I don’t know about you, but I’m always battling to keep prayer times fresh. Pastoral praying, in particular, can quickly become stale. This is because it – by definition – works in a systematic way. If you’re going to pray for your people (and you must), then there’s no substitute for working through a list. That’s the only way you’ll pray for all those the Lord has placed for a time into your care. And, I would argue, it’s the kind of pastoral praying that will best inform your preaching. You don’t want to be just preaching to the sick and infirm, which you might subconsciously do if you are only praying for them. No, you want to be praying for those doing well as much as those struggling.

But this week, just for a week, I’ve tried something different. I’ve suspended my prayer list for a week and taken just five individuals and couples and tried to pray deeply just for them every single day. Not a kind of “and please bless Bob” prayer (which is what so much vacuous pastoral praying gets reduced to), but the heartfelt prayers of a loving pastor who wants to see his people flourish.

It’s not a sustainable pattern, because there are 200 others in the church who are left out. But as a short stint, it’s been good for me to really work through the implications of the gospel for them in my praying and it’s (as these things always do) rekindled my pastor’s heart. Why not give it a go?

Perhaps your conversion is amazing. I know every conversion is miraculous – but perhaps, I mean, you were a terror before you became a Christian. Drugs, sex and rock ‘n’ roll. Some of us have stories like that. But the truth is many of us have conversion stories that are less spectacular (‘I can’t remember a time when I was not a believer’). I was converted aged 12 and I can’t really remember much of my life before that, apart from a few isolated incidents, including one very memorable run down the right wing for the school football team.

How do you treasure your conversion and continue to marvel at its miracle if that is the case? If you have a life of sin to look back on and see dealt with perhaps it is easier, at one level, to say ‘that is what I was, but by the grace of God…’ For those of us with less spectacular turnarounds, I think we treasure our miracle of grace less, or at least, there’s a real risk that we do.

The answer, of course, is to see our transformation in Bible terms, which means not just in terms of actions, but in terms of categories. I was dead. I was an enemy of God. My heart was utterly black. Before God I was deceitful above all things. A real appreciation of what we were in these categories does not require us to have to say ‘and I murdered someone’ (I exaggerate to make the point). If we really understood our hearts in Bible terms, we would never cease to be grateful for our own amazing, miraculous, grace-filled rescue and never cease to be preaching and praying tirelessly for the salvation of souls. In today’s ‘good’ world, it may just be a help not to have had such a miraculous conversion, because it forces us to see things as God sees them.

I’ve just finished reading Philippa Gregory’s latest Tudor novel retelling the story of Katheryn Parr, The Taming of the Queen. I’ve not particularly got into any of her books in the past, finding them a little contrived. And, sure enough, this one had a few flaws. For one thing, I think she is keen to rewrite historical women to make them more 21st Century, as though Germaine Greer was herself in the court of the king. This is not just Gregory’s flaw: it’s common enough in historical fiction.

Amazingly, you don’t really need to do this with Queen Katheryn. She was an extraordinary figure anyway, producing a translation of the psalms and, after Henry’s death, an amazing book detailing her Protestant convictions (Lamentations of a sinner). Who knows what might have been had she lived beyond labour (she remarried shortly after Henry’s death). All this is true and her Protestant convictions well documented. However, Gregory has her as co-author of the Prayer Book alongside Cramner, something for which, as far as I am aware (and I would be happily corrected) there is not a jot of evidence (interestingly, in her author’s note, whilst she admits to licence in some areas, she does not do so in this one).

Gregory makes Katheryn stronger still by having her give a young and doting Elizabeth advice on how she must be a king for her nation, were she ever to become Queen. Neat, huh? I find it a little tiresome, I’m afraid.

But, overall, the book is excellent and captures the fragility of the Reformation in England. Henry is presented as a flawed monster, playing people off against one another to his own end rather than serving the cause of any faith. Unlike Gregory’s take on the Prayer Book, this is all well documented.

It’s good to be reminded that our heritage is not solid. The Protestant Reformation was very fragile, very fragile indeed. It could have faltered at many stages, and very often nearly did. It was – humanly speaking – highly dependent on the vagaries of individuals and rulers, often those with no care for biblical truth. And yet, here we are. God has been sovereignly good and we have benefitted from his merciful and gracious providence to bring us to this place.

