I am with you always, even to the end of the age.
Matthew 28:20

That’s Jesus speaking, post-resurrection. We are still in ‘always’, even though it sometimes feels close to the end of the age. He is still with us.

I won’t be with you always. This series of Lent reflections has ended. You will have noticed that I got the timing wrong 😝. I did start on the right day, and post for 40 days in a row. But I didn’t realise that Sundays don’t count, so we still have a couple of days to Good Friday. If you are disappointed or wanting to fill the gap, I suggest you go back and read any posts you missed (full list here). Better still, read the Easter story in one of the Bible’s four gospels.

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Thank you for joining me on this road to Easter. I didn’t really write this series with the intention of reaching lots of people. Posting every day has indeed been a discipline. Some of the Old Testament passages were rather dry. Knowing that somebody is reading has helped me keep writing. I felt that every day the Holy Spirit has impressed some thoughtworthy idea on my mind. He came through, thanks be to God. 😊

What a view it will be, at the end of all things. See you there, if not before.

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Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’… They still did not believe it because of joy and amazement… While he was blessing them, he left them and was taken up into heaven. Then they worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy.

Luke 24:36, 41, 51-52

The road to Easter does not end at the cross.

The road to Easter does not end with hardship, sadness, sin, pain, injustice, uncertainty, darkness or disillusionment. The road to Easter does not end with Jesus’ death. The road goes through all that — through the cross to Jesus’ resurrection, to his triumphant return to life.

The road to Easter ends with life, redemption and the defeat of evil. It ends with amazement, with peace and blessing, with worship and joy.

How wonderful. All praise to the God who has done all this. All credit to our living God! What joy and what glory are at the end of everything!

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When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him there, along with two criminals dash one on his right, the other on his left. One of the criminals hurled insults at him: ‘Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’ But the other criminal rebuked him. ‘Don’t you fear God? …We are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.’ Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Jesus answered him, truly I tell you today you will be with me in paradise.’
Luke 23:33, 39-43

It amazes me how Jesus finds the emotional strength to consider others, even as he’s in excruciating pain. You’d think all his energy would go into resisting the desire to call for escape, as the first criminal says — ‘God, get me out of here!’ Yet Jesus has spoken to the women who mourned for him on the way to the execution ground. Now he speaks to a criminal crucified with him.

By the criminal’s own admission, he deserves the death sentence. He’s got no grounds to appeal to Jesus. But he’s got nothing to lose either. Unlike the other criminal, he doesn’t direct his fear and pain into anger. Instead he recognises who Jesus is, and asks only to be remembered.

In reply, Jesus does better than that. He tells the criminal that, by the end of the day, Jesus will take him into paradise.

These are Jesus’ next-to-last words. His final words will be to entrust his soul to God — the first commandment. Here is the second commandment in operation — love your neighbour as yourself. Dying for us is a huge, infinitely great, act of love. And even while he’s dying, Jesus has room for the personal touch – the gift of mercy and hope to a guilty man. It’s so generous and merciful it makes me cry. Nobody is beneath Jesus’ notice.

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Moses said to Aaron, take your censer, and put fire on it from the altar and lay incense on it and carry quickly to the congregation. Make atonement for them, for wrath has gone out from the Lord; the plague has begun. So Aaron took it, as Moses said, and ran into the midst of the assembly… He stood between the dead and the living and the plague was stopped.
Numbers 16:46-48

I have watched Lord of the Rings with my family many times. This story from Numbers reminds me of Gandalf facing the monstrous Balrog with his staff: You shall not pass! Here in Numbers, the antagonist is not a monster. Instead, the people of Israel have (once again) taken issue with instructions from God passed on through Moses. It has become a confrontation between the people of Israel and God himself. There’s no real contest. God is winning, with the plague running rampant through the population. We can’t resist what God has put in place, try to come up with our own religious system that suits us, and expect things to be fine.

At this moment, Aaron grabs his incense burner, a symbol of the whole God-given system of sacrificial atonement, and runs into the disaster. Aaron stands between the living and the dead. It works. The plague stops. Atonement is the solution for the most egregious of sins.

Why include this reflection in a series leading into Easter? Because, as well as reminding me of Gandalf, this verse reminds me of Jesus. On the cross he hung suspended between life and death. His crucifixion is atonement completed. His cross stands between the living and the dead, and we can choose which side of him we’ll stand. He is the difference between life and death for us.

