In Depth:  Jonathan Worsley

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‘Money can’t buy life’ (Bob Marley). ‘We are beggars – this is true’ (Martin Luther). ‘Happy…’ (Raphael). ‘Now God be with you, my dear children; I have breakfasted with you, and shall sup with my Lord Jesus Christ this night’ (Robert Bruce).

As the regular writer of this column, I believe that last words are important. Although I confess both a foolishness and a propensity to go over my word count, I disagree with Karl Marx, who on his deathbed apparently barked: ‘Go on, get out! Last words are for fools who haven’t said enough.’

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‘Why shouldn’t you hire short people as chefs? Because the steaks are too high.’ ‘I met this really little guy today… he was so down-to-earth.’ ‘Little men are oppressed… they’re always getting overlooked.’

The world loves to laugh at the little. But God delights in the small. After all, Israel was not chosen because they were ‘the largest of nations, but because they were the very smallest’ (Deut.7:7). God told Samuel ‘not to consider height’ and commanded him to choose David, the smallest of the brothers (1 Sam. 16). In the Gospels, the ‘little girl’ is healed (Mark 5:41), and the ‘small in stature’ Zacchaeus (Luke 19:3) is invited for tea. For the eternal kingdom of God belongs to those who understand themselves to be little. ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it’ (Mark 10:14-15). While every passing generation mocks the small, the everlasting God welcomes into heaven those who humbly recognise their littleness. There is a delicious irony here. Time is ever expanding for the little

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Airbrush (n.) – 1876 invention that spreads paint using air pressure which is often employed in the delicate improvement of photographs.

The noun sounds far from sinister, but its verb form is more disturbing. For in recent decades airbrushing has not merely been employed in the world of cinematography to drive unrealistic portrayals of beauty, but it has cropped up increasingly in the political arena. Dictators of the recent past airbrushing out sections of society who did not conform to Communist ideals, had been highlighted by George Orwell. But the idea that democratic Western governments could do the same (post 1984) has often been derided.

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‘Mum, what should I do when Harry tells me he won’t be my friend unless I let him cheat on the spelling test?’ ‘Dad, if we’ve been working so hard to save money, how come we’re not going to Barbados like Mia?’ ‘Mum, why did that celebrity die when they worked so hard, had such great health care, and went to the gym every day?’

Little people ask big questions. To our embarrassment, toddlers do not nuance their inquiries about injustice. Even teenage children humbly cross-examine Mum and Dad when their worldview crumbles. On one hand, as their parents, we love receiving such questions. We rejoice in participating in their intellectual exploration. We cherish that in an uncertain world we are still their rock (at least for a few more years). Yet, often we find ourselves tongue-tied. We replay conversations and notice the deficiency of our advice and of our answers.

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On Valentine’s Day 2020, church bells once again pealed across Bedfordshire. The freshly restored belfry at St Lawrence Church, Steppingley, ensured that villagers heard their chimes for the first time in three decades.

At my own church, we don’t have any bells. Part of me would love to install some. They remind me of summer weddings and playing cricket in my youth. But the cost (a mere £15,000 per bell) prevented me from raising it at our church budget meeting.

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The lights are back in the loft. The tree has been recycled. The Christmas holidays are long gone. The New Year is but a blur. 2020 has begun in earnest. Do you need another rest? Did you get a good enough rest?

For me it was the constantly reoccurring (and somewhat trying) question of this January – ‘Did you have a good rest?’

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If you have ever named a child, you know it’s a fairly big deal.

I still remember a three-hour car journey my wife and I dedicated solely to my daughter’s middle name. If you’re interested after one hour we decided on Katherine. We spent the next two debating whether it should be Catherine with a ‘C’ or a Katherine with a ‘K.’ Why do Mums and Dads do it? Because names still say a lot about what parents want their children to be.

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Picture the scene. Boris and Jeremy join forces. Conservatives and Labour make a pact. Two warring parties work together to usurp a new political force in their capital.

