Too small?

I was challenged about how my blog never engages with big issue world politics etc., especially when there is so much tumult as at present. Of course I have my views, but I believe that my only business in this blog (and I know it's so tiny and oddly personal in the big scheme of things) is to  reflect devotionally on happenings in my little world, which accounts for its often journal-like structure. It seems particularly small, however, to write that I have to engage with a man called Zacchaeus. But that's my immediate task and you are welcome to read along!

My pastor has designed a short sermon series in Lent focusing on some of the people Jesus encountered. These stories are one of my favourite parts of Scripture. Don't get me wrong, the story of Jesus is central, teaching is vital and learning great doctrines and history is important. But these stories about real people, all kinds of people, meeting Jesus face-to-face, bring Christian faith into human sized action. If we are willing to spend time entering each narrative, picturing the scene and sensing its emotions you can share in personal connection.  Zacchaeus is my story of encounter (Luke 19:1-10).  Vividly weird, this short man climbing a tree to see Jesus passing by, I have read and re-read these few verses attempting to visualize its eventfulness and sense what God is saying and doing to me.  That's important if I am to convey God's truth for today.

But I have had a tough time trying to get a read on this Zacchaeus' character. I have preached on him once before and remember how negative I was in my assessment. Much was to do with his wealth, or rather his manner of making money. As Jesus was entering Jericho he is introduced: A man was there by the name Zacchaeus. He was chief tax collector and was wealthy (Luke 19:1). That's enough to poison the mind. Dig into the background about how Romans extracted taxes as occupiers from inhabitants and you can easily see Zacchaeus as the most hated man in Jericho. A walking (waddling - was he fat as well as short?) contradiction of all that was fair and just in the world.

I think I need to justify that negative reaction with a little more detail........

Another Coda

Just to add a coda that really is musical.  Some time ago I mentioned that owing  to a stroke affecting my left hand I gave away my electric piano and stool to my neighbour. Please don't get the impression that my left hand was ever as efficient and accurate as my right hand. I began playing when I was nine, passing various grades and (in those simpler days) I found no greater pleasure than saving up my pocket money to add another music album to my collection. Before long I was being used at church and parties. Into my first room (on the second floor) as a student at Jesus College I lugged, with hefty friends, an out-of-tune piano. Painting it orange made a statement (!) and led to great music-making fun.  But lately my uncooperative hand brought my melody-making attempts to an end. 

However, all the music sheets that were packed into the music stool, plus heavier volumes of Beethoven sonatas and Bach preludes, still confronted me in the corner of my shed/study/studio. In a large carrier bag they lay stranded uselessly. I wondered how I could part with all of this stuff to a good home. One of the homes our church house groups meets in has a piano in the lounge with evidence of skilful use as music scores lie above an open keyboard.  When the musician came to our house last week I ambushed her with my stranded bag. I assured her there was no pressure for her to take any of it but she seemed genuinely delighted (I hope I didn't misread her) to forage through my sheet music, albums and volumes. And take it all home!  This is really a good ending. 

Good endings are so important. I look back on my piano playing days with happiness because they really did bring fulfilment. Sharing a gift is a privilege.  Now my electric piano and even my music store have gone to good homes I can rub my hands together with satisfaction at the good ending.  That's a splendid coda.

Coda

My brother's funeral was worthy and well attended with a colourful eulogy from his son that brought out so many positive aspects of Steve's life and ministry. We could all say that we celebrated his life.

One thing struck me in particular.  The first reading was Luke 23:32-34;39-43. I had never heard these verses at a funeral service, have you? 

Two other men, both criminals, were also led out with Jesus to be executed. When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him along with the criminals - one on his right, the other on his left. Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.' And they divided up his clothes by casting lots.  One of the criminals who hung there hurled indults at him: 'Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!' But the other criminal rebuked him, 'Don't you fear God,' since you are under the same sentence' |We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But his man has done nothing wrong.' Then he said, 'Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom.'  Jesus answered him, 'I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.'

