On Pleasing All Men (and Presumably Women)

Well, as the corona-times drag on, we are facing a second wave here in the UK, and new restrictions are coming back into play.  People are trying to stay positive, but the numbers of the jobless are increasing, the sight of disheartened workers is pervasive, the loneliness and fear of the elderly and vulnerable is palpable, and the pressure on healthcare workers as well as food banks and other safety nets is apparent. The toll the pandemic is taking on people's mental health is evident, even though most people understand that the preventive measures are still necessary in the face of so much illness and so many deaths. Those of us who are clergy are seeking ways of nurturing connection, especially for those without expertise in current technology like Zoom, and we are trying to be encouraging, to help people remain hopeful even when there seems to be no end in sight.  It's not easy. In fact, it's possibly the toughest season of ministry many of us have ever faced.  The pressure is immense.

Of course, disease and death and fear are nothing new. Scripture recounts stories of famine, of loss, of oppression, and of despair. But it also tells of a God whose love is wider and whose grace is deeper than we can even imagine.  It lifts up the broken-hearted, brings comfort to the despairing, and transforms the grimness of death itself into life abundant and free.

John Wesley lived in the turbulent 18th century, a time when scientific knowledge was increasing, intellectual curiosity was sparking, and religious revival was sweeping the length and breadth of Great Britain. At the same time, war and poverty and disease and social ills like alcoholism were ever present threats.  The early Methodists lived cheek and jowl with all that misery and desperation, and the preachers sought to bring strength and encouragement to people by helping them learn to trust in God's goodness and the unconditional love of Christ. 

Wesley knew that sometimes, there just were no words that could make things better, and he counseled his Methodists to take the following practical yet loving approach: 

Weep with them that weep. If you can do no more, at least mix your tears with theirs; and give them healing words, such as may calm their minds, and mitigate their sorrows. But if you can, if you are able to give them actual assistance, let it not be wanting. Be as eyes to the blind, as feet to the lame, a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. This will greatly tend to conciliate the affection, and to give a profitable pleasure, not only to those who are immediate objects of your compassion, but to others likewise that 'see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven'.  (On Pleasing All Men)

If we are struggling to minister to people in their need because we feel we have nothing to offer, we would do well to take those words to heart and put them into practice as we incarnate the love of Christ to our neighbours.  In ourselves we may have nothing to offer, but we don't come trusting in our own abilities but instead, we offer them Christ, who knows our sorrows and carries them as he walks alongside us.  Listening to their griefs, weeping with them as they mourn, and speaking to them with compassion -- these are acts of love that promote the dignity and worth of everyone, and they are gifts we can joyfully share.  In these uncertain days, how will you and I commit to do this? What can we do to bring light into someone's darkness? It might even be as simple as sharing a cup of tea...