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Now at the feast Pilate used to release for them one prisoner for whom they asked. Among the rebels in prison, who had committed murder in the insurrection, there was a man called Barabbas. Mark 15: 6-7

You know how this story ends. Barabbas is released instead of Jesus, despite Pilate’s half-hearted effort to swap them over.

Barabbas was a murderer. But he was also a political prisoner. He would not have been the most despised person in Jerusalem’s jail. Some of the Jewish population probably saw him as a hero. His violence was committed in the name of a cause. He had been involved in an insurrection against the ruling authorities, so presumably he and the other rebels wanted the colony of Israel freed from the Romans. The Romans were no nice guys. They were invaders and colonists. Their rule was repressive— crucifixion was their invention. Barabbas is not so far removed from protesters today who resist oppressive regimes, some with more force than others.

Barabbas resorted to deadly force. He is a contrast to Jesus. Jesus doesn’t even protest. He allows injustice to take its course, once that course is set. He lays down his own life, rather than taking someone else’s. He puts his trust, not in the strength of human effort, but in the power of God.

It isn’t always wrong to take political action. Jesus overturned the temple tables in protest. He spoke plenty of times about the ways the priests and Pharisees oppressed people. But he didn’t target political institutions. He targeted the hearts of individuals. He didn’t take down the Romans or the Pharisees, he took down all our sin.

In the midst of today’s political turmoil, I should set my hopes not on the hero of the hour, however brave or justified their protests, but on Jesus.

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Then Peter began to invoke a curse on himself and to swear, ‘I do not know the man!’ Immediately a rooster crowed. Then Peter remembered the word Jesus had spoken: ‘Before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times.’ And he went out and wept bitterly.
Matthew 26: 74-75

I find this one of the most painful verses in the Bible. Peter is so humiliated and so disappointed with himself. He comes face to face with his own cowardice. He loves Jesus, He cares about him, or he wouldn’t be there at the high priest’s house, to see what happens to his leader. But his love is not enough to overcome his instinctive, self protection, and he lies, three times over.

These verses get me because I feel for Peter’s failure. And because I’m pretty sure that would have been me too. Jesus needed to die for Peter. Good intentions are not enough. Even with good intentions, we get frightened into betraying our own integrity. I’ve done that in conversations with people. I let Jesus down — I hide what I really think; I don’t stick up for my deepest values — in ways I am ashamed of. Jesus needed to die for me too.

I thank you, Lord, that you know me and you still love me. Thank you that you died to pull us out of the pit of guilt and humiliation we walk right into.

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The Lord is my shepherd… He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Psalm 23:1, 4.

The Lord is my shepherd. He is looking after me, protecting me and leading me.

Where is he leading? Lovely, green pastures, yes. But that’s not all. He also leads me into the dark valley of the shadow of death.

Paths of righteousness aren’t all sunny, bright and hopeful. Sometimes I’m going to feel the cold hand of death clutching at my heart. It doesn’t have to be a physical threat of dying. It is also the bleak grief of losing something – a home, a person, a hope. It is the pain of seeing sin in someone I love or trust. (Or myself.) It is hearing a friend’s unfixable suffering. All of those are shadows of death, cast over our lives. They darken our days.

Jesus has also walked through the valley of the shadow of death – that’s what Easter is all about. He knows the way. As He enters Easter week, the road gets harder and darker for him. The shadows are gathering. The path ahead is no fun — it is terrible. He knows that. But He also knows the way. And He won’t give up on his sheep. I need fear no evil, because whatever I walk into, He is there with me.

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Trust in the Lord and do good. Dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness…
Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him and He will act…
Do not fret over the one who prospers in his way, over the man who carries out evil devices. Refrain from anger and forsake wrath! Do not fret; it tends only to evil.
Psalm 37:5-8

There’s plenty of wrongdoing and ‘evil devices’ in our world to fret over. Every morning the news brings one worrisome or grievous act after another. Closer to home, we are impacted by local government decisions, a selfish neighbour, a difficult family member, or an untrustworthy workmate. I could wish (I have wished) I were somewhere else. I might actively take steps to remove myself from the situation.

When global circumstances get grim, as at the moment, it’s hard to escape the whole world. At times like this, fear gnaws. There’s not much I can do about the circumstances. It’s easy to get resentful or angry at the people causing them. I could – I have! – criticised and complained.

Psalm 37 is not telling me evil-doing doesn’t matter, or has no consequences. But it is saying to hang in there. Dwell in the land God has given you to work. Don’t up stakes and move because there’s trouble. This isn’t blindly hoping things will be ok. I’m not called to trust in a rose-tinted optimism about human nature. I’m called to trust in God. He will act.