The vicar spoke powerfully about these verses, emphasizing how at this very last moment in the criminal's life there was such faith in Jesus that he could throw himself in mercy asking for Jesus' forgiveness and help. This simple act of trusting received the promise of living eternally with Jesus.  When you meet the real Jesus, for real, recognizing there is no one like him, no matter our circumstances, ask him for help and he responds with promises as big as this one - 'You will be with me in paradise.' 

I asked Brenda, his widow, about this choice. 'Oh,' she replied,' that's actually my favourite Bible passage. I just love the way that Jesus deals with this man, and can deal with us. I wanted it for Steve's service.' I hope I wasn't the only person who heard it and went in imagination to the cross, and heard the words for Steve too.  

Out-of-the-box thinking

Steve's funeral is tomorrow and as I have been giving thanks for him I remember his penchant for reading unusually solid books that pushed the envelope.  And I think he inherited this ability from my father. This came to mind in my devotional reading last night. In a section  'A time to Die' there was a prayer written by Teilhard de Chardin, a controversial French Jesuit priest who combined science, philosophy and theology in provocative ways.  One of his famous quotes runs: We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.  As you might guess my father engaged with his writing and I remember as a teenager hearing him speak of a disastrous ministers' meeting when he tried to introduce some of de Chardin's ideas to the group. I don't think it did his reputation any good (not that he would have been bothered).  Anyway, the quote I read last night:

Now that I have found the joy of utilizing all forms of growth to make you, or let you, O God, grow in me, grant that I may willingly consent to this last phase of communion in the course of which I shall possess you by diminishing in you.....

When the signs of age begin to mark my body (and still more when they touch my mind); when the ill that is to diminish me or carry me off strikes from without or is born within me; when the painful moment comes in which I suddenly awaken to the fact that I am ill or growing old; and above all at that last moment when I feel I am losing hold of myself and am absolutely passive within the hands of the great unknown forces that have formed me; in all those dark moments, O God, grant that I may understand that it is you who are painfully parting the fibres of my being in order to penetrate to the very marrow of my substance and bear me away within yourself.

The more the future opens before me like some dizzy abyss or dark tunnel, the more confident I may be - if I venture forwards on the strength of your word - of losing myself and surrendering myself in you, of being assimilated by your body, Jesus. Teach me to treat my death as an act of communion. 

Not a superficial prayer.  I think my father and brother would have appreciated it!

Giving notice

The British Baptist Union of churches has an online round-up of news, including a section where notices of deaths are recorded.  These range widely to include people involved in many ways in local churches. The editor wrote to me when I submitted the following to express his sadness and also asking me to write a more substantial piece as an in memoriam, since Stephen was a Baptist minister.  I thought back to a conversation I had with Stephen about funerals when he told me that he wanted no fuss whatsoever at his. 'Just a hymn and a prayer to send me off', he said.  I am not sure how he would feel about my bit below:

Rev Stephen Quicke, loved younger brother of Michael Quicke, died 3^rd January, aged 76. Trained at Bristol Baptist College he gave a life-time of faithful service to churches: Howlands, Welwyn Garden City, Whitchurch and Hatch End, Pinner. Also, at one period he was chaplain to the Christian Drug Rehabilitation Community, the Coke Hole Trust. An unusual man with wide ranging interests and opinions, he quietly made his mark by his pastoral care, committed intercession, thoughtful preaching and, throughout, deep faith.  He bore his own increasing health limitations courageously as well as separation from his frail wife, who was in a nearby care home for the last few years.  Anyone who talked with him was immediately aware of his compassion and biblical faith and those of us who knew him well will greatly miss his kindly, sparkling conversation and genuine care for us.  In every conversation with me he would assure me of his prayers – and he really did pray. He leaves Brenda his wife and son Tim, with daughter-in-law Katy and three granddaughters. A service of celebration will be held in St. Mary’s Parish Church, Overton, Feb 7^th,2025. The congregation is invited to dress colourfully because ‘Steve is now in heaven’. Oh, yes.

