The trust of an infant

I'm writing this on the third Sunday of Trinity in year A, when the gospel from Matthew 11 includes our Lord's beautiful invitation: 'Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ The temptation for readers and preachers alike is to concentrate on those words and to set aside the rest of what Jesus is saying in the passage. Especially because the rest of the passage is not exactly comfortable reading.

What do we make of these verses from earlier in chapter 11? 'At that time Jesus said, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will.'

Many of us like to think of ourselves as having some level of wisdom and intelligence. The experience of  life combined with education enables most of us to feel that we are equipped to deal with what life throws at us. So the potential implication of this passage becomes personal. We can't dismiss it - Jesus didn't mean me. Am I somehow an exception to this rule, even though there may be some small amount of wisdom and intelligence within me? And why exclude the wise anyway? Surely wisdom points us to God? Indeed, the Old Testament defines wisdom as coming from God. So what is going on here?

The trouble with being a bit grown up, a bit wise, a bit intelligent, is that we do tend to expect to manage things for ourselves. We expect to be able to deal with whatever life throws at us for ourselves, especially if we've done it before, or seen enough of life to feel we know how this or that scenario works. We expect to solve our own problems and to make our own decisions.

Compare that learned behaviour with an infant, one to whom God reveals the things of God. An infant is dependent on his or her parents. She does not make decisions deeper than which toy to play with now. Her life is built on trust, trust that the adults who care for her will make the best decisions for her,protect her, bring her always to a place of safety and of love. Thus is the model for our relationship with God. God asks us to trust Him completely, as an infant does. Proverbs 3:5 tells us to trust God with all our hearts and not to try and use our own wisdom to get through a situation. Jesus here is telling us the same thing.

The sad bit is that, since God reveals Godself to infants, this means that every one of us has been shown the way of God. We knew it as infants in the days when we lived in total trust and dependence. But as we grew up, and learned how to be grown ups in the world, we so often lose sight of the trusting relationship we once knew with God. We forget to rely on God and instead rely on ourselves. We even do it in church. We assume we know the best way to do things, that we know how it should be (how it has always been). When things get difficult we try to deal with them ourselves. Instead of crying out to God and trusting God, as a child does a parent, we expect to sort things out ourselves. 

The result is that some of the time we get things wrong. And even when we get them right, the way is harder than it needs to be, more stressful, more tiring. 

If only we relied on God more, saw things more often his way instead of our way! Then our lives would be calmer and more peaceful, our hearts stiller and centred on God instead of on our fears and stresses and worries. So the words of comfort Jesus offered make most sense when we read them in the context of the earlier words we'd prefer not to read. We must set aside our own wisdom and understanding, receive and trust God in the way that an infant does. If we can do that, if we can let go and really trust and rely on God, then we will be sharing the yoke of our work with Him. Instead of feeling stress and anxiety, we will be able to rest, knowing that Jesus carries the load and makes it easy for us.

So that's my challenge this week, to live less in my own wisdom and more in complete trust of God. Dare you risk not being a grown up, but joining me in the life of an infant?

Adopted Children

Adopted children

I had a dream last night about a large family of children. Asked to pose together for a photograph, one of the children (whose skin was a beautiful dark brown, compared to the Caucasian skin of her siblings), refused to join in, saying that she was not really a member of the family because she was adopted. Another of the many children (who seemed to be me) took her aside and pleaded with her to be in the photo, explaining that without her it would not be possible for the photographer to take any pictures at all, because without her the photograph would be incomplete. Joella (the black girl's name) was as much a daughter to their parents as any other child in the family. Some of them had been born to their parents, and some had been chosen. All were equally loved and equally special. Indeed, I had often wished that I was one of the chosen ones, rather than one of the ones born into the family, because somehow it seemed more special and more wonderful to be picked out and chosen by our wonderful and loving parents. The parents themselves barely appeared in the dream. They weren't my own parents, but a couple who seemed to be simply overflowing with love and grace.

