It’s become part of our everyday speech, hasn’t it? “You only have to say the word and I’ll be there.” “You only have to say the word and I’ll phone her.” But here, in the original use of the expression, “the word” is the dynamic, irresistible, word of Jesus … the word of the Lord. And Psalm 33.6 tells me all about that word: “By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, and by the breath of his mouth all their host.”

Somehow, the Roman soldier in this morning’s reading had made something of that connection between the word of the one who called the universe into being and the word of the Rabbi from Nazareth, Jesus, who was standing there, right in front of him. So … “What need is there for you to come to my house,” he says. “When you speak, your word carries the weight of God Almighty so it cannot fail to achieve what it commands. Time and space are irrelevant. Your word carries within itself the performance of what it speaks.”

In the beginning God said “Let there be light,” and there was light (Genesis 1.3). In the Hebrew, his words were yehiy ‘or which were translated into Latin as fiat lux. This is the “divine fiat” — the word of God that is charged with creative and restorative power and energy. As the Lord himself puts it: “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it” (Isaiah 55.10-11).

Throughout the gospels, we hear that word going out of Jesus mouth, never failing to accomplish that which he purposes, and always succeeding in the thing for which he sends it. “Talitha cumi,” he says to the lifeless body of Jairus’ daughter — “Little girl, I say to you, arise,” and immediately the girl gets up and begins walking (Matthew 5.41). “Lazarus, come out,” he shouts in the Bethany Cemetery and “the man who had died came out, his hands and feet bound with linen strips, and his face wrapped with a cloth” (John 11.44).

So what do I want Jesus to say to me today? What is the divine fiat that I need to restore me to what God wants me to be and to enable me to fulfil the purposes he has for me?

“Lord … only say the word.”

As I read these words this morning, it struck me how often the songs that I sing to the Lord are old songs. I don’t mean that I spend my times of worship singing him only 18th and 19th century hymns. I mean that all too often I praise him for the same old things in the same old perfunctory kind of way without there being any freshness (the Hebrew word chadash that is translated “new” carries the sense of “fresh”) or re-awakened wonder in my praise.

But according to the psalmist, old songs will really not do and a new song is called for. He tells me to sing a new song not only here but in Psalm 33.3, Psalm 98.1 and in Psalm 149.1. He says that he himself will sing a new song in Psalm 144.9. And in Psalm 40.1-3 he tells me where new songs come from: “I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God.” New songs are songs of the Spirit, outpourings of praise and worship composed and orchestrated by him in my heart so that they can be given voice to by my mouth.

When the twenty-four elders and then the 144,000 sing “a new song” in heaven (Revelation 5.9, 14.3) it is a kainos song, not a neos song. In Greek there are two words for “new”: neos means new in point of time but kainos means new in point of character and nature and substance. Again it is freshness and originality that is being stressed. It is a song that “no one could learn” (Revelation 14.3). It is a “given” song that comes to our lips as the Spirit shows us (according to this morning’s reading) the wonder of God’s salvation — his work of deliverance and restoration in our lives, his glory — the splendour of his presence and his love, and his marvellous works — the awesomeness of the created universe and the awesomeness of what he does in human lives.

So … time to end this post and time to let the Spirit open my eyes to something wonderfully fresh about our Lord and Saviour and to create a new song in my heart with which I can praise him and worship him this morning.

O Lord have mercy on me, and heal me;
O Lord have mercy on me, and free me.
Place my feet upon a rock,
put a new song in my heart, in my heart,
O Lord have mercy on me.

O Lord may Your love and Your grace protect me;
O Lord may Your ways and Your truth direct me.
Place my feet upon a rock,
put a new song in my heart, in my heart,
O Lord have mercy on me.

Place my feet upon a rock,
put a new song in my heart, in my heart,
O Lord have mercy on me,
O Lord have mercy on me, on me.

