"That's on Me"

Is it just me, or is the phrase "that's on me" becoming more common?

A football manager is interviewed after a defeat and admits that he got his tactics wrong. "Thats on me", he says. In her recently released memoir, Nicola Sturgeon discusses her failure to narrow the attainment gap between rich and poor pupils as she committed to do in 2015. "I did not succeed in all that I set out to do on school education — and that is on me"

It's a way of saying: "I'll take the blame". "You don't need to look for anyone else to criticise — the fault is mine, and mine alone". It’s surely to be applauded as a humble acknowledgement of fault. In a world where people seek to blame almost anyone or anything else for their own failures, it can be refreshing to hear a politician come out and say "it's my fault — that's on me". If you've listened to hundreds of interviews with football managers and heard them blame injuries, referees, weather conditions, fixture pile-ups — even the colour of the kit the players were wearing — it's refreshing to hear one hold his hands up and admit that he got something wrong. When, rather than throwing his players under the bus, he will take the hit and say "that's on me".

Of course, the cynic might argue that it's simply a self-serving way of someone getting ahead of the criticism that they know is coming anyway. Particularly if the manager obviously got his tactics wrong, or the politician ignored advice. Overall though, it's surely a positive trend. There's such a failure to accept fault in our society, that it's just a nice change when someone holds their hands up and says "that's on me".

The phrase also strikes me as a way to explain the Christian gospel to those who are unfamiliar with it. The Bible contains no shortage of people who are keen to shift the blame. In the aftermath of the very first sin — eating the forbidden fruit — Adam blames Eve (and by implication God), and Eve blames Satan. Moses's brother Aaron explains his sin in making a golden calf for the people to worship by saying "I threw [gold] into the fire and out came this calf". Saul, Israel's first king, tries to justify offering an unlawful sacrifice by blaming the prophet Samuel for being late. These key figures in biblical history had the opportunity to hold up their hands and say "that's on me". But they didn't — because it is in our nature to try to shift the blame.

However the Bible also tells us of someone who never had any need to hold his hands up and acknowledge his guilt — because he had none. Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, became man (without ceasing to be God). But whereas everyone who had ever lived up until that point — even the best of men — had given in to temptation many times, he never did. He "knew no sin" (2 Corinthians 5:21). He was "in every way tempted as we are, yet without sin" (Hebrews 4:15).

How did the world react to someone so pure? We put him to death. His brilliant purity showed up our impurity. And yet Jesus' death on the cross wasn't a tragic accident, it was the very reason he came. He came both to live and to die in our place. At the cross he took our sins on himself and effectively said to his Father "that's on me". "Don't hold their sin against them — punish me instead". On the cross he became liable for the guilt of all who would ever put their trust in him.

Many seek to deny their guilt. And it's certainly true that we often suffer at the hands of others. We are sinned against — but according to the Scriptures, we are also sinners: "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). Yet there is hope. The Book of Proverbs warns: "Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy." Some seek to atone for their guilt themselves — through acts of charity, church involvement, etc. But if we could atone for our own sin, Jesus wouldn't have needed to come. Rather, the good news of the gospel is that on the cross Jesus took on himself all our guilt and shame. On the cross, he said of even our worst actions: "That's on me". And he promises that whoever comes to him he will never cast out.

Published in the Stranraer & Wigtownshire Free Press, 11th September 2025

'This is not a fulfilling life': Why success can’t satisfy

American golfer Scottie Scheffler made headlines at the Open Championship in Portrush last month - and not just for winning it. On the eve of the tournament, he gave an interview that made people around the world sit up and take notice. In a day when sports stars undergo media training and their answers to questions are routine and formulaic, Scheffler tore up the script by asking what the point of it all was.

Many would envy Scheffler - 14th on Forbes' list of the 2025 'World's Highest Paid Athletes', jetting around the world to play sport. Yet when interviewed, Scheffler said bluntly: 'This is not a fulfilling life'. He went on to elaborate: 'It’s fulfilling from the sense of accomplishment but it’s not fulfilling from a sense of the deepest places of your heart. There are a lot of people that make it to what they thought was going to fulfil them in life, and you get there, you get to number one in the world, and they’re like “what’s the point?”