Thinking about this dream since I woke (I woke before Joella made up her mind about being in the photo. I hope she agreed to it!), I have been reflecting on adoption within Gods family. Scripture shows us a people, the Jews, who have a claim to be God's own people in a particular way. They are often spoken of as the chosen people, so does that mean they are God's own begotten children or children by adoption? The approach to Abraham might suggest the latter, and certainly Abraham was not unique in knowing and following God - there were plenty of people in Canaan who knew and related to God before Abraham. Melchizedek, the King of Salem, was a priest of The Lord and clearly knew him well long before Abraham came along. Melchizedek welcomed Abraham, and shared the blessing of bread and wine with him. The writer to the Hebrews comments that Jesus is a priest in here order of Melchizedek, not of Aaron; a priest of the older birth people of God's holy place then, rather than of the Jews?

Then, what of those who are neither descended from those early Canaanite followers of The Lord, nor of the Jews? Perhaps I think about this more than I should because of my own mixed background. But for the behaviour of my great grandmother, who gave up on faith and preferred drink and lust and money, I might have been brought up as a Jew. That could have been my birthright, on the maternal side. The descent through women is all there, and so in one (technical) sense I was born into the chosen Jewish people. In another I was not, because it was given up, and my grandmother married a secular 'Christian', and my mother was christened in the traditional English way, as was I. The grace in my story, then, is the grace of God's adoption. The sins of the generations above have not been visited on me. I encountered Christ at a young age, and have been blessed to be his disciple and a member of his family by adoption. I am, if you like, chosen, not born, into God's family. So are all those of us who follow Christ, since we now understand that only one person was ever born of God, and that is Christ himself. All the rest of us, whether Jew or Canaanite or Gentile or a confused mix like me, are children of God by God's own choice.

In my dream I hoped that I was chosen, and not born to my superb loving dream parents, because that would mean that my parents had made a choice to love me, and wanted me in a very particular and decided way. In the real world, I find that when it comes to my Heavenly Father this is exactly the case. It does not matter what our backgrounds are, what our skin colour is, who we were born to and what our family backgrounds are like. God chooses to love and adopts us as full and utterly wanted children. That is the most amazing grace.

In a Christian family, part of the extension of that grace is the welcome of new family members who come not by birth but by choice. So, for example, I am blessed to have three brothers, not one. Two have the words 'in-law' attached formally, as though to justify their brotherly relationship. It matters not to me how they came to be my brothers; I am very grateful that I have been given them, and that they put up with me. Relating lovingly and inclusively with them and any other relations by adoption (as it were) that I may be blessed with, is a sign of the love that God gives to those He has chosen. We all belong as much as any that were born into the family, and are valued as much as any birth child. Which means, if this is right, that God loves each of us as much as He loves Jesus. That is a stunning thought. We saw in the gospels God's love for His Son, and the delight He took in Him, and Jesus spoke of their love and their closeness. Jesus also told us that He wanted us to love and follow the father in the the same way. Chosen, wanted, adopted, into the stunning love that God has for His birth child.

If I had any hang ups about my lost Jewish heritage, perhaps that dream was intended to ensure that I put them away. Perhaps I am as much to be found in my dream character Joella as I am in the person I identified with in the dream; one who struggled with whether or not she had a right to belong, and must accept that she does. Very much. Come and be part of the picture because we can't take the photograph without you.

No more angels in heaven

This week I’ve had a recurring earworm – one of those songs that gets into your head and stays there stubbornly, no matter what else you are doing or thinking about. This week’s song, inexplicably, is from the musical Joseph and his amazing technicolour dreamcoat, and is sung by the brothers as they tell their father the fib that Joseph has been killed. The repeated lyric that has returned to me without mercy this week is: ‘there’s one more angel in heaven, there’s one more star in the sky’… Now Tim Rice’s lyrics speak to the beliefs I hear from people all the time, but they have nothing to do with the beliefs that the real brothers would have held, with the beliefs of Jews or of Christians. If only Andrew Lloyd Webber’s tune wasn’t so catchy, I might not have had such poor theology singing out in my ear all week.