Sometimes being faithful means not reacting, except by trusting God. For me, this might look like talking less about the wrongness of others, and more about the rightness of God. It might look like keeping on going, as cheerfully as possible, where I am. Sometimes, the way to follow Jesus is to not to go anywhere.

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Moses said to the Lord, ‘Why have you dealt ill with your servant? Why have I not found favour in your sight, that you lay the burden of all this people on me? Did I give them birth, that you should say to me, “carry them in your bosom as a nurse carries a nursing child, to the land that you swore to give their fathers?”... I am not able to carry all this people alone; the burden is too heavy for me. If you will treat me like this, kill me at once, if I find favour in your sight, that I may not see my wretchedness.’
Numbers 11:11-14

I woke up feeling a bit low this morning. I have no physical reason for it. I got a good night sleep. I think I’m just feeling the pressure of another to-do list today. I’m a bit discouraged, because caring about people and for people can be work. Some of it seemed to get nowhere last week, like the time I spent preparing a Bible study for people who pulled out on the day.

So these verses caught my attention. I am only feeling the responsibility of a handful of people. Moses had a million or so to look after.

One of the things I noticed was the tenderness and care of the metaphor God uses to describe Moses’ responsibilities. He tells Moses to carry the people of Israel in his bosom as a nurse carries a nursing child. What sweetness, intimacy and protectiveness. This responsibility is one of love.

The next thing I noticed is that this was a difficult baby. Many parents know what it is like to nurse a child with colic or teething issues. The baby wails themselves to sleep only to wake up again minutes later, arching their back and thrashing out with their fists. It’s heartbreaking. And that’s what it was like for Moses, trying to get the Israelites across the desert.

Moses wasn’t doing anything wrong here, but the whole situation is too much. He’s had it. God does provide a solution in the section that follows. He instructs Moses to pick a team of 70 men to help him. He also provides the meat that the Israelites wanted so badly it precipitated this crisis. Moses’ problem is addressed for the moment.

But I’ve read this story before, and I know there’s more serious trouble ahead. Moses is about to have his responsibilities extended by 40 years. Hard work, serious disappointment, and low moments are part of the journey of faithfulness. Moses does get there in the end! With all the people of Israel, even if it is the next generation down.

Father God, thank you that you care for your people as tenderly as a mother or a nurse. I pray you would encourage the pastors of my church when their ears are full of our discontent, when their workload is burdensome and their heart is heavy. Give them a supportive, effective team. Bring all the people of your church safe to the end of the road and the promised land.

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When Moses entered the tent of meeting to speak with the Lord, he heard the voice speaking to him from between the two cherubim above the atonement cover on the ark of the testimony… ‘Speak to Aaron and say to him, “When you set up the seven lamps, they are to light the area in front of the lamp stand.”’ Aaron did so… The lamp stand was made of hammered gold from its base to its blossoms… exactly like the pattern the Lord had shown Moses. Numbers 7:89-8: 4.

I have just read through a very long section in the book of Numbers, which lists all the offerings and sacrifices made at the dedication of the tabernacle. Obviously, the dedication was a significant, costly spectacle. The culmination of it all is when Moses goes into the newly consecrated tent of meeting. After this build up, I wondered what God was going to say, when he speaks in this holy, special place for the first time. I wished I could be Moses, to be in that place and to hear that voice.

I was a bit surprised at what God says. It doesn’t seem to be anything grand, but simple instruction about a lamp. The lampstand must matter.

Exodus 25 says that the lamp stand was made with six branches out from a Central shaft, each topped with almond-flower-shaped lamp cups. That made seven lamps in all. Not 12, the number we see a lot of in the book of Numbers, counting the 12 tribes of Israel. But here there are seven lamps, representing all the earth, which was completed in seven days in the Genesis account. Jesus tells us says in Revelation 1:19 that the seven lamps represent the seven churches, i.e. the entire Christian world.

I imagine what the inner sanctuary must have been like with the lamps lit. The inner space is windowless, dark. The air is still. A thick curtain blocks light, movement and sound – all the outside world. In front of Moses is a large candelabra with seven burning almond blossoms. The flame is reflected from the petals, down onto a golden table. Unlike an Egyptian temple, there are no paintings, no hieroglyphs, no carved figures. Only the seven lamps and their flickering reflection on the polished gold of the altar. A silent and utterly holy moment.