Scheffler knows all about the relentless nature of chasing success only to be left feeling empty when you achieve it: 'It feels like you work your whole life to celebrate winning a tournament for like a few minutes. It only lasts a few minutes, that kind of euphoric feeling.'

His words may have been deeply personal, but the newly-minted Open champion has put his finger on something countless human beings experience every day. We all have aspirations. We all have dreams. Some people make incredible sacrifices in order to make their dreams a reality, whether those dreams involve athletic accomplishment, career progression, or family goals. Yet often the most crushing experience isn’t to miss out on those dreams; it is to finally make them a reality and discover that they cannot satisfy us in the way that we were so sure that they would.

On winning the tournament, Scheffler elaborated on his earlier comments: 'I love being able to play this game for a living — it’s one of the greatest joys of my life. But does it fill the deepest wants and desires of my heart? Absolutely not.' In fact, he sounded a warning to those watching: 'This is not the place to look for your satisfaction'.

Scheffler, however, as found a greater purpose. 'I would say my greatest priorities are my faith and my family', he said. 'Those come first for me. Golf is third in that order'.

In fact, his faith in Jesus is what frees Scheffler to enjoy golf but keep it in proper perspective. Last year, after his second Masters win, Scheffler gave another revealing interview. He said that on the final morning of his tournament, his friends reminded him that 'my victory was secure on the cross. And that’s a pretty special feeling. To know that I'm secure for forever and it doesn't matter. You know whether or not I win this tournament or if I lose this tournament, my identity is secure for forever.'

In other words, what defines Scheffler isn't sporting success, but what Jesus did for him on the cross. So he doesn't have to win championships to prove his worth. ‘Do I want to win every single golf tournament? Of course. But at the end of the day, that’s not what’s gonna satisfy my soul.'

After his 2022 Masters win, Scheffler put it succinctly: 'The reason why I play golf is I’m trying to glorify God and all that he’s done in my life. So for me, my identity isn’t a golf score'.

If we look for created things - including other people - to give us our identity, we'll be disappointed. That's true even of good things. Many would say their family were their number 1 priority. But no human being can bear the weight of all our hopes and dreams. Either it will crush them, or they will disappoint us. Scheffler instead encourages us to look to the Creator. Only when we obey the first of the Ten Commandments - and put God at number 1 - will we be able to keep everything else in proper perspective.

Still in his 20s, Scheffler has made it to the top. He sees it as a platform God has given him to warn the watching world that success can't satisfy. Don't wait until you achieve your deepest earthly longing to realise it can only disappoint. You were made for more.

Published in the Stranraer & Wigtownshire Free Press, 7th August 2025

The Skiffies and the Storm

The SkiffieWorlds are one of Stranraer’s success stories. An article in the Scotsman on Saturday described the coastal rowing championships as ‘the celebration of community in a town that refused to become a backwater’. It reflects ‘the ambition of a community refusing to accept decline as inevitable’ – and indeed is ‘one of Scotland’s most remarkable community regeneration stories’. Last time round, between 20,000 and 30,000 visitors descended on the town – bringing in an estimated £3.5 to £4 million for the local economy. This time is the biggest ever with a record-breaking 79 teams taking part.

You don’t have to look too far in the Bible to find stories about boats: from Jonah being thrown overboard, to Jesus and his (mostly) fishermen disciples on the Sea of Galilee, to the three shipwrecks of the Apostle Paul. In fact, at eight miles across, the Sea of Galilee, that Jesus and the disciples frequently crossed, is the same width as Loch Ryan is long.

One story involving Jesus, the disciples and the water, took place when Jesus told them to cross those eight miles of the Sea of Galilee to the other side. Partway across however, a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, which began to fill with water.

We can tell how bad a storm it was from how the disciples react. Many of them were experienced fishermen. They knew this stretch of water like the back of their hands. They had seen in all. But when this storms hits, they’re absolutely terrified.

And yet despite all this, Jesus was in the stern of the boat, asleep on a cushion – the only time in the gospels we read about him sleeping. But the disciples wake him and say ‘Teacher, don’t you care that we’re perishing?’ And then we read the remarkable words: ‘And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm’.

It’s not that the storm merely started to subside when he spoke. In a split second it became as still as glass. And how do the disciples react? Well they were ‘afraid’ before. But now they were ‘filled with great fear’.