When we think about the ascension of Jesus into heaven, as we do this week, we are telling a story that points out exactly why the fate of the departed is not to become angels or stars. For a start, there is the practical stuff. Stars, we know, are giant superheated balls of gas. No-one who really thinks about death really believes that is their fate, surely – or wants it? Whatever Doctor Who might suggest (I’m referring to The Rings of Akhaten for the geeks) there are no sentient stars out there. Gas does not have life, feeling, purpose. And besides, when Jesus rose from the dead, he rose as one who had died, properly, and completely. The resurrection was not like the raising of Lazarus or the widow of Nain’s son. Jesus did not come back to a mortal life only to die again. Jesus died and returned to His Father in Heaven. He was resurrected, given the heavenly body that is greater than the human one, and in his resurrection demonstrated that heavenly life. The resurrected Jesus is not like a human as we understand it. We can’t go through locked doors, disappear and appear somewhere else miles away, and we certainly can’t choose to move between earth and heaven. Jesus made sure that a lot of people saw him – sometimes hundreds at a time – and not one reported that he had turned into a star or an angel! And since angels turned up and were recognised as such on the day Jesus rose and again on the day Jesus ascended into heaven, presumably it’s possible to tell the difference!

One reason that people get into this muddle is because we know that in heaven life is better and more glorious than it is here. So we imagine that a star or an angel is a better or more glorious thing. And because there is an understanding that somehow there can be contact between the inhabitants of heaven and those of earth – we can, after all, speak directly to Jesus and to Father God, who are both in heaven, and we believe they can hear and respond to us – so perhaps somehow we want that connection to be visual. By imagining the departed as stars, people for thousands of years have sought to make visual the connection between earth and heaven.

But the ascension shows us that however the connection to heaven works, it is not one we can see with our eyes. Jesus disappeared out of sight, and the angels made clear that it was no good LOOKING for him. He can’t be seen. He is real, he is present to us, he can hear our prayers, but we can’t see him until we too are in heaven. And once we are there, those we leave behind can’t see us, in any form. We are not angels, we are not stars, we are human still. But, as the resurrection of our Lord showed us, the form that humanity takes in heaven is somehow greater and better than the form it takes here. We can’t know what that will be like until we get there. We just have to trust in what Jesus showed us. There won’t be any more angels in heaven (God has enough), and no more stars in the sky – not sentient ones anyway – but one more human, fully alive and glorified in Jesus for every person who dies trusting in Him. That’s a theology that would bring Jacob far more comfort than the folk theology of this week’s earworm.

A way of living

At the beginning of the book of Acts St Luke describes the life of the earliest Christian community; indeed such an early gathering of Christ’s followers that the word ‘Christian’ had not been invented – that came a few years later in Antioch. Their way of being as a community seems alien to most of us in 21^st century Britain, though would make more sense to those who live in intentional communities, whether monastic or part of the ‘new monastic’ movement of people who choose to share homes, household tasks and incomes with other people of faith.

It seems to me that there are some underlying principles of community that still apply to all Christians, even those of us in dispersed traditions coming together only on Sunday mornings. Those principles may be applied in a different way today, but if they are equally valued and upheld, we can build a Christian community as vibrant today as the ones that emerged in Jerusalem in the first century.

The first principle is sharing. It is a deep sharing that ensures first that every community member has basic needs met. Those who like to consider Maslow’s hierarchy of needs as a way of understanding people will see the value of this: before being able to engage in ‘extra’ activities, each person needs to have basic meets met: if we have enough to eat and to drink, and a safe, sheltered place to sleep at night, then we will be able to focus on things beyond that. So our sharing starts there. It may seem most obvious to urban churches, where a ministry to the homeless is a visible need, but it should be part of the ministry of every church, as we ensure that all are provided for. We can not, sadly, always rely on the welfare state to do for us what the church has had to do for most of its existence.

Having ensured those basic needs are met, our sharing goes on to the next most important things in the life of a follower of Christ – and here my hierarchy of need may go in a quite different way from Maslow’s. We are called and indeed created to respond to the Lord God Almighty in worship, and that is something that is best done in community. Yes, we can worship alone, and sometimes solo worship is very valuable (especially for introverted types), but it is a community calling. The early church shared in worship and so should we. That includes encouraging the many people who insist that ‘they are really Christians but don’t need to come to church’ that actually it isn’t just about what they think they need. It isn’t about pleasing themselves, but about pleasing the Lord, and the Lord calls us to come and worship together. Whenever we worship – Sunday mornings, Tuesday mornings, Wednesday afternoons – whenever it is, it is best done in company, so that the jy and awe we share and express can be magnified, and each of us can be strengthened by those around us.

