You can kick the can down the road – until you run out of road. And today, in so many areas, to abruptly change metaphors, the train is hitting the buffers.
As human beings, we so readily avoid making difficult decisions today and follow the advice of Mark Twain: "Never put off until tomorrow what you can put off until the day after tomorrow."
And of course, there are times when the best course of action is simply to wait and see how things unfold. But there are also times when we must act, to boldly go, to seize the day, to grasp the nettle and take the plunge.
More often than not, we know what we need to do, but for whatever reason—usually fear—we just can’t bring ourselves to do it, whether as individuals or as a nation.
To quote our deputy prime minister: “I don't want to stick a sticking plaster on it, I don't want to fix children once the system's broken them, I want to give every child the opportunity before that—because the system should protect and nurture, and not damage our children.”
She could have added the whole area of social care, which successive governments have pledged to tackle but never quite got around to actually doing. Our current Health Secretary, in the words of one commentator, “has kicked the issue into the long grass.”
The large number of metaphors we use in such situations speaks to a deep-seated instinct to avoid facing problems head-on—we delay and dodge, hoping the issue will resolve itself. But when we don’t act, the problems don’t disappear; they grow more complex.
It is difficult for politicians to rip off the sticking plaster because the benefits of action often don’t appear until after the next election, leading to a culture of short-termism.
And then, something happens—like Ukraine or President Trump—and suddenly there’s no alternative but to act, at some cost. Governments everywhere are being forced to face up to challenges that should have been dealt with years ago.
The church is no exception. We too must face difficult decisions and take responsibility for what lies before us. The shortage of clergy is one such issue we’ve seen coming for years, even with the ordination of women and the growing use of non-stipendiary (unpaid) ministers.
Here in Ormskirk, we have six or seven CofE parishes—depending on how you define Ormskirk. Right now, four of these parishes are in interregnum, waiting for a vicar. We have just one full-time vicar and one part-time vicar, with no curates in any parish. When I arrived here in 1992, we had six full-time vicars and three curates.
A similar problem is facing my son-in-law’s diocese. Archbishop Justin made the recruitment of clergy one of his key priorities, but the current crisis over safeguarding doesn’t exactly help. And so, the day we’ve been dreading has now arrived.
As I was reading Psalm 137, I was struck by the words: “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.” The defeat of Israel by Nebuchadnezzar II in 587 BC was traumatic for the Jewish people.
Jerusalem, along with most of their towns, was sacked, and the temple—the heart of their faith—was destroyed. The ruling class was exiled nearly 1,000 kilometres away, as the Babylonians sought to erase the Jews from history.
For the people of Israel, it must have felt like an unparalleled disaster. “May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you, if I do not consider Jerusalem my highest joy.” (Psalm 137:6)
Yet, this was a time of great creativity and renewal for the Jewish people. The exile forced them to reaffirm their faith in God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—one God over the polytheistic influences of Babylon.
The trauma of exile led to the formation of the Hebrew Bible and the development of synagogue worship as a new form of religious gathering. This period fostered a stronger sense of communal identity and religious distinctiveness.
Moreover, the exile paved the way for the ministry of Jesus by heightening the longing for a Messiah, a redeemer to lead His people to freedom. Although it seemed like an unparalleled disaster at the time, God used it to shape the future of His people.
There is one conjunction that God loves to use: the word “but.” How often do we see the phrase “but God” in the Bible? The apostle Paul rejoices, “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)
How does God work in His world? “But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” (1 Corinthians 1:27)
How does the church grow? Not through human agency, but through the Holy Spirit. As Paul writes: “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.” (1 Corinthians 3:6)
We often see our situation, our problems, and our overwhelming challenges. And then we remember the greatest "but" of all: “But God raised Jesus from the dead!” (Acts 13:30)
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