 ‘To Christians, Easter marks a miracle so vast as to be indescribable: the entry of the Creator into his own universe, the irruption of the timeless into time, for the purpose of saving the human race by suffering an excruciating death. To non-Christians, the magnitude of that claim seems not so much far-fetched as deranged.’ (Daniel Hannan) I guess that places me squarely among the deranged, firmly in the midst of those who dare to believe. I was inspired by Jasmin’s account this evening of how Christians in the Philippines mark and celebrate the transition from Good Friday (which represents the day on which Jesus was executed) to Easter Sunday (the day on which he was resurrected, i.e. rose back to life). On the Saturday evening in-between, they meet in total darkness (which represents death) to pray and hear readings from the Bible. At midnight, suddenly, they ignite a fire (which represents new life). The fire blazes brightly in the deep darkness and each person lights a candle from its incandescent flames. This creates a profound image and experience of a community of light. This ritual is a dramatic re-enactment of a spiritual transition, not just in Jesus’ experience but in today's experience too. I remember vividly when, at age 21, my own faith suddenly burst into flames. It felt like being filled with a strange energy, a dazzling, blazing light that completely transformed every dimension of my life, purpose and future. Deranged? Maybe. I dare to believe.
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 I once went on silent retreat at Easter. Early in the morning at chapel, the leader simply played this short video on a huge screen with the volume turned up loud. He didn’t introduce it, he didn’t explain it… I felt like I was in a state of shock for the whole day. It captures so beautifully and so painfully the tragedy of the cross.  English translation of a short talk I delivered at a Prayers for Peace meeting in Germany last night: A few years ago, a colleague in the UK, Rick James, was the keynote speaker at a forum for international development experts from around the world. Rick is a follower of Jesus and is widely respected in this arena for his own work in many different countries, especially in those that are poor. As the participants waited eagerly to hear his words of knowledge, wisdom and expertise, Rick sat quietly for a moment then said, unexpectedly, ‘There is so much I don’t understand.’ What an astonishing opening for a presentation. It demonstrated deep humility in the face of a complex world in which so much is truly beyond human comprehension. As we look at the news today, for instance, in spite of our prayers for 4 years, the world seems to be getting worse. Who could have imagined a month ago that the USA and Israel would attack Iran? Who could have imagined that, as a consequence, Russia is now even stronger than before to attack Ukraine? This may test our faith and challenge our hope. Some of you may have heard of Henri Nouwen, the Dutch priest who wrote an array of books about spirituality and Christian living. In one of his texts, he advised that, when faced with such painful questions, we should avoid the temptation of offering or accepting simple or easy answers. Instead, he advised that such questions should be raised and faced with honesty. Sometimes this will mean being present yet silent before God and one-another – like here this evening. His guidance reminds me of another priest, Iain Matthew, who is from the UK and lives in Spain. Iain offers profound reflections on the biblical account where Jesus is at a wedding in Cana and the host runs out of wine. It’s a painfully embarrassing situation for the host and we can imagine how, if we were there as his guests, we might try quickly to hide it, reassure him or find a solution. We might also call on Jesus to do what we think is best, what we think is needed to fix it. Yet here is Mary now. 'She perceives the need and names it, ‘They have no wine’ – without prescribing a solution. She takes it, holds it, and allows it to ache before Jesus.' Iain suggests this may be, at times, a pattern for prayer, 'to feel our way to a wound that is in us (perhaps a hurt or disappointment that our prayers seem unanswered), to go the place of our need.' He suggests, 'Go there, name it and hold it before Christ.' In doing so, we offer our doubts, confusion and fears to God. He then goes further, inviting us 'to feel our way to the wounds in this world, to those people or situations in dire need of help or healing. To go there, take them, name them, and hold them before Jesus. To go there, not to dictate to Christ what the answer should be or what he should do about it, but to hold the wound before him.' This is prayerful advocacy. We play our part by presenting our concerns and hopes before God in trust, and Jesus is Lord – the wisdom of God and the power of God.  ‘Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.’ (George Eliot) Mike is a role model of vision, compassion and integrity. I’ve rarely met anyone like him. In fact, he’s one of the most amazing leaders, line-managers, I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. It was all the more heartbreaking, therefore, to see him treated disrespectfully by an executive team and dismissed (in my view) unjustifiably from post. This was some years ago now yet I still feel a wince of pain whenever I remember it. At the time, I asked Mike how he managed to handle himself so honourably in the face of such harsh opposition. He replied simply that he had been reading the account of Joseph in the Bible and had concluded that, ‘They can take your job, they can take your income, but they can never take your integrity. That’s only yours to give. Remember, Nick – whatever happens in life, guard your integrity.’ Wow. Such courage under fire. The day of Mike’s leaving arrived and people crowded into the staff room to say goodbye to this man that so many had held in high esteem. The executive team stood at the side with their backs to the wall, looking tense and nervous. What might Mike say? Could it kick off a riot? Mike looked around the room, smiled gently and said, ‘The executive team are ordinary people who carry extraordinary responsibilities. Pray for them.’ It was absolutely astonishing. People looked at each other quizzically around the room, and the executives breathed a (somewhat surprised) sigh of relief. Mike said those words with such incredible empathy and kindness. Not a hint of resentment or revenge. Mike’s wife had joined him for the leaving do and they closed by standing in the centre of the room together, holding hands, and sang a gospel song about trusting in Jesus.  ‘Christianism: A crude political ideology and the triumph of empty symbolism.’ (Ben Ryan)
The UK has spent decades sleepwalking toward secularism, where faith has been driven relentlessly into the personal-private sphere. Now we're waking up to something very different. A muscular version of Christianity is re-emerging, not as a spiritual faith but as a political identity. It’s a re‑branding of national belonging where being 'British' feels increasingly identified with being ‘Christian’. I'm not talking about the gospel of Jesus Christ or about spiritual renewal here. I am talking about identity politics. It’s about casting Christianity as a default badge of belonging and using that badge to redraw the boundaries of who counts as ‘us’ vs ‘them’. Anxiety and frustration are fuelling that shift in the face of mass migration, cultural disruption and a fear that who ‘we’ are is slipping away. ‘Christian’ is being used increasingly as a political brand. Once any religion becomes a marker of national or cultural identity, it becomes a de facto test of belonging. Tests always leave people, the ‘others’, outside. It chips away at the humility and compassion that are, for followers of Jesus, core to their lives. Religion becomes less about conscience or community and more about raw power. For Christians who believe authentic faith should question power, who see gospel values as both universal and counter‑cultural, the appropriation of Christianity into nationalism feels like a dangerous distortion. Jesus said, ‘Love your enemies’ (which suggests there are those we may rightly regard as enemies). True faith lays in reaching out in love – not in alienation or conquest.  ‘If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.’ (Erica Jong) I ran a vision and team development day yesterday for a group of inspiring Christian leaders. Their chosen venue was a football stadium (a new experience) that looked quite breathtaking for someone like me who doesn’t know the first thing about the sport. We grounded the day in a specific spiritual account, then used Appreciative Inquiry to discover, dream, design and decide in relation to it. One of the themes that emerged was, in a social and geopolitical context marked by increasing anxiety, how to avoid manifesting an anxious presence too. After all, the leaders in the group are working in the same contexts and subject to some of the same stresses and dynamics as people living in their wider communities. I was reminded of BANI – brittle, anxious, non-linear and incomprehensible. I glanced out of the window and noticed emblazoned above the stands, ‘Our Loving Devotion Guides our Livelong Dream’ and, beneath that, four short banners that repeated one simple message: 'Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing.' Love is an antidote to fear. One participant said: ‘What am I willing to do, that others may know they are loved by God?’ That's a courageous question.  ‘Sometimes it takes a natural disaster to reveal a social disaster.’ (Jim Wallis) I didn’t sleep well last night. This time, it wasn’t fake news. Typhoon Tino hit hard and battered central Philippines, leaving at least 188 people dead and thousands of others’ fragile homes and livelihoods shattered. It came on the back of a 6.9 earthquake in the same region just weeks ago that left at least 74 people dead and countless others injured or without homes. Jasmin called me from within the Signal 4 storm itself last night, just before the power cut off. Wind and rain were lashing at her windows, along with windswept objects crashing against the glass. Trees outside were uprooted violently and thrown to the ground. She looked anxious and I felt terrified. The deep flood waters that followed have left much of the area underwater. Thank God, she managed to message me this morning with snapshots of the devastation outside, yet her family safe on the inside. We had prayed hard last night – Jasmin with faith and me in near desperation – and I had a mysterious dream of Jesus alongside her there, reflecting a supernatural biblical account of Presence and survival in impossible circumstances.  ‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.’ (Ambrose Redmoon) I don’t know if I’d be brave enough. Heading out into the mountains to reach the poorest and most vulnerable is a noble task, not least to demonstrate to those who feel vulnerable and abandoned that they’re not alone, not forgotten, and that someone sees them. One little girl galvanised Jasmin’s determination. She had messaged her Dad, pleading for him to find a way to get to her. She felt scared. He was some distance away in a city, working in a school in a low-paid job, trying to earn enough money to send her and her family emergency supplies. Yet she wanted him there beside her, to feel safer. The recent earthquakes in the Philippines, along with on-going aftershocks some 3 weeks later, have left their family home in ruins. Now living under a tarpaulin in the pouring rain, this girl has, thankfully, salvaged a solar charger which has given her enough power to charge up her cell phone. Her Mum is doing what she can to share their dwindling supplies of rice with others trapped in similar circumstances in their remote vicinity. Mudslides and sink holes make reaching them treacherous. Mountain tracks swept away or blocked by fallen trees and debris make a difficult journey almost impossible. Jasmin can’t read a map and a wise friend cautions her about the risks. I ask her, ‘How will you find your way through the jungle, across such impassable terrain, to reach them?’ I know that, in Jasmin’s mind, I’m asking the wrong question. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to go with someone who knows those mountains?’ I sense my questions are falling on deaf ears. I’m talking about logistics, safety and other rational considerations. Jasmin ‘s first priorities are love, faith and a yearning to be-with. She wants to make real the presence of Jesus, to be alongside them in situ, to see and hear first hand what they need.  ‘My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds.’ (Steve Goodier)
The earthquakes that shook the Philippines recently shook me too, albeit on the other side of the world. On hearing that her parents’ simple home made from timber and corrugated iron had collapsed, one young woman trekked there from a city with emergency supplies of water and food. I try to imagine what that must feel like. News reports had shown that one family’s home nearby had been buried by a landslide triggered by the earthquake. Only their baby survived. This young woman didn’t know what to expect. Mud tracks were blocked by fallen trees and communications were down. Still, she persevered. On approaching what had been a village, desperate people pleaded with her with open hands for some drinking water. What a terrible ethical and emotional dilemma to face. To save her own family or to save these strangers? (I feel sure I’d prioritise my own loved ones, then try to learn to live with the guilt as well as I could). Thank God, she found her parents alive, living alongside others under makeshift tarpaulins. Pouring rain at the wet tail end of a typhoon hadn’t helped. People were forced to lift their few salvaged possessions as high as they could off the ground to keep them dry, then to sit on the muddy ground, clasping their knees, until it passed. This determined young woman, she herself poor, will head back again this week armed with faith, hope and love – and all the supplies she can muster.  ‘Let nothing frighten you.’ (Teresa of Ávila) A powerful earthquake struck the Philippines this evening, breaking roads and causing chaos. Traffic stopped abruptly to avoid falling down deep cracks and buildings creaked under the stress and strain. People raced from their homes in case of collapse and ran into the streets. Jasmin was falling to sleep at the time, was shaken awake when she felt the house move, and quickly grabbed her daughter from the shower to get outside. It was when the earth stood still again that she noticed she was wearing only a nightdress and her daughter only a towel. Venturing cautiously back inside, they peered carefully to see if there was any damage to the walls or to the ceiling. It means sleeping downstairs tonight in case of shuddering aftershocks. I was struck again by Jasmin’s calmness, her trust in God in the face of danger. She inspires me. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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