I wish I was there…

But I am. Being part of Jesus’ church means I’m represented in the tabernacle lamp. My life is oil, burning before God’s altar. If that wasn’t good enough already, then I remember that at Christ’s death the curtain was symbolically torn. Sanctified by his sacrifice, I can go into the inner sanctuary. Every time I close my eyes and pray, I am in the most holy presence of God, where light shines on a golden altar, where He listens, and He speaks.

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This child is destined to cause the rising the falling and rising of many in Israel.
Luke 2:34

I think of God as very stable. His nature is unchanging, so somehow I think that he doesn’t like change. I think of him as slow to act. He certainly takes His time, from the limited point of view of my human lifespan. Centuries of prophecy and Old Testament history unfolded, while God was gradually getting the pieces in place, before the Christ finally came.

I guess in our secular environment it’s easy to get infected with the general vibe that God is absent from the world – if not non-existent, then non-interfering. At the very most we tend to ask for a bit of tinkering with the details of our lives. I don’t think of him as seismic, down at my level.

But God created the cosmos, which scientists tell us is still on the move. He created the laws of physics that allow for Formula 1 and crazy fairground rollercoasters. He created cycles of degeneration and regeneration. He created the wind and the weather. He must like gear-shifts, reversals and change.

The verse today is from Simeon’s prophetic advice to Jesus’ parents. It tells me that Jesus came to shake things up. He rattled the established order. He told an adult Pharisee he needed to be born again. Jesus said he was a stumbling block that the self-righteous would fall over. His death tore open the curtain to the temple’s inner sanctuary. He said the first would be last, and the last first. He likes to flip the script

I have underestimated Him. He is dynamic. And He isn’t finished yet. There’s more rising and falling to come!

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Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices – mint, dill and cummin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law – justice, mercy and faithfulness.
Matthew 23: 23

Mother Teresa once told a US senator, ‘God did not call me to be successful; He called me to be faithful’. I really like that. In one way her statement is freeing. It’s also challenging. As a twenty-first century Westerner, I have the value of success programmed into me.

I am not called to produce measurable outcomes for God – X amount of mint dill and cumin – however satisfying it might be to measure out the little things. Nor does God require me to clock up hundreds of conversions, life-changing contributions, or spectacular answers to prayer. Jesus isn’t saying to the Pharisees, or me, that contributions don’t matter. They do, and we should keep them up, Jesus says in the next verse. But they’re not as important as justice, mercy and faithfulness. I am called to justice, mercy and faithfulness.

It’s faithfulness I’m thinking about here. Justice and mercy are principles, that show up in decisions, so I infer faithfulness is too. Faithfulness is not an emotion. Faithfulness isn’t drumming up feelings of love or worship. Faithfulness is me turning up to worship to church on Sunday although I wanted a sleep-in. Faithfulness is loving my spouse because I promised to, even when I don’t feel he’s listening to me. Faithfulness is praying for the well-being of every reader of my stories and posts, whether I not I get likes or sales.

Let me remind myself: faithfulness is weighty. My faithfulness matters more than my success. Faithfulness is success.

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The Lord watches over the sojourners… But the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.
Psalm 146:9

This morning I took my younger son to the airport. He’s off on a long-anticipated first trip to America. I expect he’ll have a great time.

But…the US is a big place. It’s not the same as home. Some of its ways of doing things, like the gun laws, cause me disquiet. Perhaps I’ve watched too many thrillers and heard too many crime stories. ‘The way of the wicked’ translates all too easily into scenes in my head. I expect there will be times when my son and his girlfriend are in unfamiliar territory and out of their depth. When they’ll be vulnerable to things going wrong.

So I find this line from the Psalms comforting. Along with other disadvantaged people, (orphans and widows are mentioned), God has a particular eye out for the ones who don’t belong. He watches over the foreigner, the traveller, the immigrant and the transient.

In contrast, those who are so confident of their ways that they disregard the well-being of others — they’re the ones who have something to worry about.

This isn’t to say that my son is perfect, even though I love him 😊. But it does mean that God sees him when I don’t; God knows where he is when I don’t; God knows what is going on when I don’t. He is taking care.

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And Mary said, my soul magnifies the LORD… For he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. He who is mighty has done great things for me. Luke: 46-49

If I were Mary’s mum, I might have sharp questions about the ‘great things’ in store for her. Mary was a teenage girl, pregnant out of marriage, when that was socially unacceptable. Mary stood to lose her reputation, her friends and her fiancé. No mother wants that for a daughter. It might have felt, to both Mary and her mother, like her world was ending. Perhaps Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth to escape the local social stigma, and heal from the heartbreak of her expected loss of Joseph. From a personal standpoint, these are not great things.

