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Continuing Through the Psalms
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Connected by scripture or shared themes.
Continuing Through the Psalms
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
We're still continuing through this Jubilee phase, looking at different Psalms. The one I was given was Psalm 100, with the theme of Thanksgiving — giving thanks to God.
Before we look at what I felt God was saying this morning, here's a little lighthearted fact via Google: in Britain we use please and thank you in almost every social interaction. Researchers have found that Brits say thank you more than any other country.
I have to confess I have a particular obsession with manners — it probably came from my mum. When Luca was little and I was trying to train him to say please, I'd go, "P-p-p-please," and eventually he started to go, "P-p-p-p-please," so I realised I had to change that. Even yesterday in Iceland, the lady at the till said hello, and I asked, "Did you say hello?" "Did you give her eye contact?" "Did you say thank you?" We're still working on it, but we're definitely getting there.
Psalm 100 is an amazing little Psalm — just five verses, but packed with so much.
The Hebrew word for Thanksgiving, todah, signifies the act of extending your hand to praise God. You know how John has often used the example of reflex — it's not like we have to, but often in worship or praise there's just something in us that wants to hold out our hands. It's like we're saying, Here we are, we're open, we're surrendering, we're saying thank you.
When I was preparing, I felt drawn over and over again to verse three:
Acknowledge that the Lord is God. He made us, and we are his.
When I read that, I feel relief. Thank goodness God is God and we are not in charge! I've tried many a time, with varying consequences over the years.
When we bought a house on Solsbury Road, I was an utter control freak. The woman at the estate agent ended up asking, "Are you psychic?" because the envelope had just arrived on her desk and I was already on top of everything. Moving house is stressful, but now I look back and think, My goodness, I was so controlling. I'm not sure how much trust there was in God, honestly. But that's our journey — we're learning as we go.
This verse helps bring perspective. It helps us step back and pause. I love Psalm 46:1 — Be still, and know that I am God.
I want to make it absolutely clear: being thankful does not mean being in denial about our struggles, our circumstances, our grief, and so much more. Often we carry the two together.
In our Western society there's an emphasis on education, career, money, achievement, and doing well. Aristotle believed that one of the main ways for mankind to improve in goodness was through education, and that has had quite an influence on our culture. It's brilliant to get an education and look for a job — those things aren't wrong. But there's an awful lot of emphasis on that above and beyond trusting God. It becomes about the individual: How can I make things happen?
My education, my culture, my upbringing had a big influence on my understanding of God — but primarily on my understanding of following him. I thought: I pursued God, served him with all my passion and heart, and he will continue to use me — not "I'll be better than other people," but "God will keep using me and it'll lead to greater and better things."
To a certain point that did happen for a while, and it was a horrible shock when things changed. I wasn't prepared. I didn't understand the journey. You may identify with me — disappointed with yourself, with God, with other people. You may feel you've disqualified yourself, or the enemy has lied to you to disqualify you. So many responses: I'll try harder, I'll strive more, or I'll pull back. Does anybody else recognise that tilted understanding?
One of my absolute favourite people in the Bible is Joseph. I take great comfort from his journey of faith as a fellow believer.
It starts in Genesis 37. Joseph is the youngest of many brothers, aged 17, and he has two dreams symbolising that his brothers and parents will bow down to him. He shares them — so he has a sense of a calling from God. God's spoken, this is amazing.
Then he gets sold for twenty pieces of silver by his brothers, and sold again in Egypt. But Scripture says, the Lord was with Joseph. He receives promotion, running Potiphar's whole household. You can imagine him thinking, Yes, it's all coming to fruition. I've been sold twice, but we're on track.
Then a serious false allegation is made by Potiphar's wife. He denies it, nobody believes him, and he's back in prison. Yet Scripture says, the Lord was with Joseph in the prison and showed him his faithful love. Isn't that strange? In that context you'd think, If you were with him, Lord, you wouldn't have let this happen.
After interpreting dreams, the baker forgets about him for over two years. On our journey with God there are times of waiting. In our own family, I'm the nominated executor for my elderly auntie — seven and a half years we've been going through this will, the house empty the whole time. I never imagined that's how it would go.
When the baker finally remembers him and Joseph meets Pharaoh, if I were Joseph I'd think, This is a great opportunity to get out of prison — I'll show him how I can interpret dreams. But when Pharaoh asks, Joseph says, "No, I can't do that, but God can." I love that phrase — but God.
