How we get there is as important as that we get there

Halo a dhaoine,

That’s Gaelic.  For the simple reason that this blog is being sent from Mallaig, the rather rainy port on the west coast of Scotland facing Skye from across the Sound of Sleat. 

For wonderfully Mallaig is the furthermost terminus of what is considered the world’s most scenic railway line – the West Highland Line.  In fact, the ScotRail website makes great play of the fact that the line has been voted the most scenic railway line in the world for the second year running.

So leaving Glasgow’s Queen Street railway station on Wednesday afternoon, we were treated with 5 hours 17 minutes of sheer bliss.  The highlight – you probably know this already from the Harry Potter films – is the Glenfinnan Viaduct, some 380 metres long, crossing the River Finnan at a height of 30 metres with no less than 21 arches. 

I was able to follow the advice of the ever-helpful "Man in Seat 61" to sit in the third coach, on the left-hand side facing the front of the train.  This gave a remarkable view of this iconic viaduct, while being observed (and photographed) by a small crowd of railway buffs and Potterheads.  Brilliant!

For fundamentally for me railway travel is not a means to an end but the end in itself.  To quote the astronaut, Kalpana Chawla: “The journey matters as much as the goal.” Sometimes (as for us this week), even more so. 

And this especially so in the Christian life: How we get there is as important as that we get there.

I recall at the very beginning of my ministry, several decades ago, welcoming to our church an elderly gentleman. (As it happens he was probably ten years younger than I am today!)  However, he was a broken man: dispirited and discarded. 

He told me his tale.  He had been a hardworking verger/caretaker of a large church, a so-called evangelical powerhouse.  The vicar was well-known and well-regarded.  However, such was this leader’s ambition that many of his team had simply burnt out and cast aside in his drive for church growth. The gent I was talking to was one of the casualties.

Now of course, not everyone fits in with the team and not everyone is up to the task in hand. But there are ways of handling such situations.  And the reality may be that they are a casualty of your poor leadership, of you trying to ram a square peg into a round hole. 

So the Holy Spirit  is continually guiding us, not simply in the direction we are taking but in how we aim to get there, not least with our relationships with other disciples. 

So the apostle Paul urges us:  “Welcome with open arms fellow believers who don’t see things the way you do. And don’t jump all over them every time they do or say something you don’t agree with—even when it seems that they are strong on opinions but weak in the faith department."

He concludes:" Remember, they have their own history to deal with. Treat them gently.” (Romans 14:1)

Paul had learned this lesson the hard way.  Along with Barnabas he was part of a formidable double-act, working their way through Asia Minor (today’s Turkey) planting churches, during twelve to eighteen momentous months around AD48.

Then suddenly, as these two apostles prepare for a second mission journey there’s a paroxysmos, “a blazing, horrible, bitter row”* which seems to flare up from nowhere.  So much so that that they went their separate ways.  

Luke, the author of Acts, explains:  “Barnabas wanted to take John along, the John nicknamed Mark. But Paul wouldn’t have him; he wasn’t about to take along a quitter who, as soon as the going got tough, had jumped ship on them in Pamphylia. Tempers flared, and they ended up going their separate ways: Barnabas took Mark and sailed for Cyprus; Paul chose Silas and . . went to Syria and Cilicia.” (Acts 15:37-41 the Message)

Essentially the apostle Paul was focused on the end: he was a goal-motivated achiever.  He knew he had to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus throughout the known world.  No way could he risk his ministry by taking on someone who had so demonstratively failed, the goal was simply too important. 

In contrast, Barnabas took the line that how they got there was just as important.  He was prepared to take the risk with his nephew. After all, God uses failures, his modus operandi. He loves using rejects.

Tom Wright* in his biography of Paul suggests that for the next few months Paul moves without “a real sense of direction. They try one thing and then another.”  He concludes: “Perhaps Luke is saying that is what happens when someone makes hasty decisions in a hot temper. . .Paul seems to have learned from these times but the learning was usually painful.” (page 174)

No wonder he was to later write to the church in Ephesus:  “When you talk, do not say harmful things. But say what people need—words that will help others become stronger. Then what you say will help those who listen to you.” (Ephesians 4:29)

As it happens some 15 years later the imprisoned Paul is relying on this same Mark.  He writes: “My fellow prisoner Aristarchus sends you his greetings, as does Mark, the cousin of Barnabas. (You have received instructions about him; if he comes to you, welcome him.)” (Colossians 4:10).

Clearly Paul owed Barnabas an apology, the journey is just as important as the destination.