Carl Tuttle

In the film “City of Angels” there is a scene I particularly like where angels are walking along the beach at what I think must be Santa Monica, but the impressions of their feet in the wet sand vanish as quickly as they are made. Angels have indeed passed along the beach but they have left no footprints. “And so it was,” says the Psalmist, “when God led the Children of Israel through the Red Sea. He was surely there, leading the way, else the waters of the sea would never have reared up and formed a way of escape for the Israelites fleeing from the Egyptians, but God left no footprints in the soft, damp earth of the seabed. Their deliverance itself was the sign of his presence.”

I am struck by the simple thought this morning that so it has been in my own life. Almost every morning, I begin my prayer time with the Third Collect at Morning Prayer from the 1662 Book of Common Prayer:

O Lord our heavenly Father,
almighty and everlasting God,
who hast safely brought us to the beginning of this day;
defend us in the same with thy mighty power;
and grant that this day we fall into no sin,
neither run into any kind of danger,
but that all our doings may be ordered by thy governance,
to do always that is righteous in thy sight;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

By so doing, I begin every day with a celebration of God’s deliverance. This morning, just like every morning since I became a Christian, I am able to begin my prayers with the thanksgiving that he has “brought me safely to the beginning of this day.” There were no footprints for me to follow yesterday or the day before or the day before that; but the waters parted for me yesterday as they have parted for me every day of my life and the unseen God who is my Lord and Saviour has led me through to dry ground.

Interestingly, the Hebrew word translated “path” in this morning’s reading (shabiyl) is actually in the plural — “Your way was through the sea, your paths through the great waters” — and this has led some rabbinic commentators to suggest that there were in fact twelve paths through the Red Sea, one for each of the tribes of Israel. This, they say, is also suggested by Psalm 136.13 where the literal translation of the Hebrew text is that God divided the Red Sea into “parts” rather than into just the “two” spoken of by most translations. Why interesting? Because the path God makes for me is not the path he makes for you. My path is unique and so is yours. I do not know what this day holds but I do know that the Lord is already ahead of me, opening up a special way through it for me and me alone — even though I cannot see his footprints.

John Ortberg defines grace as “God doing in and for us what we cannot do for ourselves” and that is a good definition — far better than the usual “undeserved favour” definition, for “grace” has an empowering aspect to it that must not be overlooked. That empowering aspect is fully brought out in this morning’s reading which includes not only Ephesians 2.8-9 (which evangelical Christians love to quote) but also verse 10 (which they usually leave in the box!)

But let’s start with verses 8 and 9. They express as clearly as ever can be expressed the absolute truth that salvation is all of God and that no human being has ever been, or will ever be, able to achieve it or obtain it by his or her own efforts or merits. Even the faith that takes hold of the salvation so freely offered is itself part of the gift of God. We are empowered to believe and to trust and to receive. Without the Spirit of God working within us we are incapable even of taking what is given. Were we able to do so without God’s empowering, faith itself would become something we could brag about — a meretricious work on which our salvation could be thought to depend. “I’m saved because I have faith in what Jesus did on the cross.” Not so. I am saved because of what Jesus did on the cross and because of what the Father and the Spirit have done in bringing me into that great work of deliverance. No works (erga) of mine — of any kind, not just works of the law — are involved in the salvation plan of God. Human effort and endeavour and merit play no part in it whatsoever. It is all of God.

Yes, yes, yes. But now verse 10. This is no afterthought or new thought. It is all one with what has gone before; for in verse 10 Paul is telling us what the salvation he has just described is for. We are saved “for good works.” Good works play no part in achieving our salvation but our salvation, if it is real, will produce good works. Our salvation is a work of new creation on the part of God. We are his workmanship. The Greek word is poiema of which one meaning is (as we might guess) “poem.” We are God’s “work of art” (Jerusalem Bible). And our beauty lies in us now becoming what God always meant us to be and, in particular, doing what he always intended us to do. The new creation that is taking place within us by God’s grace, by his loving, empowering activity in our hearts, has but one objective: that we should get back on track and do in Christ by the power of the Spirit the stuff that God had planned for us to do from before we were even conceived. As the Good News Bible puts it: “God has made us what we are, and in our union with Christ Jesus he has created us for a life of good deeds, which he has already prepared for us to do.” If we do indeed have new life in Christ, that new life will and must express itself in good works. Far from being the “dirty word” that some Christians have tried to make it, “good works” are an essential part of what our salvation is all about.