Go to the top

My brother's funeral is not until February 7th and his family remain very much in my mind. I've been taken to deep places. Meanwhile I am marooned in the mundanity of everyday life. Carol remains far from well and our washing machine failed, full of soaking clothes.  Domestic mishaps seem to ambush us at awkward moments.  To complicate matters I ordered a new machine which, when delivered, turned out to be utterly wrong. I needed a free standing machine, not an integrated one. Our utility room seemed to me to have an integrated section into which it fitted snugly, but not so. Yet another practical mistake to add to my life story. 

I was told the store would contact me that afternoon and reorganize a right delivery.  However, no contact was made and my own phone attempts proved fruitless. At this moment one of the younger members of our church arrived.  Spontaneously, and therefore completely unexpected, she brought us home-cooked shepherd's pies.  As the meal preparer I welcomed her with open arms! Seeing the pile of washing and my frustration with the store, she told me I should go to the top. 'Go to the top is the best idea', she advised. 'Whoever heads up the organization will always help'. 

Not content with giving advice she then shouldered a big bag of dirty washing and promised to bring it back clean the next day.  That next day I found another appropriate machine, rang the help line with much more success and was told the new machine would arrive this Monday. Happily it all worked smoothly this time and I started the first wash of three needed to get up-to-date.  Two hours later my phone rang. I couldn't believe it. It was from the store's director's office. Apparently my 'Go to the top' friend had gone to the top on my behalf! He expressed great concern about whether the new machine was working and promised a letter furnishing direct contact details so that I could immediately go to the top if I encountered future problems. 

Out of mundanity this experience taught me three things. First, the incredible kindness of fellow believers, especially this lady. Christian goodness in action (and actually from someone who is not very well herself).  Second, taking the advice go to the top with such success on my behalf. It takes some nerve and belief that someone in the organization will respond. Third, most important, is the example this provides not only how exercising practical love for one another makes a difference, but also how prayer which dares to shut the door and pray to our heavenly Father who hears us, goes to the top with the most consequential outcomes of all.   

A touching surprise

 As you might expect my brother Steve has been much on my mind. Talking with his son, my nephew Tim, has been one of the pluses in our sadness. As a busy film producer he lives a demanding life and our conversations have been few through the years. He told me that when Steve went into the care home very recently, his father requested that he bring his favourite picture from his home to hang in his room.  Apparently it had been a constant friend through his life and he needed it in his new strange situation. For some visual people pictures can become friends!

Anyway, I cannot overstate my surprise when I discovered this favourite picture was one I painted over 60 years ago. It is a pallet knife oil painting of the market square in Saffron Walden. 

I was probably 16 or 17 when I first sketched this scene - an empty market with an emphasis on the skyline. I loved painting with oils, including slapping on thick paint with a knife and this picture emerged. Wondering about why this was my brother's favourite I remember that our first visit to Saffron Walden as a family was a particularly happy one.  We stayed in a hotel - probably our first time as a family.  Near the hotel were intriguing gardens named Jubilee gardens with a maze, sunken garden and remnants of an estate with walls, archways, a circular staircase to a viewing platform, and summerhouse, all set in fascinating scenery and sunshine.  On one occasion my father had stolen out of the hotel earlier to place clever clues (at least they seemed clever to us!) which gave us enormous fun. Such was innocent pleasure in pre-social media days. I wish I'd been able to ask Steve why he liked this particular daub. Maybe it was nothing to do with that day in the sunshine.  But I am truly touched that it mattered so much to Steve and apparently to Tim also, who has already allocated a hanging space in his home. Yes, a touching surprise at a sad time.

Sunday afternoons

When I returned from the US eight years ago I began a Sunday afternoon ritual.  After Songs of Praise on BBC TV I would call my younger brother, Steve, for a weekly conversation.  During those years his wife's health deteriorated leading to her placement in a care home and he himself struggled with mobility. On his own in the family home, with his beloved cat for company, our phone call generally began with comments on the Songs of Praise programme.  Always shrewd and to-the-point Steve was never short of an opinion.

But after this usual starting point (though viewpoints were anything but predictable)  the conversation took off in any one of several highly unpredictable directions. An avid reader of unusual books (bought from his local charity shop) he could plunge into Britain's social history in the nineteenth century, or the story of the Romany people, or a particular period of Russian history. Well, almost anything though he was especially interested in social history. His politics were left of centre and stridently expressed. Conversation sparkled with wit and clarity.