But in her statement here, Mary is conscious of being part of a bigger picture. The great thing that God has done for her is to give her a pivotal role in history. She’s only one person, nobody rich, famous or powerful, just a woman of ‘humble estate’. But God has seen her, and intervened miraculously in her life. He has overshadowed her with the Holy Spirit through whom the world was created, and created new life in her.

I’m not Mary. Her unique part in the history of the world has been played. But, according to the New Testament, the Holy Spirit has come into me too, and birthed new life in me. Jesus is in me, as he was in Mary (spiritually, not physically!) So I too, and anyone who believes in Christ the Saviour, can say these words with Mary. The Lord has done great things for me as well.

I’m thinking of it like this – each one of us is a puzzle piece in a giant jigsaw. With Christ in me, me and my life reflect something of God’s character. Even though, like Mary, my estate is pretty humble. I’m a little puzzle piece of Him, but not the whole picture. Put me together with everyone else, and the epic story of redemption is writ large. If I wasn’t in it, the picture would be slightly smaller, with one less detail. But I am in it. This is how I magnify the Lord.

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We all with unveiled faces are looking as in a mirror at the glory of the Lord and are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory. This is from the LORD who is the Spirit. 2 Corinthians 3:18

As I get older, I understand more how some Christians can look forward to dying as an escape into heaven. I can’t seem to shake off various minor but annoying aches and pains. I feel my energy levels drop. Heaven seems great in comparison. Of course heaven is going to be fabulous. It’s worth looking forward to.

But this verse is in the present tense. We are being transformed now, Paul writes. He’s not talking about a far-off future. Something of Jesus’ incredibly beautiful character – his magnetic love and awe-inspiring sacrifice, i.e. his glory – is showing up here, in me. Unbelievable. And it’s a process that this life helps to work in me. Life is polishing my soul. As I trudge forward, looking at Jesus as the end goal, bits of Him are going to reflect off me.

Paul’s writings in general remind me how we’ve only got one shot at life here. I need to make the best of it. I don’t know in what way the Holy Spirit is going to show up in me today. I don’t know who is going to see the image of Jesus in me, not because I am such a good saint, but because the Holy Spirit is miraculous. I am not wonderful but He is. And this is really something to look forward to, before I get to heaven.

I say: great! Go for it. Do your best Lord!

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There was a priest named Zechariah… and he had a wife… Elizabeth. They were both righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and statutes of the Lord. But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years.
Luke 1:5-7

I know this story is from the other end of Jesus life – his birth – and not the Easter end. But it isn’t the beginning of the road for Zechariah and Elizabeth. At this point they already have history with God. They had been trusting Him, following his Old Testament ways, ‘walking blamelessly’. (We know this doesn’t mean they were perfect, because in the story that follows Zechariah is chastised for his slowness to believe the angel. But generally they were faithful.) This journey of trust had not got them where they hoped and prayed it would. In a factual but ugly phrase, the verse tells us that Elizabeth was barren.

I have two children so I can’t claim to know the depths of their grief. Although I do remember, in the relatively short time before my first son was conceived, the disappointment and sense of failure each month.

I also know what barrenness feels like in other parts of my life. I think anyone who has lived a few adult years experiences this. There are projects and people that I’ve committed to God, poured time into and prayed persistently over – yet they’ve bore no fruit. Or the fruit looks stunted or misshapen. And of course there are plenty of couples who don’t ever have the miracle baby, like Zechariah and Elizabeth did.

I think an important thing to make of these verses is that we are not to blame. God isn’t frowning down on me saying if you were a harder worker or a better marketer or had better social skills, you’d get better results. (Substitute in whatever thing you think you should do better at.) No, He is used to, and pleased to work with, limited and fallible people. If God withholds good fruit from his faithful children, it’s not because they failed to find the right approach. It’s because he has some bigger and better plan. Wonderfully, Zechariah and Elizabeth got to see and hold their child. I may not see all the offspring He is pleased to create through me. Yet. But I bet I will one day – that day at the very end of the road.

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The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them.
Genesis 3: 21
Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered.
Psalm 32:1

You know those dreams you get in which you are naked and out in public somewhere. They’re so embarrassing. In the dream you’re both ashamed and bewildered. You’re not sure how you got to be exposed like that, or why you didn’t at least grab a towel or a dressing-gown.