Note: This will be my last posting for a couple of weeks as my wife and I are taking a holiday in the Aegean. Please don’t go away. I’ll be back soon!

Do I have joy in my heart this morning? Yes, I do. Thanks be to God!

But what is “joy”? I don’t know. I find it almost impossible to describe. I just know it came into my heart over half a century ago along with Jesus and it has been there ever since. He was, and he remains, the Joy-Bringer. Years ago, in the mid-seventies, Jamie Owens-Collins brought out a lovely album of Christian songs called “Laughter in Your Soul” and that is about as good a definition of joy as I know. The Hebrew is simchah which means “joy, mirth, gladness” and the Bible is full of that word and other related words from the same s-m-ch root — samach, “rejoice”; sameach, “joyful, merry”. And in the Bible, the reason for joy is almost always the Lord and his salvation. “Restore to me the joy of your salvation,” prays David (Psalm 51.12).

Sometimes that salvation is a straightforward matter of physical deliverance from one’s foes: “Then they returned, every man of Judah and Jerusalem, and Jehoshaphat at their head, returning to Jerusalem with joy, for the LORD had made them rejoice over their enemies. They came to Jerusalem with harps and lyres and trumpets, to the house of the LORD” (2 Chronicles 20.27-28). More often, however, it is the salvation that lies in moving from death to life, from being lost to being found, in becoming one of God’s people and a part of his eternal kingdom. “May all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you; may those who love your salvation say continually, ‘Great is the LORD!’” (Psalm 40.16). Joy is the joy of exodus, of rescue, of coming home. When God brought Israel out of Egypt, the psalmist records that “he brought his people out with joy” (Psalm 105.43). Paul says that the kingdom of God is about “joy in the Holy Spirit” (Romans 14.17).

C S Lewis who, according to the title of his autobiography, was “Surprised by Joy” when he became a Christian, went on to write that “joy is the serious business of heaven.” God himself is the most joyful person in or outside the universe: “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures for evermore” (Psalm 16.11). And God is committed to restoring joy to this sad and broken and downcast planet. “These things I have spoken to you,” says Jesus, “that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full” (John 15.11).

The joy of the Lord, the joy of Jesus, is not at all dependent on circumstance, as this morning’s reading makes plain. Happiness may depend on “grain and wine abounding” but joy doesn’t. “Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation” (Habakkuk 3.17). That is because the source of all joy is Jesus and he is always there, always loving, always true.

And it is because all joy springs from God himself that Nehemiah can tell the returned exiles: “the joy of the LORD is your strength” (Nehemiah 8.10). When I let loose the joy that Jesus puts in my heart, when I give free reign to it and let it burst out in praise, I actually become a strong person. Joy actually brings victory over situation and circumstance. G K Chesterton once wrote that “joy is the gigantic secret of the Christian” and so it is.

I know, of course, from my own experience that I can if I will suppress the joy that is within me. To rejoice is an active verb. Rejoicing is something I can either do or not do. I can look at the grey skies, look at the rain, look at my bank balance, look at the difficulties of the day ahead and I can, by refusing to rejoice, force underground the stream of joy that is in my heart. I will be a fool to do so. Joy is my secret weapon against whatever the day might bring. That is why Paul tells me to “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice” (Philippians 4.4). The first step in doing that is, I find, to look upon the Jesus I have still to see. When I do that, Peter tells me what will happen: “Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory” (1 Peter 1.8).

All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice;
Him serve with mirth,
His praise forth tell;
come ye before Him and rejoice.

When Samuel had anointed David king at the age of 30, it had been “in the midst of his brothers” (1 Samuel 16.13) — that is to say, among his own kinsmen from the tribe of Judah. And there was initially strong opposition from the other tribes. For the first two years of David’s reign from Hebron, deep in Judah territory, there was civil war between Judah and the other tribes who had set up Saul’s son, Ishbosheth, in Mahanaim in the north. Once that rebellion had been dealt with, organised opposition to David was brought to and end and he was acknowledged as king over all Israel; in token of which he made Jerusalem his capital on the border between Judah in the south and the other tribes of Israel in the north. There were, however, those who, like Sheba in this morning’s reading, who suspected that David secretly had Judah’s interests uppermost in his heart and who therefore urged secession.