On the eve of a general election, it all sounds rather improbable. But in 33AD – in a nation perhaps more politically divided than our own – it happened. ‘And they sent to [Jesus] some of the Pharisees and some of the Herodians, to trap him in his talk.’ (Mark 12:13)

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Two triangles merge to make the symbol of an hourglass – the end is nigh! From New York to Paris the chants and banners herald an ‘inconvenient truth’. An Australian protester speaks with passion and reason: ‘We are simply telling people what to expect. Our politicians are asleep at the wheel. We need to tell the truth.’

Yet, as I watched the Extinction Rebellion demonstrations in my own city, I couldn’t shift the overriding emotion – ‘Have these people just taken my job?’ For if we are Christians, we are those who know that the end is nigh. This end will not arise because of any increasing ocean acidification or glacial retreat, but rather because the Judge is at the door (James 5:9). The message of climate change is vital (we are to be good stewards of creation), but it cannot be equated with the immanent and glorious return of Christ. And it is this inconvenient truth that really is the grounds for waking up those are asleep at the wheel.

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Where does the Christian hide when they are caught? Where do those ensnared by serious sin go?

The famous Psalm 51 reveals that true believers are to go to God in sorrowful repentance. Yet, in verse 13 of that renowned Psalm, King David tells us where the repentant go next:

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‘Faultless’ is a rare accolade. This summer I’ve only read the word on a handful of occasions.

Stormzy’s rap set at Glastonbury was faultless, according to one British journalist. (No, I wasn’t there for my summer holiday.) Fiona Duncan of The Daily Telegraph describes summer service at The Ritz as faultless. (No, unfortunately, I wasn’t there either.) And faultless defines Australian captain Steve Smith’s batting display against England in the first Ashes Test. (Thankfully, I wasn’t there either.)

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For the last few miles it was all downhill. But now Jesus was pulling into the most scenic service station imaginable. For Caesarea Philippi was no tacky M6 Todhills (recently voted the worst pitstop in the country); it was one of the lushest valleys in Palestine.

Accordingly, it was the perfect place to ask the question. No, not: ‘Who wants to come with me to buy some overpriced confectionery?’ but: ‘Who wants to drive on to death?’ Mark 8:34: ‘Then He called the crowd to Him along with His disciples and said: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me”.’

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In July 2017, in the mountains of Europe, all was going well for the Freedom Party. Austrian political activists had done all they could to curse their right-wing enemies. But from the heights of Vienna the Freedom Party could not be touched. Adversaries could not lay a glove on them, and their leader would soon be the Austrian Deputy Chancellor.

Yet, at that precise moment, all was not going well on the European beaches. For, on a warm July 2017 evening somewhere in Ibiza, a Mercedes Maybach pulled up to a private villa, and an elegant woman in a black designer dress got out. Sea bass carpaccio was served behind closed doors; and there Heinz-Christian Strake, the leader of the Freedom Party, was seduced. Hours later the woman had him worshipping her own political gods.

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Picture it. It’s Sunday 10.25am and the service is about to start. You hear muffled voices from the welcome team, you turn around, and you notice someone new. What do you do?

Well, first, you use your eyes… and you judge this visitor. What’s their age? What nationality might they be? What do their clothes say? Do they have a wedding ring on their finger, or young children by their feet? We all use our eyes to make such judgements. Are such judgements sensible or sinful?

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This month, British holiday giant Thomas Cook announced that it will close 21 stores and cut over 300 jobs. Given the current political and meteorological climate this is hardly surprising.

Indeed, I recently read an amusing article highlighting some of the complaints the travel agent had received over the years. They included the following gems: ‘On my holiday to Goa, India, I was disgusted to find that almost every restaurant served curry’; ‘I compared the size of our one-bedroom suite to our friends’ three-bedroom suite and ours was significantly smaller’; ‘The beach was too sandy’; and (perhaps the most British of all); ‘I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local convenience store does not sell proper biscuits’. I laughed out loud.