Do you ever read the names at the end of a movie? I usually only do so when the film has left me in a state of shock and I’m regaining my composure, like Woman in Black which I thought was safe because its rated a 12… I might watch the scrolling credits if there’s some neat music I want to listen to, or they have interspersed the credits with humorous out-takes that never made it into the film. Whoever reads the credits for the fun of it or to learn something significant? Doesn’t it ever amaze you that so many people’s names are listed? Are they real? And what’s a ‘Dolly Grip’ and ‘Best Boy’ anyway? Scrolling too fast to read any way there are hundreds of names of people who never made it in front of the cameras but who played an essential role and made the film possible. When you get to the end of one of Paul’s Epistles, it’s a bit like watching the credits at the end of a movie. Paul added them for a purpose. They are literally the credits for the movie of the Early Church. In Colossians 4:7-18 we meet an unusually long list of Christians who lived in Colossae. They may never have got to be in front of the cameras, an Apostle or perform miraculous signs, or write scripture or preach before kings and governors. So why do they get a mention? Because they played an essential role in the growth of the Church and Paul appreciated them. Paul holds them up as an inspiration to others. Listed here are ordinary Christians like you and me. They nevertheless played a vital role in the spread of the gospel.
When I moved to Bristol about 32 years ago to train at Trinity College it took me some while to figure out why our road was called “Black Boy Hill” and the road next door with all the shops was called “White ladies walk”. I late discovered the ignominious role ports like Bristol and Liverpool played in the slave trade. The many fine buildings in these cities were built with the profits, as was this very church. It is easy to become desensitised to the suffering that occurred in our distant history. The British government has been careful in the way it has expressed sorrow for the past, to avoid a flood of legal claims by the descendants of slaves demanding compensation. Even art does not escape politicisation. We can recognise paintings that epitomise our national heritage – scenes like these painted by John Turner. But what about this one? Recognise it? Painted in 1840, it hangs in Boston’s museum of fine art. Know what Turner is saying? Its title is “The Slave Ship” but Turner wasn’t satisfied. It has a subtitle, “Slavers throwing overboard the dead and dying, Typhoon coming on.” “It kicks you in the gut” says art historian Simon Schama. Turner has captured one of the most shameful episodes of the British Empire, when 132 men, women and children, their hands fettered, were thrown into shark-infested sea, so that traders could claim the insurance for their loss. When the transatlantic slave trade was abolished in the British Empire, two hundred years ago, estimates suggest there were around 11 million slaves in the world.
Andrew Murray was a pastor and teacher who lived in South Africa in the 19thCentury. He wrote the classic “Abide in Christ”. He set an example few of us have equalled since. Among those on whom his influence was the greatest were his children and grandchildren. Five of his six sons became ministers and four of his daughters became minister’s wives. Ten grandsons became ministers and thirteen grandchildren became missionaries. And that was just his close family.