Clearly, Sheba had no love or respect for David at all. I note that he does not say “King David” but just “David”, and I note his disparaging and contemptuous use of the term “the son of Jesse.” But what really catches my eye this morning is his rallying cry that will in fact be taken up later by other rebels (see 1 Kings 12.16) — “We have no portion in David, and we have no inheritance in the son of Jesse.” This terminology is revealing for it shows how the Jews believed that what was true of the one they belonged to was also true of them. If you belonged to David, you had a portion “in him.” What was David’s was somehow yours. If David was victorious, yours was the victory too. If David had a splendid palace, it was your palace too. How appalling then to literally disinherit yourself by “withdrawing” from your king — taking yourself “out” of him.

By way of contrast, as this “withdrawal” came about, the men of Judah “followed their king steadfastly.” The Hebrew verb here translated as “to follow steadfastly” is dabaq, and it really means “to cling to, stick to, stay close to, join oneself to.” How wonderful that, as some were ceasing to be part of David, those who were “in him” were asserting and confessing and consolidating their place in him by every means at their disposal. They went all the way with him, “from the Jordan to Jerusalem,” never letting him out of their sight, never letting him leave their side.

You can probably see where I’m going with this. I am seeing here a picture of what it means to be “in Christ.” I am seeing that I, by the grace of God, “have a portion in Jesus” and “an inheritance in the son of Mary.” What is true of Jesus is indeed true of me. I share his victory over sin and death. I share in “the riches of his glorious inheritance” (Ephesians 1.18). All that “sharing” and “inheriting” is, as I say, by grace. I know that I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it. But my calling is to be like those who chose to remain “in” David in this morning’s reading — to assert, confess and consolidate my place in Christ by clinging to him, staying close to him or, to use Jesus’ own terminology, “abiding in the vine” (John 15). My calling, like theirs, is to follow him from the Jordan to Jerusalem — to be part of him in his baptism and his crucifixion and his resurrection. To recognise that because I am “in Christ” all that is his is mine. I have a portion and an inheritance in him.

Teach us to number our days! If that is simply a prayer that God will teach us how to calculate how old we are, it is almost unnecessary. The calculation is simple … and there are plenty of programs on the net that will do it for us. I checked with www.timeanddate.com just now and found that today I am precisely 24,570 days old! But, of course, that is not what “numbering our days” means. Indeed, unless this happens to be the last day of my life, the number of my days will end up being more than 24,570, but this side of death I am never going to know precisely how much more.

No … Moses’ prayer in this psalm is (to turn his metaphor around a little) that we should learn how to make each day count. He sees how very short the human life span is when viewed against the backdrop of eternity — “A thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past,” he tells God (Psalm 90.4). And he sees how the relatively few days that we are permitted to live on this earth are blighted by sin and by “wrath” — that is to say, by the trouble and grief that are consequential upon the sin in our own lives and the lives of others and by the fallen-ness not just of humankind but of the whole of creation.

Moses (it seems to me) is looking back here to the curse that fell on Adam and of all of Adam-kind back in the beginning: “Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3.17). He sees that sin and death and the brevity of life are all inter-connected — for was it not the case that, until the fall, Adam had been free to “reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever” (Genesis 3.22)? What a tragedy!

But despite the gloom and doom that seems to be overwhelming Moses as he contemplates the shortness and difficulty of life, he sees the hand of grace reaching to him through the darkness and he grasps it. He sees that, despite the sin and despite all the troubles a day might bring, there, shining on us every morning is God’s unchanging, unwavering, steadfast love. And he sees that, every morning, if we respond to that love and open ourselves up to it and receive it, it will satisfy us and fill our day with joy and gladness. If I will do that this morning, today will be a “numbered day.” If I will do that this morning, I will be a step further towards acquiring “a heart of wisdom.”

Please make today a “numbered day” for me, O Lord — a day that will count in my life because it is filled with your steadfast love and lived in the light of that love. Help me to rejoice and be glad in it. For your name’s sake, Amen.

