list which culminates in the birth of the Son of God in Bethlehem.

The last blogs of this year had to take account of the season. How could I ignore the birth of Jesus?

So, my original decision abandoned, as Christmas Day begins where I am in the UK, let me say HAPPY CHRISTMAS to those who’ve already been celebrating this day in places east of where I am, and the same to those who’ll celebrate in a few hours in places to the west.

The blog has been read this year in 32 countries. As I post this, those already celebrating Christmas include readers in Indonesia, South Korea, China, Australia, India, Pakistan. Those yet to reach Christmas Day may be in the USA, Canada, Ecuador, Chile, Bahamas. Unsurprisingly by far the greatest number of readers are in the UK (and I hope they’re now in bed!)

Wherever this is read, please know I’m grateful for your interest. This Christmas I’m praying that you know God’s peace and God’s goodness in your life, and that 2022 holds many blessings for you.

With warmest appreciation,