Assurance - Julie Herring
For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present or things to be, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord. Romans 8:37-39 (NIV, 2011)
I’ve always struggled with assurance - Is my faith strong enough? Do I love God enough?
Does my life reflect what I believe enough? I’m a doubting Thomas (even my maiden name was Thomas!) I’m the person, thirty years in, who buys a book called “Stop asking Jesus into your heart”.
The reality is we are all different. Genetic inheritance, formative years, the random events of our lives and the choices we make, all contribute to the people we become, and play a part in the experience and expression of our faith. It is always dangerous to compare with others, but the reality is that we are all called to a faith, as James says, that can be steadfast and unwavering, so that we are not double minded, tossed about by the storms of life. It is in my quest for a more secure faith that I came across a story told by Don Carson, retold below, which has been of immeasurable help.
The setting is Ancient Egypt, the night of the first Passover. Two ordinary Hebrews are talking about the night ahead. Carson calls them Smith and Jones (not very Jewish but I will stick with his names!). They had been strange times. Whilst Goshen was relatively unscathed, neighbouring Egypt was a wasteland - destroyed by weeks of plague - blood, insects, hail, darkness. Now there was this final terrifying warning about the firstborn. Now there was a list of instructions, such specific instructions, about the slaughter of a perfect lamb, the painting of its blood on the doorposts and the lintel, the meal of unleavened bread and bitter herbs eaten with belt buckled and sandals on, the warning to stay inside. It was all very frightening. They stood outside their doorways at dusk, as the final preparations were completed.
Smith, agitated and uneasy, looks at Jones, “Are you a little nervous about what’s going to happen tonight? I’m feeling pretty scared myself.”
“Well,” says Jones,”God has told us what to do through his servant Moses, hasn’t he? You don’t need to be nervous. Have you slaughtered the lamb and painted the blood round the door? Have you got the meal ready to eat with your family, and your things packed up? Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Well, yes, of course I have done all those things just as we were instructed, but I’m still troubled. Such terrible things have been going on around here - the locusts, the boils, the pitch darkness! I’m a wreck! I just don’t understand how it’s going to work - I mean, blood on the doorposts? You’ve got three sons, I’ve only got the one. He’s my everything - he’s my firstborn! He’s our only child.”
Jones replied gently, “We don’t need to be scared - our God is trustworthy. He has shown us that many times. We just have to trust his promises. He will do the rest.”
As they softly close their doors, redness glints in the moonlight, impenetrable protection for those inside.
That night, the angel of death swept through the land. Which one lost his son?
The answer of course is - neither.
As Carson writes “Because death doesn’t pass over them on the ground of the intensity or the clarity of the faith exercised, but on the ground of the blood of the lamb. That’s what silences the accuser. It is not the intensity of our faith, but the object of our faith that saves.”
What a cause for rejoicing! Of course my faith will never be strong enough! Of course I will never love God enough! Of course my life will never reflect my beliefs enough! Wonderfully, they don’t have to. Wonderfully, it is not the intensity and clarity of my faith that counts. I may always be a bit more Smith than Jones, but wonderfully, my assurance rests on the blood of the lamb alone, blood not painted on a doorpost, but staining the wood of a cross.