I cannot say that I have ever really pondered these verses before, but now I come to do so I find them extraordinary. The first thing that intrigues me is why all the “cloak and dagger stuff” about the location of the room in which the Passover meal would be shared? Instead of arranging for a man carrying a water jar to meet the disciples and take them to the room (such a man would stand out because only women generally carried water jars) why didn’t Jesus just tell the disciples: “It’s all sorted. I’ve arranged for us to eat the Passover in the upper room at Joachim’s house, second on the left after the wine merchant’s shop on Kedron Street”? The answer must surely be that he didn’t want Judas (who he knew was going to betray him — Matthew 26.25) to be given the address in advance and then to be able to leak it to the authorities. That might have led to the Passover meal being either interrupted or not actually ever being begun; and as the passage goes on to make clear, Jesus considered this meal very important indeed.

“I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer” he said. The Greek is epithumiai epethumesa — “with desire I desired” — a very Hebrew way of expressing a deep, heartfelt longing. But why such a longing? He ate meals with his disciples every day; what was going to be so special about this one? If it was simply it’s “last-ness” in terms of his eating it with his disciples, I would expect him to say “I have been really dreading having to eat this Passover with you.” So why had Jesus actually been looking forward to it?

I suppose my unconsidered answer any time up to this morning would have been: “Because it would establish the sacrament that we now call Holy Communion or the Eucharist or the Lord’s Supper.” But the more I look at it, the more I see that it is something else. It is what Jesus himself gives as the reason for his longing: “For I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” What does that mean?

For the Jews, the Passover was a commemoration of a past event — the day that the Angel of Death “passed over” their ancestors and God delivered them from slavery in Egypt and brought them into the promised land. But Jesus is here implying that the Passover was (and had always been) much more than that: it was a predictive symbol, a sign pointing to a great future work of deliverance … and one which Jesus knew was to take place the very next day on a cross outside the city walls of Jerusalem. There, Jesus himself, the true Passover Lamb to which all other Passover lambs had pointed, would be sacrificed; God would “pass over” all who took the blood of that sacrifice onto the door-posts of their lives (Exodus 12.7); and God would bring them out of slavery to sin and lead them into his kingdom of the age to come.

“And the only next valid Passover meal,” Jesus is saying, “will be the one I and all who belong to me will sit down and eat together in that kingdom in that age to come. After tonight all other Passover meals will be meaningless because they will be trying to foretell something which will have already happened!”

Jesus’ longed for that Last Passover, it seems, because it marked the end of the old dispensation and the start of his making all things new — for the disciples, for the world; for creation; … and for you and me. His “earnest desiring” was for his inauguration by his imminent death and resurrection of that age that is both now and yet to come.

Strange to think that in just under a month, I will be flying into Thessaloniki Airport in the Macedonia region of Greece, not far from where this group of Christians to whom Paul was writing used to meet almost two thousand years ago. The story of the founding of the church in Thessalonica (as modern-day Thessaloniki was then called) is recounted in Acts 17 and from there we learn that, because of the opposition of the Jews, Paul was able to stay with the new church and nurture it for no time at all. He and Timothy and Silas (Silvanus) had to move on quickly to the next city, Berea, but the Jews from Thessalonica followed them there and caused yet more trouble, so that Paul (the focus of their hatred) went on to Athens leaving Timothy and Silas to foster the converts in Berea. When those two finally joined Paul in Athens, Paul sent Timothy back to Thessalonica to see how the young church was faring (1 Thessalonians 3.1). Now, in this morning’s chapter, we learn that Timothy has returned and “has brought us the good news of your faith and love” (1 Thessalonians 3.6); so Paul has been moved to write to them.

He begins with thanksgiving for them and for the joy that Timothy’s news has brought to him. Although he had been instrumental in bringing the Thessalonians to Christ, there is no sense of personal pride in the fact the church has survived and is growing in faith and love — rather he sees it as all down to the grace and power of God. The verb antapodidomi, here translated “return”, means “to render again” and carries the sense of giving back what is due. It is a reminder to me that whenever something good happens in someone’s life because of my word or my witness, the proper response is not self-congratulation that I “got it right” but thanksgiving to the God “who alone does wondrous things” (Psalm 72.18).