Why? Let’s put ourselves in their shoes. These were men who had been brought up living and breathing the Old Testament. It was in their veins. And they knew that what Jesus had just done is something taken right out of Psalm 107. Calming a storm like this was something the Bible described only God as doing.

Psalm 107 talks about men who’re at their wits’ end. They cry to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivers them from their distress. He makes the storm be still and the waves of the sea be silent. And that’s exactly what Jesus does here. Someone has said: ‘The elements knew the voice of their Master, and, like obedient servants, were quiet at once.’

At this point the disciples realise that an event which they’ve been singing about all their lives has just happened in front of their very eyes. Which can only mean that this man they’ve been travelling around with, eating with and talking to – is God himself. And so no wonder that ‘they were filled with great fear and said to one another “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”’

During the storm, the disciples were fearful in the sense of timid or cowardly. But a different word for fear is used to describe their response to Jesus calming it. It refers to an appropriate fear. Because if you think about it, sometimes fear is healthy. If you’re working with electricity there’s a healthy kind of fear which won’t leave you a shivering wreck, but it will mean there are certain things you won’t do. You realise the power that electricity has – and so you act accordingly. And in the same way if we truly realised the power that God has, we would act accordingly. But amazingly that doesn’t mean running from him – but to him. So often we fear the wrong things, like what other people will think of us. But don’t let the opinion of others keep you away.

The best illustration of all this comes from ‘The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe’. Four children arrive in a land of talking animals and find out that they’re going to be meeting Aslan, the great lion. When they find out he’s a lion they ask: ‘Is he quite safe?’ To which the response they get is: ‘Safe? Who said anything about safe? Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the king, I tell you’.

Published in the Stranraer & Wigtownshire Free Press, 10th July 2025

Lost in the Snow

On December 28th 1908 Postman Robert Cunningham set off from Ballantrae in blizzard conditions to deliver the mail to the surrounding hamlets and farmhouses. On his way home, he took a detour over the moor as snow had blocked the usual road. He never made it back, and his body was found two days later, lying on his empty mail sack and covered by the snow. He was 27. The following year, a cross was erected in his memory.

 It reminds me of the story of another young man lost in the snow. The parents of a boy in the Highlands died when he was very young and, as he had no one to care for him, he went to live with his grandfather, who was a shepherd. His grandfather told him many of the stories in the Bible, especially stories about shepherds. He told him about how Moses and David had been shepherds, and how Jesus is described in the Bible as ‘the Good Shepherd’ who laid down his life for the sheep.

 The boy had never learned to read, so his grandfather taught him a simple way to remember the first five words of Psalm 23 – ‘The Lord is my shepherd’. He took the boy's left hand, and as he said each word he would point to a finger. Soon the boy could say the words himself, holding each finger as he did so. The grandfather noticed that the boy seemed to take special pleasure in the fourth word, ‘my’, and held his fourth finger tightly.

 As the boy grew older, he was able to take the sheep out by himself to find pasture. Late one afternoon, however, the old man became worried. The weather was bitterly cold and it had been snowing for some time.

 The snowstorm turned into a blizzard and the old man put on his coat and hat and raced out of the house in search of the boy. However, the fierce winds and blinding snow made it impossible. He would soon lose all sense of direction, and his old and weary body was unable to go further.

 With a heavy heart he returned to his little cottage and slumped down on the chair in front of the fire.  Nothing could be done until the blizzard stopped. He prayed that God would watch over the boy. He thought of the things he had tried to teach him, and hoped that he would not forget them. A long and restless night lay ahead.

 By morning, the snow had stopped, so the old man wasted no time. He went to where he thought the lad might be sheltering. Suddenly, in the distance, he saw a mound in the snow. His heart sank as he raced towards it. Desperately he pushed the snow away and there he saw the little shepherd lad frozen to death. The old man wept sadly as he looked at the little body.

 As he continued to brush the snow away, he noticed that the boy’s hands were clasped in a strange way. His right hand was firmly gripping the fourth finger of the left hand. The old man remembered how he had taught him to say: ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’ by holding a finger for each word. There was no doubt that the finger the lad was holding stood for the word ‘my’.

