Program No: 1542
For Broadcast: 18th October 2015
BEING CARRIED
Noel Due
The first car I remember was Dad’s 1952 Ford Prefect.
A luxury vehicle it wasn’t. It was a 30 h.p. snail of a thing, with a 3 speed crunch gear box and
no creature comforts. Even seat belts and turn indicators were unknown.
But, as a little boy, I knew none of these things. What I remember was the smell of the leather
seats.
The best memories of that smell come from when I was pretending to be asleep on the back
seat.
What a treat! To be wrapped up in blankets, bundled in Dad’s arms after a late night visiting
friends and rellies, carried out to the car and kept warm.
I’m sure Dad and Mum knew I wasn’t asleep; that was all part of the joy.
To be wrapped up—warm and secure, safe and sound—in the arms of my father. And then
carried into the house and tucked to bed. It’s the stuff all children love to cherish.
But those times were rare; which makes the memory of them more special.
Eventually the Ford Prefect gave up the ghost.
As did my Dad, and many years later, my Mum. And many other friends and relatives over the
years.
I grew up with that phrase as part of common speech. The idea of ‘giving up the ghost’ was
the way people talked about dying. Or machinery wearing out. Or dog’s and other pets going
to God. But whatever the context, it was a phrase that belonged to the end of life.
Only when I was much older did I discover that the phrase actually came from the Bible.
Nowadays it’s translated “he gave up his spirit”. And it’s used to describe Jesus’ last action
when he lived on earth.
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After all the suffering of the cross, his last deed was to commit his spirit to the arms of his
Father.
As he breathed his last, he said, “Father into your hands, I commit my spirit”. Which, itself is a
quote from one of the ancient songs of God’s people, Psalm 31. And that song was,
apparently, often used as a sort of bed time prayer for their children. It’s one of the world’s
most ancient songs, full of trust and thanksgiving to God.
Hence the connection with the story of my Dad and what it felt like to be carried home,
through the dark and cold night, in the warmth of his embrace. Trust is nothing other than
resting back, letting someone else take the strain. It’s not trying to carry yourself, it’s being
carried. It’s stilling your soul, like a well fed child against its mother’s breast. That’s trust.
That’s faith.
SONG Psalm 31
When Jesus said his last words from the cross “into your hands I commit my spirit” it wasn’t
an expression of desperation or blind faith. Jesus was in control till the very end. His words
weren’t a description, they were an action.
Jesus had come through the agony of the cross, having finished the work he had come to do.
He was the Lamb of God set to take away the sins of the world. He was sent into the world to
remove the devil’s base of operation. He had come to bring forgiveness and hope.
But he couldn’t do any of that without the cross.
Take the cross away from the story of what Jesus said and did, and you’re left with something
far less than the Christian faith. He had to go there. He had to go through it all. He had to
endure to the end, to finish the work God had given him to do. Take away the cross and
you’re left with an heroic failure.
But, having done all he came into the world to do, his last words from the cross were ones of
immense security. They were words of reunion, trust and assurance.
In his death Jesus wasn’t heading out into some unknown future. He had been to the darkest
place of all, suffering under the weight of our sin in our place, and now the path ahead was
full of light. Because of Jesus, death had been emptied of its sting. He’d broken its power.
He’d removed the venom from the serpent’s fangs.
So, having done it all, he could rest. Just as a child could rest in his father’s arms, he truly
could lay himself down into the Father’s care.
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But he wanted us to know what he was doing. And why. He didn’t want us to be ignorant.
Why?
Because he wanted us to know that the gap had been closed. The distance between us and
our heavenly Father had been bridged. He had done it. He had removed any obstacle to us
trusting in the Father. We can trust our heavenly Father in the same way Jesus had.
SONG Psalm 31
Jesus came into the world as the Way, the Truth and the Life. People still come to God the
Father through him. He still takes us to the heavenly Father’s home.
But just as he went back to the Father through his death on the cross; we come fully home to
the Father through our death. No, it won’t be a cross. We only need one of those in all of
history. That’s sufficient to make a way for us all.
But when we come to that last phase of life—when it’s time for us ‘to give up the ghost’—we
don’t come to it in darkness and ignorance. Jesus, the Light of the World, has lit the path for
us. Death is not the dark door to an unknown future. It’s the path through which Jesus carries
all of God’s children home.
Just as Jesus could entrust his spirit to God, so can we. We come with open hearts and glad
assurance to the Father’s arms, since Jesus himself had removed the terrors of the night.
We’re not left to find our own way home.
Faith is trust. It’s being carried, not carrying ourselves. It’s being gathered in God’s arms, it’s
not trying to make ourselves secure.
And, at the very last, we know we can’t. As we take our last breath, there’s nothing we can do
to stop death stealing upon us. Instead we simply trust that the same God and Father whose
arms were open to receive his son, Jesus, are open to receive us. We are kept by God’s
faithfulness, not ours. We’re secured by his grace, not our efforts. That’s what faith is all
about. And the love which holds us is stronger than death itself.
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