Next he prays “most earnestly” night and day that he might see them. The phrase “night and day” (which, on Paul’s lips, is no exaggeration) alone has the power to shame me at the paucity of my prayers for the Christian brothers that God has given me a care and concern for; but the adverb translated “most earnestly” is extraordinary and only increases my sense of shame. It is a compound of three Greek words — hyper, ek, and perissou — “above”, “beyond”, “abundantly”. It means overflowing all bounds and limitations. And I have to ask myself: when have I ever prayed for people like that?

So is that all that Paul wants — to see these Christian brothers and sisters in Thessalonica? No, he wants something much more. He wants, he says, to “supply what is lacking” in their faith. And this is the thing that strikes me most forcibly in this morning’s reading … how central “supplying what is lacking” should be to any ministry I might have. No Christian on this side of death has ever arrived at his or her full potential in Christ. There is always something “lacking”. Everyone’s faith is to some extent defective. And the job of other Christians is to “supply what is lacking” in me; and my job is to discern what is lacking in them and to help supply it to them. This is surely what it means to (in the words of Charles Wesley) “build each other up” …

All praise to our redeeming Lord,
who joins us by His grace,
and bids us each to each restored,
together seek His face.

He bids us build each other up;
and, gathered into one,
to our high calling’s glorious hope
we hand in hand go on.

Teach me, Lord, to give thanks like Paul, to love like Paul, to pray like Paul, and to build up other Christians like Paul. For your kingdom’s sake, Amen.

As the first verse of this morning’s reading records, Psalm 18 is a song which David composed and spoke to the Lord in the early years of his reign as king of Israel. It also appears in that context in 2 Samuel 22. And what strikes me about the psalm as I read it through again this morning is the number of times in the psalm that David calls the Lord his “rock”. What kind of rock? The kind that “the wise man builds his house upon” — flat, solid, foundational rock? No, not at all. The Hebrew word is sela’ and it is not the word you would use for a flat rock or even the kind of rock on which you could sit. It is the word for a crag or a cliff. And that being so, I see how closely linked it is, in David’s mind, with the next word, “fortress”. That word in Hebrew is matsud and it means a “fastness” or “stronghold”. And, yes, I know — “stronghold” is itself another description that David uses of God at the end of this morning’s verses, but there the Hebrew word is misgab which is a “high place” or “refuge” or “secure height”. All the words are related.

So when David calls the Lord his “rock” I begin to get the picture. Here is the plain and there are my enemies in pursuit of me. Ahead are the steep mountains arising out of the plain — precipitous crags full of crevices and caves. A stronghold. A high, natural fortress which, once I reach it, will afford me all the protection and safety I need. And when I get that picture, I see that David is not just using a handy metaphor; he is speaking from his bitter, actual experience of being on the run from Saul. “And David remained in the strongholds in the wilderness,” we are told, “in the hill country of the wilderness of Ziph. And Saul sought him every day, but God did not give him into his hand” (1 Samuel 23.14). Later, we are told: “Now David and his men were in the wilderness of Maon, in the Arabah to the south of Jeshimon. And Saul and his men went to seek him. And David was told, so he went down to the rock and lived in the wilderness of Maon … Therefore that place was called the Rock of Escape” (1 Samuel 23.24-25, 28).

Now, as he writes Psalm 18, with all those days of physical danger behind him, David can see that what was once true of those craggy, high, natural fortresses in the mountains of Judah has always been true of God. Even when his David’s body was hidden behind some craggy outcrop as Saul’s soldiers scoured the hills in search of him, his heart, his soul, his very life were securely set in the Lord who had called him and who loved him. The Lord has always been David’s Rock of Escape — the Rock of his Salvation.

The hymn-writer Augustus Toplady caught the thought of David’s mind perfectly when he wrote: “Rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee”. And it is a prayer I find myself echoing as I set out into this new day; for only in the Rock am I safe. Only in the Rock am I completely secure. Only in the Rock can I truly heed the command to “Fear not!”