Yet, at other times he was reflective especially about our family life growing up and his own life as a Baptist minister. Yes, we were both born in a Baptist minister's family and I for one was absolutely determined not to follow in my father's footsteps.  Steve was also reluctant. How we both ended up in ministry is one of those God surprises!  He served several churches with faithfulness and love and was chaplain to a drug rehabilitation centre.  It seemed to me that his pastoral care for people with his deep commitment to intercessory prayer proved central strengths of his ministry.  

Always there was concern for my own family which showed in his careful attention to detail - always following up the next time we spoke.  He assured me that his daily prayers always included my family's needs and I knew he meant it.

Very sadly, these conversations have now ceased. Steve died on 3rd January, four days after his 76th birthday.  He had declined in health these last weeks after an extended stay in hospital with sepsis, pneumonia and covid all complicating underlying health conditions.  At first I could converse with him in hospital - still in conversation full of sparkle and personality.  His faith was undiminished in spite of pain and confusion. His son told me how at the end he was longing to go to heaven.

I miss him and feel a strange loss. Strange because it became clear many weeks ago that he was at the last stage of his life, yet the cold fact that he died 7:08 pm Friday night shocked with its harsh reality. Yet, I know the greater reality is a spiritual one. His conviction, and mine, are grounded in the gift of eternal life promised by Jesus and blazingly vindicated by his resurrection.  My prayers are for his widow Brenda and his son Tim for whom the loss is close and personal. Thank you for reading this. Many will know exactly how I am feeling and its helped to express a little in this post.

And us, right now

And the second question: Is the Jesus way working with us in his local church today? In the real world now, with its secular headlines squeezing God out of the picture, how effectively is God changing us within our neighbourhoods?  How evident are those qualities of the quiet Kingdom of God (growing like a mustard seed) power of kindness, building trust in a positive environment, setting clear expectations, humble, slowing down to listen more deeply and appreciate others more? 

We who believe that God changes the world in Jesus, who have experienced his gift of love and belonging should be shaped and growing into a group of people seeking to live out Jesus’ different way together. That all the glorious promises of Christmas moving towards the crowning point on the cross where Jesus, Son of God, gives himself utterly on the cross, truly mean new creation. Right here in my local church. .We belong to Jesus’ kingdom, a new way of living and being. In the real world of unanswered whys, of suffering and unkindness, Jesus' way is working.

I know this sets a high bar. I remember preaching once in my Cambridge church about how we are to be a people whose different Christly way of living, behaving and relating is obvious by the way we treat each other. At the end of the service I met this severe looking lady who was clearly angry. She rounded on me that she had come the previous Sunday, having just moved to the city, but at coffee time after the service had been totally ignored, even though she was obviously alone. (Honestly, I did feel looking at her face that I could understand people passing by!) But the truth is that we so often fail at being the best welcomers and friends for Jesus' sake.  And to finish this story she did become one of the very best hospitality givers in the church family! Really.

To help in the business of not failing, one of the pictures of Jesus that means so much to me is the awesome truth that in power, he is praying for me/us right now. He is interceding. Jesus always lives to intercede for believers (Heb 7:25) As the Message puts it Jesus is always on the job ready to  speak up for us.  Rom 8:34 Jesus at the righthand of God and is also interceding for us. Again, the Message: Jesus is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. It doesn’t seem possible, partly because of the sheer complexity of how Jesus could possibly interact with billions of people. I cannot begin to understand Ai and all its amassing of information. Yet that's artificial intelligence.  What about divine intelligence?  But, mostly, it doesn't seem possible because I really don’t deserve Jesus praying for me, ready to speak up for me, sticking up for me, when I’m not very good at praying with him. Yet, he promises in his grace to keep doing it. Remembering that this claim is spiritual reality profoundly strengthens me. Jesus is helping me to work with him in my local church. Wow.

Oh, as I finish, an endnote about this business of how much Jesus counts in the real world. Google Herod the Great (though I hope he's not the main person on your mind) and you will see the record stands. Herod the Great, born 73 BC. Now that's some date!