And, we should remind ourselves, he continues to be just the same, yesterday, today and forever.

I don’t normally link to other blogs, especially ones that you’re probably reading anyway. What’s the point? He likes me and I like him and I like that he likes me (continue ad nauseam). Nevertheless, occasionally stuff comes up that is gold dust for preachers. Here’s one such link. This is Don Carson on doing theology and reading the Bible well. I’ve had a conversation with Don about this stuff before – how good Bible readers need to use biblical theology, systematic theology, historical theology and pastoral theology – each in its own place – none given too much space, and none given too little. His points about reading the Bible well are well made and especially useful for all preachers and teachers. Read and digest. And think about whether your study work looks right, as a consequence. And, if you’re interested, Don is speaking at next year’s EMA.

Mrs R and I were taken to an extraordinarily moving play in the West End last week, The Christians by Lucas Hnath (you can read a review with him from the New York Times here). It is an essentially simple play – a large church US evangelical pastor announces to his congregation that they (the church) and he, in particular, no longer believe in hell. The Associate Pastor disagrees and is forced out. One by one congregation members seep away until his liberalism empties his church. Finally, in the most moving part, his wife tells him that she is not with him and cannot stay because she has felt betrayed (he has never told her of his doubts or thinking).

I thought it was well acted and well written – not, it seems, by an evangelical, but by someone who gets evangelicals and –shock horror! – portrays them accurately and well.

The challenges work at a number of levels. First, of course, it is a sad assessment of liberalism and how it empties churches. Perhaps we don’t need such a philosophical assessment, but I found it useful nonetheless, especially as just 5 minutes before writing these words, I listened to Radio 4 Thought for the Day with a Bishop (Tom Butler) who announced to the listening world that he didn’t believe in hell. Rather uncomfortable parallel – but we need to be sure where such liberalism will lead us.

Second, there’s something very profound to say about pastoral integrity. This man clearly had not believed what he had preached for some time, but until the church building debt had been paid off, he chose to remain silent. I’m not suggesting that you, Mr Preacher, struggle with the same lack of integrity, but it is always a challenge. Some soul searching required.

Third, the whole question of the pastor’s relationship with his wife intrigues me. I wonder what some of the wives of those outspoken liberals really believe, for example. But more importantly, for those of us who are married, we need to make sure we treasure and value our wives aright. That doesn’t mean making them co-pastor, even if they wanted that. But the fact is we are given a helpmeet who knows us better than probably anyone else in this world. Every pastor who is married should testify to the strength, comfort, help and challenge that his wife is. Without compromising complementary understanding he should often, like Abraham, listen to his wife.

There is little positive to say about the terrible tragedy that unfolded in Saudi Arabia with the stampede at the Hajj festival. It is always a sadness to see people killed so needlessly. And the black deception that Islam brings only serves to make this human tragedy more spiritually devastating. It will have eternal significance.

Perhaps, one thing that saddened me most about the whole thing was the interview with the senior cleric who said of the disaster, it’s just ‘destiny and fate’. How tragic to think of God in this way. Thankfully that’s not the God of the Bible, perfectly revealed in the glorious Son, Jesus. He is sovereign, of course, but his sovereignty is not distant and capricious.

No, we’re certainly not fatalists – an ugly doctrine. Rather we believe in providence, a beautiful doctrine: little taught and much misunderstood. Not a sparrow falls unless he wills it. He works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will and that sovereign will is good for those who love him, those he has called, ultimately promising us transformation into the likeness of his Son.

As I say, a startlingly beautiful doctrine. Christians (and preachers) would do well to reflect and meditate on it. Can I recommend William Cowper’s beautiful words?

God moves in a mysterious way,
his wonders to perform;
he plants his footsteps in the sea
and rides upon the storm.

2. Deep in unfathomable mines
of never-failing skill
he treasures up his bright designs
and works his sovereign will.

3. You fearful saints, fresh courage take;
the clouds you so much dread
are big with mercy, and shall break
in blessings on your head.

4. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
but trust him for his grace;
behind a frowning providence
he hides a smiling face.

5. His purposes will ripen fast,
unfolding every hour;
the bud may have a bitter taste,
but sweet will be the flower.

6. Blind unbelief is sure to err
and scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter
and he will make it plain.

There’s a profound thing going on in Genesis 1.27. When God makes mankind, male and female he creates a kind of divine paradox with both equality (both made equally in the image of God) and diversity (male and female he created them). The Fall, at one level, corrupts this paradox. As the wife desires her husband she craves equality over diversity. As the husband rules over his wife he craves diversity at the expense of equality. It’s no wonder that in our broken world, people try to address this Curse (even if they don’t know it’s called that). At one level, many of the wrong views we see in terms of the roles of men and women are a descending spiral of correction – the more men rule or dominate women in sin, the more a woman wants to stress equality to undo the effects.

The Bible Christian, it seems to me, has to work hard to recreate what God has made good. This is a tricky job. In times past, Christians have (wrongly) taken an easier route of misogyny or feminism as correctives. As is often the way, the godly and biblical path is harder and more challenging, but – by definition – more beautiful. It’s worth time, effort, pain and stretch to see God’s pattern and work, under him, for its restoration.

I was reminded recently that Handley Moule’s book To my younger brethren is a really useful classic on pastoral ministry. It has a context, naturally, which is ministry in an Anglican context (Moule was Bishop of Durham). Read it with that in mind. But even for the most rabid of non-conformist, there is pastoral wisdom and challenge here that, even 100 years on is necessary. It’s free online and Project Gutenberg helpfully supplies it ready formatted for kindles or other e-readers.

As Andy Byfield was teaching at the Cornhill + conference, I thought about suffering again. We generally (and our people in particular) have a poor theology of suffering. That’s because we’ve many of us been raised in a culture where it’s been relatively easy to be a believer. You see this worked out in the way we pray our prayers of petition, which are often a kind of prosperity-lite (‘Lord make n better. Amen’).

I don’t think you can minister in a church unless you have a more developed theology of suffering – both personally (i.e. in your own life) and in how it works out corporately. It is such a key theme of the New Testament that a pastor who says ‘Hmm, I’ve never really thought that through’ makes you wonder if he’s actually ever read the Bible and wrestled with the difficult things (‘filling up the afflictions of Christ’ anyone?).

For the record, I think Christopher Ash’s commentary on Job (the longer one, from Crossway) is superb in this. Job, of course, is the go-to book for this issue, but many commentaries just treat Job as go-to rather than go-to-from, for unless you see suffering in the context of the cross, resurrection and ascension, you cannot possibly hope to develop a theology of suffering which will equip you for service in the church.

It is possible in a church of 200 to pray for every member of the church by name once a week and every member by name early on each Sunday morning.  That’s certainly Alec Motyer’s practice which he outlines in his excellent little book on preaching.

I wonder how that makes you feel? Perhaps you feel convicted? It may be an ideal to which you would like to aspire but you’ve never quite made the grade. Perhaps you feel a bit aggrieved? That sounds to you like a rather legalistic, worksy kind of approach to prayer. Perhaps you feel self-righteous? Only once a week, Alec….?

There’s surely no doubt that a preacher should be a man of prayer (Acts 6 anyone). But what kind of prayer? All kinds, surely, but at the very least, a preacher is a pastor, he is concerned to connect the ministry of the word to those to whom he is called to minister and so a preacher who never prays for his people would be a very odd preacher indeed. Sub-standard, in fact.

So the question is not so much whether one ought to pray for one’s people, but how and how much. In terms of ‘how’ I happen to believe and have experienced that praying in your sermon – both before and after the event – is the best way to ensure you are thinking pastorally in your preparation.

But it surely goes deeper than this, does it not? I don’t pray to make my preaching better, as though that were an end in itself. I pray because I want to see my people built up in the knowledge and grace of the Lord Jesus. Which, of course, leads to ‘how much?’ Alec’s strategy may be out of reach at present for all kinds of reasons, but it should surely be the heart’s desire of every pastor-teacher.