Author: batemanm

Based on a sermon in May 2025 by Marcus Bateman at Rushbrooke Suffolk.

Do We Rank Our Love? A Christian Reflection

A recent public statement suggested a “Christian concept” of love that goes something like this: “You love your family, then your neighbour, then your community, then your fellow citizens, and then—after that—you can focus on the rest of the world.”

At first glance, this seems practical. It reflects a natural tendency to feel closest to those around us. But this idea was met with an important theological critique:
Jesus doesn’t ask us to rank our love for others. And that raises an essential question for every Christian: Is love something we rank? Can God’s love be tiered, scaled, or localized?

A Partial Truth – and a Larger Falsehood
Let’s be honest: there’s a practical truth in the idea. Most of us feel more emotionally connected to our families than to strangers on the other side of the world. That’s human nature.

But the danger lies in mistaking emotional proximity for divine priority.

God’s love isn’t confined by geography or nationality. Christ did not die for some—He died for all.

Remember the Parable of the Lost Sheep (Luke 15)? Jesus says:
“There will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who do not need to repent.”
That lost sheep could be anyone—anywhere. Heaven doesn’t use political maps. The angels rejoice when any heart turns to God.

Responsibilities vs. Ranking
The Bible does teach responsibility—especially toward those close to us.

1 Timothy 5:8 says:
“If anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith…”
That’s clear. We are called to care deeply and practically for our families.

But Hebrews 13:2 adds this:
“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Here’s the key distinction: Responsibility is not the same as love.

Jesus’ love wasn’t limited to His inner circle. He healed Romans, spoke with Samaritans, welcomed tax collectors, and forgave thieves.
His command to us is the same: Love without limits.

The Dangers of Ranking Love
Why is ranking love spiritually dangerous? Here are five reasons:

1. God loves everyone. Christ died for all. We are called to reflect that same impartial and generous love.

2. Ranking is inherently selfish. Loving only those who benefit us isn’t generosity—it’s transaction.

3. Ranking reinforces injustice. When we value some more than others, we justify inequality.

4. Ranking isolates us. It tempts us to build little bubbles, instead of living in global solidarity.

5. Ranking leads to judgment. It teaches us to measure worth, when Jesus called us to grace.

Two Final Reflections
a. We will fall short.
The call to love like God is enormous. We won’t do it perfectly. But this love isn’t a condition for salvation—it’s a fruit of it. We ask daily: “Lord, make my heart more like yours.”

b. Love is not blind.
We have limited resources—time, energy, money. We must be wise. That’s called stewardship. But let every decision be made with a heart of love, not a hierarchy of preference.

Conclusion: Love Without Measure
We are not called to rank love.
We are called to reflect it—
To show it to our families, our neighbours, strangers, enemies, and the world.

Because God did not rank us.
Christ did not die only for some.
And heaven rejoices when anyone comes home.

So let us love broadly, deeply, and without measure—
just as we have been loved.

Amen.

Adapted from a sermon/reflection by Marcus Bateman at Rushbrooke Suffolk on 15th April 2025.

Have you ever really needed to complain?

I’m not talking about the classic British grumble over the weather—”too hot,” “too cold,” “a bit damp”—but the kind of complaint that bubbles up when something truly matters. The type that comes from deep frustration or sorrow, and a longing for justice, healing, or just plain answers.

Let me confess something: I don’t usually complain. I’m British. I once sent food back in a restaurant… once. (It was in Paris, and the steak was practically mooing!) But I’ve had my share of real grievances—Wizz Air, British Airways, utility companies, tech firms. Not petty issues, but real concerns about fairness, responsibility, and broken promises.

It made me think: what place does complaint have in faith?

The Bible is Full of Complaints

Surprisingly, complaining shows up a lot in Scripture.

Take the Israelites in the wilderness:

“If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat… but you have brought us into this desert to starve us to death!” — Exodus 16:2–3

There’s a big difference between petty grumbling and heartfelt complaint. And Scripture doesn’t shy away from either—but it especially gives space for the latter.

Job: Honest Without Sinning

Job lost everything. His children, his wealth, his health. And he didn’t hold back—he poured out his confusion and pain to God. Yet he didn’t sin in doing so. Job shows us that voicing sorrow or frustration to God isn’t rebellion—it can be an act of trust.

Lamentations 3: A Community Cry

Our reading for Easter Tuesday, Lamentations 3:37–54, is part of a powerful poem that holds space for grief and confession. It blends personal pain with community lament. These words don’t sugarcoat:

“You have covered yourself with anger…
You have made us scum and refuse…
You have covered yourself with a cloud so that no prayer can get through.”

