Darkest before the dawn

I have many memories – some happy, some annoying, some amusing – of the beginning of my ministry in Cornwall in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s. There are many very real and lovely Cornish Christian folk, who have been an inspiration to me. Some of them I am still in touch with to this day. But nobody can stay in Cornwall for long without coming across the ubiquitous, heavy overlay of cultural tradition. The Cornish see themselves as a Celtic nation and feel a sense of solidarity with other nations on the Celtic fringe. They love their choirs, for example, in the same way as the Welsh. My boss in Cornwall commented, a touch acidly, “Everyone in Cornwall is a singer, or at least thinks he or she is”.

In one of my chapels there was a resident organist, a keen musician who tried to set up a children’s choir. I don’t think the children were particularly thrilled; they probably went because they were expected to. There were some good singers among them, though. He taught them various songs that he imagined would appeal to people their age. I remember one was the country and western number, “Turn your radio on”.

But the self-appointed choirmaster kept coming back to a song with the line “It’s always darkest before the dawn”. This was not the same as the current song with that line that is enjoying popularity in our day. He commented, “That’s becoming our signature tune as a choir, really”.

No doubt the man was doing sterling work in keeping children occupied and out of mischief. Even so, the whole thing struck me as being quasi-religious without ever quite giving the clear Christian message I would have liked to see and hear. But that phrase “It’s always darkest before the dawn” stuck with me somehow. It reminded me of the three hours when Jesus hung on the cross at Calvary and the sky went black.

It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." When he had said this, he breathed his last. (Luke 23:44-46 NIV)

The darkness stands powerfully for the condition of the human race. It was a very dark 24 hours when Jesus was betrayed by one of His followers, Judas Iscariot, given a sham trial and crucified. Human nature was seen at its worst in those who betrayed Him, condemned Him and called for His blood.

But Jesus was in the business of redeeming human nature – yours and mine as well as that of the baying crowds.

He died that we might be forgiven,

He died to make us good.

And then He rose from the dead the first Easter Sunday. The three-hour darkness of Calvary was replaced by eternal light and life for those who trusted their lives to the Lord Jesus Christ.

In times of deep distress we comfort each other that “It’s always darkest before the dawn”, but that was never so true as on that first Easter. And life dawns still today for those who will put their trust in the Saviour.

Talking yourself round

I am a great one for talking to myself. Most of the time there is nobody around to listen and to conclude that I am slowly going round the bend, so it can be done without fear of repercussions!

Quite often, talking to yourself is beneficial. You can sometimes tell yourself off if you are thinking gloomy thoughts: "Cheer up, Timothy, it may never happen", or "Cheer up, Timothy, thinking like that will get you nowhere." Sometimes talking to yourself helps you to solve a problem: "Now, then, what am I to do here?" Voicing a matter like that can pull together the welter of thoughts that are going round and round in your head, taking you no further forward.

But best of all is when the voice of God speaks into our souls. Recently I read a devotional by C.H. Spurgeon on Psalm 35 verse 3. In this psalm King David has his back to the wall, faced with violent enemies. He addresses God and appeals to Him to fight for him. The verse in question reads, "Say to my soul, I am your salvation" (NIV).

Spurgeon helpfully writes, "… The text informs me first of all that David had his doubts; for why should he pray, "Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation," if he were not sometimes exercised with doubts and fears? Let me, then, be of good cheer, for I am not the only saint who has to complain of weakness of faith ...

… David was not content while he had doubts and fears, but he repaired at once to the mercy-seat to pray for assurance; for he valued it as much fine gold. I too must labour after an abiding sense of my acceptance in the Beloved …

… David knew where to obtain full assurance. He went to his God in prayer, crying, "Say unto my soul I am thy salvation." I must be much alone with God if I would have a clear sense of Jesus' love. Let my prayers cease, and my eye of faith will grow dim. Much in prayer, much in heaven; slow in prayer, slow in progress.

… David would not be satisfied unless his assurance had a divine source. "Say unto my soul." Lord, do thou say it! Nothing short of a divine testimony in the soul will ever content the true Christian.

… David could not rest unless his assurance had a vivid personality about it. "Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation." Lord, if thou shouldst say this to all the saints, it were nothing, unless thou shouldst say it to me. Lord, I have sinned; I deserve not thy smile; I scarcely dare to ask it; but oh! say to my soul, even to my soul, "I am thy salvation." Let me have a present, personal, infallible, indisputable sense that I am thine, and that thou art mine."

Too many people deprive themselves of God's comfort because they do not believe He relates to us personally. It is my greatest, sometimes my only comfort, that God in Jesus Christ died for me, rose again for me and lives to bless me.