Even after all that obscurity and being forgotten, he still looks to God. He doesn't try to wriggle out, control it, or make his own thing happen. Pharaoh says of Joseph, "He is filled with the spirit of God." I really want that — in the midst of our varied journeys, to be filled with the spirit of God so people can see it.
Pharaoh gives him a new name, Zaphenath, meaning God speaks and lives. Through all that time of obscurity, the glory goes to God.
Joseph gets married and has two sons. He calls the first Manasseh — God has made me forget all my troubles — and the second Ephraim — God has made me fruitful in the land of my grief.
What an incredible journey. In the midst of his grief — not denying it — God was close and near, and made him fruitful. He wasn't imprisoned by his own resentment, bitterness, or grief. God made him fruitful during that journey.
I went through a phase — having preached, led the AMIG team, done tons of missions, leadership teams — where God led me into obscurity within church. I still had my friends, but it was such a dramatic change, and it lasted for a number of years. Maybe you've felt overlooked, or it's been a time to step back, wondering, God, what are you saying? What's next? What's this time about?
At first I looked longingly at those who weren't obscure. But over the years God began a deep, rich work in my heart of thanking him. I began to thank him for his presence, that he was with me. Suddenly nothing else seemed to matter but knowing that deep inside. God began to establish his covenant love for me.
There's a fantastic verse — Genesis 16:13. Hagar is cast aside in the desert through no fault of her own, an angel appears, and she says:
You are the God who sees me. I have now seen the One who sees me.
I was given that verse during that obscure time, and it went so deep. You are the God who sees me, Lord. I don't need to be doing things for you. You see me, you love me, you are for me.
God wants to say that to each one of us today. He sees you, he loves you, he is for you. God sees your sacrifice of praise. We can trust him — we are the sheep of his pasture.
That phrase, you are the God who sees me, in Hebrew is El Roi. He is the God who knows the number of hairs on our head and counts every tear. He knows and catches every tear in the midst of our walk with him.
Over the years this has been a much better walk than the one I expected — much better. Not easy, obviously; really refining. Job said, When he has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.
Nearly thirty years ago, my friend Celia and I were on the Gap Year team here at Frontline. A couple came from New Zealand — Jan and Trevor Yaxley. Trevor is a total evangelist, and Jan was gifted at teaching; interestingly, she prepared talks for twenty years and recorded them before she ever spoke publicly.
We were sitting in that tatty old building, about thirty of us, and Celia and I were on the front row. As Jan taught, the Holy Spirit came on us and we began to shake. She prayed and then carried on. That talk is still the one I most remember — she spoke on Joseph, thrown in a pit and then in prison, and referred to him as the prophet in training in the pit.
At the time I thought, What a clever talk! But thirty years later I now understand "prophet in training in the pit" — I hadn't a clue back then. For Joseph, his training was treasuring his relationship with God above his circumstances and above everything else. And I'd say that's been my journey too. There's more to come.
I just want to encourage you: God loves you. He knows your individual story, your individual journey. He is with you. He sees you. His covenant love for you is that he will never leave you nor forsake you. Nothing can separate you from the love of God.
Can anything ever separate us from Christ's love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble? No — despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ Jesus who loved us. (Romans 8)
I used to think if I'd done something wrong or made some divvy choices, there'd be consequences — and yes, sometimes there are. But we've been looking at the three generations of leadership, and this Psalm talks about the faithfulness of God.
Lord, through all the generations you have been our home. (Psalm 90:1)
When it says, Shout with joy to the Lord, all the earth, I imagine a procession, everyone gathering like this morning. I think particularly of Liverpool — come on Liverpool, come and shout and roar and praise God. When we're together corporately like this, it is a prophetic anthem over our city, saying, Come on Liverpool, let's worship God, because the Lord is God. There is no debate on that. We can sing and shout that with confidence and boldness.
The one thing our heavenly Father does not want for any of us is that we are imprisoned and held back.
Lord, I ask, Holy Spirit, will you make a way for each one of us. You may want to hold your hands out, or not — just be open to whatever Jesus wants to say or do, or just enjoy being still.
Holy Spirit, make a way. Bring your creativity to our thoughts and our lives. Where we long for your presence, where we know mentally that you are with us but we're thirsty and we need you — Holy Spirit, come and fill us, refresh us. Living God, minister to us through your word, that we are your people; you created us, and we are safe with you, our faithful God.
I pray that now for our city and for our family — that our God is faithful through the generations, with our children and with this city too. Lord, pour out your love and your faithfulness on this city. I feel like Jesus is walking amongst us, walking around the city, and he's not leaving anyone out. Thank you, Lord, for your goodness.