Sharing socially is important too. When the early Christians broke bread together, it wasn’t only about a religious act. It was about building those bonds of friendship, trust and support that are the bricks and mortar of community. In communities that share a common roof, programmed times to relax together are an important part of ensuring that their community life flourishes. It is just as important for church members to make the effort to spend time together socially; these times might be organised by the church or organised by groups of friends. As we do this, we need to be thinking about those who come to church and making sure that all are included somewhere along the line – it is very easy to get into a routine of meeting with particular friends. As the bonds between those friends strengthen, it gets harder to invite new people into them and you end up with ‘cliques’ or unenterable groups. Fellowship matters and open fellowship that looks to ensure that all are welcomes matters even more.

The second principle that applied in the early church was of remembering. The church met intentionally to remember what Jesus said and what He did. The stories were shared and eventually written down to make sure they were not forgotten. They were told and retold so that each new person entering the community was able to hear, learn and understand all that Jesus did for them. Children needed to hear and learn the stories and so did new adults joining the group. Today the principles still applies, which is why the readings from scripture are the one constant in all acts of Christian worship. We must retell the stories and ensure that we all know them and pass them on. As soon as we stop sharing the story and remembering all that Jesus said and did, the Christian community comes to an end. That is why activities that pass on the stories to children and adults alike are so important. It is why groups like Explorers matter, and courses like Pilgrim which introduce the stories of Jesus to a new audience matter.

The act of remembering leads to the third principle, which is living as a disciple. A disciple is a learner, a follower learning from a particular teacher. You can’t be a general disciple. You must be the disciple of a named teacher – in the case of a Christian, Jesus Christ, the son of the Living God. The early Christians listened to what Jesus said, looked at what he did, and strove to live like him, and to live out his teachings in their lives. While the way of life of a first century Middle Eastern Christian may be very different from that of a 21^st century English one, the underlying principle is no different. We are called to live as disciples, and to allow the things that we learn from Christ to affect everything about the way we live, from what we buy, and what we wear, to how we spend our time and how we treat other people. Inevitably, living in this way will sometimes make us stand out as different from other people around us, as having a different motivation of our actions from those who follow the prevailing culture, but if we share in being disciples then none of us will have to face the potential criticism of society alone.

Those three principles – sharing, remembering Jesus together, and living as disciples, apply as much today as they did when Peter led the community. Every Christian community finds its own ways at different times of living them out. In my own benefice we’re preparing to launch a new vision statement with five priorities for mission in the coming year. Those priorities rest on the basis of those three first principles: growing in number, especially of children, younger people and families, improving our worship and discipleship and engaging with social media so that we can be properly in touch with each other and the wider world in the age in which we live. Hopefully the effect will be the same today as it was centuries ago: that others will see how we live and want to join in with the best party in town.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus

John 14: 13-14  I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

1 Peter 2: 9 But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light.

Acts 7: 55-end. The death of Stephen.

Following Jesus sometimes feels like a risky business. You are going against the flow. Is this a Christian country or a secular one? Perhaps it depends how close to an election you are and whose votes you are trying to win! Though our nations laws are built on principles laid down in a Christian context, many Christians find that if we are to really live out the principles that we hold dear, if we really try to proclaim the good news of Jesus to others, then we are criticised as going against the culture in which we live. It is not fashionable to be a Christian, it is not cool at school or smart in the office to openly admit that we believe in Jesus and make choices affected by out discipleship.

Of course, the risks for us in England are of words spoken critically, of misunderstandings, sometimes of bullying. Our lives or safety are not threatened and yet still so many people give in to the pressure of society and deny Christ, failing to speak up for his way when away from church. St Stephen, in this Sunday’s first reading, stood up for his beliefs in a context in which he knew he would be considered apostate. He knew that to speak out his faith meant risking his very life, and yet he did not consider denying Christ. He chose to proclaim the mighty acts of God, to tell of where the light in his life came from, even though he knew he would pay for those words with his life.

In Sudan this week a woman has been condemned to death as apostate for saying she is a Christian. She isn’t technically apostate – that word means abandoning one religion for another, and the charge is that she has left Islam for Christianity. She was brought up in the Orthodox church by her Christian mother, but the court considers her to be a Muslim because her father, absent throughout her childhood, is a Muslim. She is eight months pregnant, and is being granted just two years with her child before the sentence of hanging is due to be carried out. Amnesty International are campaigning to have the woman freed, and I hope that all of you will find ways to support the campaign. This woman is standing up for her faith in the same way that Stephen (who technically was apostate, as a man born into Judaism) did.