Three times: “You have…”
It’s bold. Painfully honest. Even accusatory. But deeply faithful.

Then comes the turn:

“My eyes will flow unceasingly… until the Lord looks down from heaven and sees.”

This isn’t a private prayer whispered alone. It’s a communal cry: “God, we’re struggling—and we need You.”

Why Complaint Matters in Faith

We often emphasize individual faith in modern Christianity. But have we lost something? The shared responsibility of lament. The spiritual discipline of communal confession.

Lamentations became part of liturgy long after its crisis passed. Why? Because we need practices that allow us to bring our pain to God—together.

So… Is It Okay to Complain?

Yes. But not all complaint is the same.

The Good Kind of Complaint:

• Heals the heart: Naming pain helps process it.
• Promotes change: Honest complaints can spark action.
• Brings us closer to God: When we direct our lament to Him, we invite relationship.

The Risky Kind of Complaint:

• Spreads bitterness: Constant grumbling can poison joy.
• Damages community: It can wear others down and isolate us.

Even the New Testament weighs in:

“Do everything without complaining or arguing.” — Philippians 2:14

But that’s not a command to hide real pain. It’s a call to guard our attitude, not silence our hearts.

Five Things to Remember About Complaining to God

1. It’s allowed. God isn’t scared of your honesty.
2. Have a purpose. Are you seeking justice? Healing? Understanding?
3. Be the change. Sometimes, you’re the answer to your own prayer.
4. God listens. Even when silence seems to last too long.
5. Bring your whole heart. No filters. No masks.

Final Thought: Holy Complaint Isn’t Rebellion—it’s Relationship

Jesus Himself cried out in Gethsemane:

“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me…”

He didn’t bottle up His anguish. He brought it to His Father.

Let’s reclaim the sacred space of lament. Let’s be people who complain—not with bitterness, but with boldness and faith. People who dare to cry out because we believe God listens.

Amen.

Adapted from a sermon by Marcus Bateman and preached at 27th April 2025 at Beyton Suffolk.

When we think of the disciple Thomas, many of us immediately think: Doubting Thomas. It’s become shorthand for skepticism—someone who refuses to believe without seeing the proof.

But Thomas deserves a second look. In fact, his story might be more relatable than we think.

Faith Isn’t Always Certain

During Holy Week, many of us reflected on lament—the idea that it’s okay to bring our raw, honest emotions to God. That honesty continues in Thomas’s encounter with the risen Jesus. When the other disciples tell him they’ve seen the Lord, Thomas doesn’t just nod and smile. He says what many of us would probably be thinking: I’ll believe it when I see it.

And who could blame him?

It’s easy to forget that none of the disciples initially believed the resurrection reports. They believed when they saw. Thomas just wanted what they had: a real, personal encounter with Jesus.

Doubt Can Be a Gift

We tend to think of doubt as the opposite of faith—but what if it’s actually part of the journey?

In daily life, doubt can protect us. It’s the reason we don’t fall for phishing scams or accept every headline at face value. Doubt makes us ask questions, seek truth, and think deeply. It’s not weakness—it’s discernment.

Even in our spiritual lives, doubt can be the doorway to deeper understanding. Like when you second-guess a decision and, in the process, clarify your reasons and values. In that way, doubt doesn’t have to paralyze us. It can actually propel us forward.

Jesus Meets Us Where We Are

What’s most striking about Jesus’s response to Thomas is what He doesn’t do. He doesn’t shame him. He doesn’t say, “How dare you doubt me?” Instead, Jesus says gently, “Put your finger here. Look at my hands.” It’s an invitation, not a condemnation.

Faith isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about staying close enough to keep seeking. Thomas stuck around—and because he did, he saw the risen Christ for himself.

That same grace is extended to us.

Life Isn’t Perfect—And That’s Where God Shows Up

We live in an age where imperfection is under a microscope. Whether in politics, relationships, or personal goals, we’re constantly reminded of where we fall short. But faith reminds us that God doesn’t wait for the perfect version of us to show up. He meets us in the mess, the confusion, even the doubt.

As C.S. Lewis said, “Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.” Doubt doesn’t mean we’re doing it wrong. It means we’re human.

Final Thought: Stay Close

In the end, Thomas doubted—but he didn’t walk away. He stayed near enough to be found. That’s the invitation to all of us: bring your questions, bring your uncertainties—but stay close.

Because often, in the very act of doubting, we come face to face with the truth.

And that changes everything.