We're still continuing through this Jubilee phase, looking at different Psalms. The one I was given was Psalm 100, with the theme of Thanksgiving — giving thanks to God.
Before we look at what I felt God was saying this morning, here's a little lighthearted fact via Google: in Britain we use please and thank you in almost every social interaction. Researchers have found that Brits say thank you more than any other country.
I have to confess I have a particular obsession with manners — it probably came from my mum. When Luca was little and I was trying to train him to say please, I'd go, "P-p-p-please," and eventually he started to go, "P-p-p-p-please," so I realised I had to change that. Even yesterday in Iceland, the lady at the till said hello, and I asked, "Did you say hello?" "Did you give her eye contact?" "Did you say thank you?" We're still working on it, but we're definitely getting there.
Psalm 100 is an amazing little Psalm — just five verses, but packed with so much.
The Hebrew word for Thanksgiving, todah, signifies the act of extending your hand to praise God. You know how John has often used the example of reflex — it's not like we have to, but often in worship or praise there's just something in us that wants to hold out our hands. It's like we're saying, Here we are, we're open, we're surrendering, we're saying thank you.
When I was preparing, I felt drawn over and over again to verse three:
Acknowledge that the Lord is God. He made us, and we are his.
When I read that, I feel relief. Thank goodness God is God and we are not in charge! I've tried many a time, with varying consequences over the years.
When we bought a house on Solsbury Road, I was an utter control freak. The woman at the estate agent ended up asking, "Are you psychic?" because the envelope had just arrived on her desk and I was already on top of everything. Moving house is stressful, but now I look back and think, My goodness, I was so controlling. I'm not sure how much trust there was in God, honestly. But that's our journey — we're learning as we go.
This verse helps bring perspective. It helps us step back and pause. I love Psalm 46:1 — Be still, and know that I am God.
I want to make it absolutely clear: being thankful does not mean being in denial about our struggles, our circumstances, our grief, and so much more. Often we carry the two together.
In our Western society there's an emphasis on education, career, money, achievement, and doing well. Aristotle believed that one of the main ways for mankind to improve in goodness was through education, and that has had quite an influence on our culture. It's brilliant to get an education and look for a job — those things aren't wrong. But there's an awful lot of emphasis on that above and beyond trusting God. It becomes about the individual: How can I make things happen?
My education, my culture, my upbringing had a big influence on my understanding of God — but primarily on my understanding of following him. I thought: I pursued God, served him with all my passion and heart, and he will continue to use me — not "I'll be better than other people," but "God will keep using me and it'll lead to greater and better things."
To a certain point that did happen for a while, and it was a horrible shock when things changed. I wasn't prepared. I didn't understand the journey. You may identify with me — disappointed with yourself, with God, with other people. You may feel you've disqualified yourself, or the enemy has lied to you to disqualify you. So many responses: I'll try harder, I'll strive more, or I'll pull back. Does anybody else recognise that tilted understanding?
One of my absolute favourite people in the Bible is Joseph. I take great comfort from his journey of faith as a fellow believer.
It starts in Genesis 37. Joseph is the youngest of many brothers, aged 17, and he has two dreams symbolising that his brothers and parents will bow down to him. He shares them — so he has a sense of a calling from God. God's spoken, this is amazing.
Then he gets sold for twenty pieces of silver by his brothers, and sold again in Egypt. But Scripture says, the Lord was with Joseph. He receives promotion, running Potiphar's whole household. You can imagine him thinking, Yes, it's all coming to fruition. I've been sold twice, but we're on track.
Then a serious false allegation is made by Potiphar's wife. He denies it, nobody believes him, and he's back in prison. Yet Scripture says, the Lord was with Joseph in the prison and showed him his faithful love. Isn't that strange? In that context you'd think, If you were with him, Lord, you wouldn't have let this happen.
After interpreting dreams, the baker forgets about him for over two years. On our journey with God there are times of waiting. In our own family, I'm the nominated executor for my elderly auntie — seven and a half years we've been going through this will, the house empty the whole time. I never imagined that's how it would go.
When the baker finally remembers him and Joseph meets Pharaoh, if I were Joseph I'd think, This is a great opportunity to get out of prison — I'll show him how I can interpret dreams. But when Pharaoh asks, Joseph says, "No, I can't do that, but God can." I love that phrase — but God.
Even after all that obscurity and being forgotten, he still looks to God. He doesn't try to wriggle out, control it, or make his own thing happen. Pharaoh says of Joseph, "He is filled with the spirit of God." I really want that — in the midst of our varied journeys, to be filled with the spirit of God so people can see it.