When we are challenged by the culture that we live in, we don’t face the kind of opposition and danger that this woman, and so many others in other parts of the world, face daily. How dare we deny Christ and suggest that it is too difficult? How dare we allow mere embarrassment (which is all we generally face) to get in the way of living visibly as disciples of Christ? If we find it difficult – and no doubt it sometimes is – we have a promise from Jesus that he will hear and respond to our prayers. So we can ask him for the courage, the wisdom, the guts to live as men and women of faith wherever we are and whatever the cost might be.

A seismic shock

There are times in our lives when something happens that changes things for us profoundly. It might be our way of life, our understanding of things, our sense of community. The change might be personal: an illness, love at first sight, a death close to us, an unexpected job offer. it might be a wider things that affects whole communities or nations: the invasion of Crimea might be an example, or the assassination of a leader, the genocide in Rwanda or the discovery of an effective treatment for serious disease. Suddenly everything seems different. Often such change is described as being 'seismic'.

The word seismic comes from the Greek verb 'seio', which is used to describe shaking or tremor, including the shaking of the ground when an earthquake happens. Earthquakes have varying effects. Most are so small that we don't even notice them. When I was a student there was an earthquake near to where I lived. it was noticeable, and I watched the books on my library desk move about. One of my friends fell out of bed. A loose tile fell off a church roof. It was something to write home about, but only as a passing story. On the news, we hear about the really big earthquakes, in places like Japan, Chile, Haiti or the Philippines. In earthquakes of that magnitude the effects can be horrible and long-lasting. Homes, schools and business premises destroyed, lives lost and injuries sustained. When we use 'seismic' as a metaphor it is often that kind of impact that we are thinking of. Something that changed our lives as much as the earthquake in Haiti changed the lives of the people affected by it.

On Palm Sunday this year we consider St Matthew's account of Jesus' arrival in Jerusalem, riding on a donkey. As he arrived, crowds came out to greet him and shout words of praise, cutting palm branches and laying them on the road with their cloaks as a sign that they recognised his kingship over them - or at least that they recognised that he was important and different to them in a new way. Once Jesus had passed on his way and the crowd dispersed, they began to talk about what had happened. Soon the event was the main topic of conversation in Jerusalem. If it happened today, we might be talking about news of the event going viral on social media, or seeing #hosannaJesus trending on twitter. Matthew wrote that Jerusalem was shaken up by the events of the day. Some Bibles (eg NIV, NRSV) say stirred up, while others talk of Jerusalem being 'in turmoil'. Everyone was talking about it, and not just as a passing interest. In the original Greek, this is where Matthew uses that verb seio (the sentence, transliterated, reads 'heseistha pasa he polis' - all the city was shaken). Matthew also used the same word to refer to real earthquakes. He chose the word carefully to show that this was a day that affected people in a seismic way.

St John's version of this story tells us that the people in the crowd shouting hosanna were the same people who had been visiting Mary and Martha in Bethany only days before. They had been at the tomb of Lazarus when Jesus shouted 'Lazarus, come out!' and they saw a dead man raise to life. they had been told, undoubtedly, what Jesus had said to Martha: ' I am the resurrection and the life. He who believe in me will live, even though he dies, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.' No wonder they wanted to shout and praise Jesus! They had seen what he could do, had glimpsed the salvation that he was coming to bring. They realised that this was Jesus' moment, when he would do whatever it was he was going to do to bring that life to all people. they were excited, full of anticipation about what Jesus might so, and the feeling spread. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, and to find out about the man who was causing so much excitement. it was like a seismic change coming over the city.

