Letters From Alistair Begg

Dear Friend,

The school buses are running but empty of passengers. I assume they’re testing the routes for the start of the new school year. How did summer go so quickly? Was it something that we said?

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Dear Friend,

Are you a melody person or a lyric person? I’m always surprised when people tell me that they don’t know the words to a song because, they say, “I only listen to the music.”

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Dear Friend,

I just finished reading David Brooks’s latest book, The Second Mountain. In it, he records the impact that John Stott had upon him. Years ago, my friend Michael Cromartie (like Stott, now in heaven) told me that he had suggested to Brooks that he should read Stott. Clearly, he did, and then met him. You can read his reaction in the book.

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Dear Friend,

I have a vivid recollection of seeing scenes from the book The Pilgrim’s Progress portrayed on screen using glass hand-painted slides in a large, unwieldly projector. (Yes, I’m that old!) When John Bunyan wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress, he could never have imagined that it would have an impact that spanned centuries.

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Dear Friend,

We’ll soon be reaching a milestone in hosting our 20th annual Basics Conference for pastors and church leaders. It’s been a particular joy and privilege to have been joined by faithful friends in the Gospel who’ve taught at Basics. Sitting side by side with fellow teachers of God’s Word, we’ve shared the ups and downs of pastoral ministry and have encouraged one another to keep on keeping on.

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A faithful and fruitful prayer life doesn't always come easily. How should we talk to God? What should we pray for? How do we approach a holy God in our sinful state? Alistair Begg addresses these questions and more in this full-length interview on his new book, Pray Big: Learn to Pray Like an Apostle.

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Dear Friend,

In the 1980s, I had the privilege of meeting and becoming a friend of the late Alec Motyer. (You may find this link helpful in learning about him: www.ivpress.com/j-alec-motyer.) Alec was a biblical scholar and pastor known widely for his commentaries on the Old Testament. Born in Dublin, Ireland, he was ordained in the Church of England in 1947 and later was Principal at Trinity College, Bristol, UK. In 1986, we were speaking at the Portstewart Convention in Northern Ireland. During the week, we took walks together after lunch. I have the fondest memories of those conversations. When we parted at the end of the week, he said, “My dear boy, I will pray for you.”

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Dear Friend,

Although thirty-five years have passed since leaving my homeland, I’m still keenly interested in the politics of the UK today. You’ll not be surprised to learn that I’ve been following the discussions and debates about Brexit. (You may need to Google that!) On March 29, Great Britain is to formally withdraw from membership in the European Union. I will not disclose my personal views for fear that some of my Dutch or German friends may disown me. Suffice to say that this has been the hottest political potato faced by the British parliament in the last 50 years.

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Dear Friend,

If you aren’t familiar with the Scottish preacher Robert Murray M’Cheyne, his life story and his written works are well worth exploring. Born in Edinburgh in 1813, M’Cheyne was the youngest of five children and the son of a prosperous lawyer. He attended university, studying the arts, writing poetry, and, according to his father, living “a lively turn.” When M’Cheyne was only eighteen, his older brother David died—and in his passing, he played a part in Robert enrolling in Divinity Hall at the university. M’Cheyne went on to study theology with great zeal.

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Dear Friend,

“Do you miss Scotland?” is a question routinely posed to me, even though America has now been my home for the greater part of my life. My usual reply is “Yes,” and when pressed for an explanation, I mention that at certain times of the year I’m tempted to succumb to a wee dose of nostalgia. It usually lasts for all of 20 minutes! The transition period between Christmas and New Year’s is one of those times. New Year’s Eve (known as Hogmanay in Scotland) was the one day in the year when, as a boy, I was allowed to stay up late so that I could attend the ‘watchnight service’ with my father. It was always timed to end on the stroke of midnight as the church bells around the city heralded the beginning of the new year. Throughout the night, we visited friends and family in their homes and toasted the new beginning with shortbread and some kind of ginger cordial reserved for the occasion.

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