I know it’s silly, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid God might have missed something — that some of my sin remains unforgiven. I guess it’s because I keep on discovering sin that I didn’t know was there in me. Hard attitudes and ugly words rise to the surface. I feel bewildered and humiliated by them, just like in the dream.

It is so reassuring to know that God is ahead of me. He already has me covered. Of course he doesn’t want things ignored or swept under the carpet. He wants the muck brought into the open with him and confessed. But he already has it covered. His forgiveness doesn’t leave ugly embarrassing bits of sin poking out, unresolved. He doesn’t want to humiliate us. He gave Adam and Eve clothes. He is thorough and compassionate and kind and thorough. He has covered all my wrongdoing. How blessed am I.

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Jesus said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.”
Luke 22: 15

I find this one of the most surprising verses in the whole Easter account. Jesus was really looking forward to the Passover meal. It was going to be his final meal. On the same night, he was going to be arrested and beaten up and killed. He faced suffering and death. I’d expect him to be pre-occupied. Yet he still looked forward to sharing a meal. And with whom? His disciples— the same ones who were about to betray and deny him. But he still wanted their company, despite everything! How much he liked them.

I’ve said something like this before. Back on day #9 I noticed God wanted to be near his people. That was the purpose of the Old Testament tabernacle. And here’s the same desire in the New Testament, which shows that God does not change. Jesus likes being around us – even when he’s suffering. Even when we behave badly. He truly enjoys our company.

He loves me.

He loves me not.

He loves me.

He loves me.

He loves us.

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‘Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come… So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.’ Matthew 24:42-44

Jesus gives this advice during his final days in Jerusalem. He’s got his immanent death on his mind. Beyond that, he’s thinking about the end of the world and his second coming – the date is unknown, but it’s on the way. So Jesus says, repeatedly, to keep watch and be ready.

This reminds me of the time our family went on holiday to the caves near the border of South Australia and Victoria. (A long time back, in the days before mobile phones). At the park office, we booked a guided tour of the bat cave for twilight – 7.30pm. After dinner we drove from the caravan park to the cave entrance. We got there on time, at 7.30, but nobody was there. We had definitely booked and paid, definitely for that evening, because it was our last one in the region. We hung about for a bit. Fifteen minutes later, the ranger turned up. He didn’t apologise for being late. He thought he was there in plenty of time. His watch was set to South Australian time. Ours were on Victorian time. Two different time zones running simultaneously. But his overruled ours, because he was the ranger.

So I should not set my clock to the timeline of career, or daily tasks, or doing what my ‘zone’ prioritises. I don’t need to panic about the countdown to midnight. According to Jesus, who is better informed than I am, there’s a bigger clock ticking, even if I don’t get to see the hour hand. Be awake to that. Let it shape how I spend my time and resources, in getting ready for that big day. Set my clock to God’s time.

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You shall not covet your neighbours house. You shall not covet your neighbour’s wife, all his manservant all maidservant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbour. Exodus 20: 17

Pilate perceived that it was out of envy that the chief priests had delivered Jesus up. Mark 15:10

‘You shall not covet’ is the final one of the ten commandments. It tends not to get much publicity, like the Sabbath command. What does covet mean? An online dictionary defines it as ‘to want to possess something, especially something belonging to another.’ Envy is a synonym. I checked the Hebrew verb, and it’s even stronger: it can mean to desire, to crave, to delight in, to adore. It’s the word used for how Eve saw the forbidden fruit — ‘desirable to make one wise’.

Coveting is so easy to do. I go for a walk and admire a neighbour’s garden. I wish my garden was tidy and green like theirs. Then I wish I had a spouse willing to put in gardening time like that neighbour does. Then I start dwelling on other shortcomings. Presto — one broken commandment.

Why does coveting matter? Sure it’s uncomfortable. It erodes my inner peace. I’d be better off without it. But why does it rate a mention up there in the ten commandments? I don’t think envy/coveting is about honest, optimistic, trustful plans for the future. It’s about the bitterness of comparing my situation with someone else’s. A deep discontent, a feeling that the world and/or God has got it wrong and I have been hard done by. I think envy reflects a dissatisfaction with God Himself.

And look where it takes the priests of Jesus’ day. They covet the crowds and the attention Jesus draws. So they frame him and hand him over to the enemy.

Coveting is deadly. Contentment is so, so much better. Lord, help me to trust your goodness, and be at peace with what I’ve got.

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