Pharaoh gives him a new name, Zaphenath, meaning God speaks and lives. Through all that time of obscurity, the glory goes to God.
Joseph gets married and has two sons. He calls the first Manasseh — God has made me forget all my troubles — and the second Ephraim — God has made me fruitful in the land of my grief.
What an incredible journey. In the midst of his grief — not denying it — God was close and near, and made him fruitful. He wasn't imprisoned by his own resentment, bitterness, or grief. God made him fruitful during that journey.
I went through a phase — having preached, led the AMIG team, done tons of missions, leadership teams — where God led me into obscurity within church. I still had my friends, but it was such a dramatic change, and it lasted for a number of years. Maybe you've felt overlooked, or it's been a time to step back, wondering, God, what are you saying? What's next? What's this time about?
At first I looked longingly at those who weren't obscure. But over the years God began a deep, rich work in my heart of thanking him. I began to thank him for his presence, that he was with me. Suddenly nothing else seemed to matter but knowing that deep inside. God began to establish his covenant love for me.
There's a fantastic verse — Genesis 16:13. Hagar is cast aside in the desert through no fault of her own, an angel appears, and she says:
You are the God who sees me. I have now seen the One who sees me.
I was given that verse during that obscure time, and it went so deep. You are the God who sees me, Lord. I don't need to be doing things for you. You see me, you love me, you are for me.
God wants to say that to each one of us today. He sees you, he loves you, he is for you. God sees your sacrifice of praise. We can trust him — we are the sheep of his pasture.
That phrase, you are the God who sees me, in Hebrew is El Roi. He is the God who knows the number of hairs on our head and counts every tear. He knows and catches every tear in the midst of our walk with him.
Over the years this has been a much better walk than the one I expected — much better. Not easy, obviously; really refining. Job said, When he has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.
Nearly thirty years ago, my friend Celia and I were on the Gap Year team here at Frontline. A couple came from New Zealand — Jan and Trevor Yaxley. Trevor is a total evangelist, and Jan was gifted at teaching; interestingly, she prepared talks for twenty years and recorded them before she ever spoke publicly.
We were sitting in that tatty old building, about thirty of us, and Celia and I were on the front row. As Jan taught, the Holy Spirit came on us and we began to shake. She prayed and then carried on. That talk is still the one I most remember — she spoke on Joseph, thrown in a pit and then in prison, and referred to him as the prophet in training in the pit.
At the time I thought, What a clever talk! But thirty years later I now understand "prophet in training in the pit" — I hadn't a clue back then. For Joseph, his training was treasuring his relationship with God above his circumstances and above everything else. And I'd say that's been my journey too. There's more to come.
I just want to encourage you: God loves you. He knows your individual story, your individual journey. He is with you. He sees you. His covenant love for you is that he will never leave you nor forsake you. Nothing can separate you from the love of God.
Can anything ever separate us from Christ's love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble? No — despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ Jesus who loved us. (Romans 8)
I used to think if I'd done something wrong or made some divvy choices, there'd be consequences — and yes, sometimes there are. But we've been looking at the three generations of leadership, and this Psalm talks about the faithfulness of God.
Lord, through all the generations you have been our home. (Psalm 90:1)
When it says, Shout with joy to the Lord, all the earth, I imagine a procession, everyone gathering like this morning. I think particularly of Liverpool — come on Liverpool, come and shout and roar and praise God. When we're together corporately like this, it is a prophetic anthem over our city, saying, Come on Liverpool, let's worship God, because the Lord is God. There is no debate on that. We can sing and shout that with confidence and boldness.
The one thing our heavenly Father does not want for any of us is that we are imprisoned and held back.
Lord, I ask, Holy Spirit, will you make a way for each one of us. You may want to hold your hands out, or not — just be open to whatever Jesus wants to say or do, or just enjoy being still.
Holy Spirit, make a way. Bring your creativity to our thoughts and our lives. Where we long for your presence, where we know mentally that you are with us but we're thirsty and we need you — Holy Spirit, come and fill us, refresh us. Living God, minister to us through your word, that we are your people; you created us, and we are safe with you, our faithful God.
I pray that now for our city and for our family — that our God is faithful through the generations, with our children and with this city too. Lord, pour out your love and your faithfulness on this city. I feel like Jesus is walking amongst us, walking around the city, and he's not leaving anyone out. Thank you, Lord, for your goodness.