All too often after a seismic change, society and individuals forget what has been learned and slip back into old habits and ways of living. most of Jerusalem quickly did that. they forgot Lazarus and Jesus' promise of life. They thought of their preference for a quiet life, without trouble, politics or disturbance, and they turned Jesus in rather than risk disruption or change. They would have liked the life Jesus offered, but not at the cost of the status quo. We, with hindsight, tend to condemn them for betraying our Lord to his death. We condemn them for shouting 'crucify' in order to stay on the side of the crowd and of the people who had power in the city. But how often do we do the same? How often are our praises on Sundays let down by our tendency to take the easy way and go with popular opinion the rest of the time? How often do we put the ease of the status quo above the criticism we might receive if we speak up for the Christian way of seeing things? How often do we speak up for Jesus, or even speak his name? At the Living Brook benefice away day, safe amongst a group of church members, even there only the clergy mentioned the name of Jesus, and in describing the life of the church, somehow Jesus was not there.

And yet it was Jesus, our gentle King, who offered us resurrection and life if we believe in him. It is Jesus we praise on Palm Sunday as we shout hosanna, asking him to save us and to intervene - seismically - in our lives.

Christians, don't walk away from church on Sunday and then behave as though everything is the same for you as it is for your secular neighbours. Jesus offers you life and hope. He offers to change your life, for the good, in a shattering way. Allow that seismic change to make a permanent 24/7 difference to you. be a different person. Then if others ask, as the Jerusalemites did, 'who is this?', don't deny Him, be embarrassed about your faith, or choose an English secular alternative in order to have an undisturbed life. No! Proclaim, as you should, that this is Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the World, who came to bring life. Tell the world 'I believe in Him!'

Living Water

Some people who read this blog might be wondering why it did not appear last week. I did n't have a week off, and I did preach a sermon, which continued the theme of vision - in that case 'Vision for Growth'. Last week I referred at some length to the Peterborough Diocesan Vision for Growth, and since the Bishop of Peterborough has not yet released his roadshow talks for publication online, I chose not to publish anything that would pre-empt him. So for more on Vision for Growth, keep an eye on the Peterborough Diocesan website: http://www.peterborough-diocese.org.uk/.

The readings for the third Sunday in Lent are of particular relevance to my benefice, since we call ourselves Living Brook.

The Old testament and Gospel readings show a marked contrast in attitude and understanding, however. Exodus 17 recounts the story of a grumpy set of Hebrews, travelling through the wilderness having been freed from slavery by God, but seeming to be somewhat ungrateful for their liberty. Although they had seen unimaginable miracles in the course of their rescue from Egypt, they didn't seem to wholeheartedly believe that God was with them and supporting them in the desert. The pillar of fire had, perhaps, led them into the wilderness in order to abandon them there. Thirsty, instead of actively looking for water, or even asking God nicely, they grumbled and demanded. They acted in the dependent way of a lazy child, expecting that if they moaned then the required drink would arrive without any effort on their part. Moses did not challenge this demanding behaviour, but, irritated and worn out by it, aimed his own complaints at God. We've all had moments when we've thrown up our hands and said 'what am I supposed to do?' - complaining instead of getting on with it, feeling aggrieved that anything might be expected of us instead of taking the situation sensibly to God in prayer. What am I supposed to do could become, Lord, please help and guide me so that I can act in your strength and wisdom and deal with this situation. All too often the tiredness or emotion or just spiritual laziness lead us to whinge in God's direction, as though attempting to pass on the blame to God. 'Oh, You deal with it!'

God did - of course God did. God loves His children and is not going to watch idly as a people He has gone to the trouble to rescue from Egypt then die of thirst. But God was displeased. He provided water. Miraculously the water that gave life bubbled from the driest of sources, a rock. But the Hebrews had tested God instead of trusting Him. Although God had shown them a vision of a land of milk and honey, a land that was their destiny, they showed that they didn't share the vision trust it to be true. If the vision was true, why imagine that God would let them die? If God is to be trusted, why imagine that He would let them die? Why should God prove Godself by producing water on demand in such circumstances?

God is not to be tested. Imagine for a moment, testing your parents. If you love me, give me this or that. Or testing your partner - if you really love me, do this or that. It is not the sign of a healthy relationship, but of self interest coming before love for the other. Why should a relationship with God be any less open to trust? If we are in a loving relationship with God, then we should be trusting and faithful; and responsive, getting on with things alongside God. that is not to say we never ask things of God. We all ask things of loved ones, but in a healthy relationship that is part of the give and take of things, and a request includes the words please and thank you. It comes as a reasonable part of a loving relationship, not a whining demand - in a healthy relationship anyway. And so it should be with God.