 The old grandfather lifted up his eyes and thanked God that the little shepherd boy had known that the ‘Good Shepherd’ was his Shepherd.

 Psalm 23 is still a much-loved psalm today, and often sung at funerals. But the story of the shepherd boy makes me wonder – how many people can truly say that the Lord is ‘my’ Shepherd?

 Sadly I suspect that at many funerals, those words are not true of the deceased or many of those present – perhaps not even of the minister.

 But ultimately, in the face of death, having the Lord as our shepherd is the only thing that matters. The Bible teaches, in another famous chapter, that ‘All we like sheep have gone astray’. It goes on to say that ‘we have turned – every one – to our own way’. And yet the tremendous good news, prophesied 700 years before the cross, is that ‘the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all’ (Isaiah 53:6).

And so if Jesus is our Shepherd, he will guide us safely home, to heaven itself. The shepherd boy didn’t have much – but he had the one thing that really mattered. 

Published in the Stranraer & Wigtownshire Free Press, 12th June 2025

Why are Atheists Deconstructing?

Glasgow-born historian Niall Ferguson is perhaps the most influential historian – and certainly one of the most influential public intellectuals – in the world. In 2004, Time magazine named him as one of the 100 most influential people in the world. Ferguson recently spoke publicly for the first time about his rejection of atheism in favour of Christianity. He now describes himself as a ‘lapsed atheist’. Fellow-historian Sarah Irving-Stonebraker similarly appropriates language usually reserved for those leaving the faith to describe how she ‘deconstructed’ her atheism. An Australian from a completely secular background, she came to the UK to get a PhD at Cambridge, before moving on to post-doctoral work at Oxford – where her atheism was shattered.  

What led to them losing faith in the atheism of their childhood? For Ferguson it was firstly historical – for Irving-Stonebreaker, primarily ethical. Ferguson says that he came to realise that ‘no society had been successfully organised on the basis of atheism. All attempts to do that have been catastrophic’. The next step on his journey was the realisation that ‘no individual can be fully formed or ethically secure without religious faith’.

Irving-Stonebreaker’s faith in atheism was shattered when she attended some guest lectures at Oxford by fellow Australian – and fellow atheist – Peter Singer. She describes feeling like the carpet had been pulled from under her feet when Singer made it clear that atheism provides no basis for believing in the inherent or equal value of human life. As she went back and read his philosophical work, her atheism continued to unravel. She came to see that her deepest moral intuitions, the things she thought were most important about human life (its dignity and value), couldn’t be sustained by atheism. It didn’t make her a Christian – but it raised questions. Still reluctant to pick up a Bible, she found herself working in the theology section of the library one winter in Oxford, and began to read a book of sermons. A sermon on Psalm 139, gave her a completely different perspective on human existence, with its teaching that we are each formed by God himself. She found it utterly compelling. Upon taking up a job in the United States, a fellow faculty member gave her a copy of ‘Mere Christianity’ by C. S. Lewis, who himself had made the journey from atheism to Christianity. It spoke to her like nothing ever had, and led her to go to church for the first time. She realised she had been living a life of self-fulfillment – and yet it had left her ‘empty’. She describes herself as walking into church that day with not only an intellectual, but a spiritual yearning. As she observed those present taking the Lord’s Supper, she realised that she had been running from God her whole life. She came to see the Bible’s story of sin as profoundly true – as well as what God had done through the cross to draw people back to himself. A few months later she gave her life to Christ.

Niall Ferguson’s wife, Ayaan Hirsi Ali, has a similarly dramatic story. In the early 2000s, she was one of the most prominent ‘New Atheists’, alongside Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennett and Christopher Hitchens. Brought up as a Muslim, she became a prominent critic of Islam, opposing forced marriage, honour killing, child marriage and female genital mutilation. In a recent interview, she said ‘the god I grew up with was a horror show’.  But she came to see that not all religions are the same. Her therapist once asked her what she thought that God should be like if he existed; the answer she came up with was a description of Jesus Christ. Ali says that she once hated God – but the ‘god’ she hated was not like Jesus.

Such stories are increasingly common. What is behind this ‘vibe shift’?

Barney Zwartz explains: ‘Christianity in the West has been in decline for long enough for people to see what the post-Christian world looks like, and it’s not pretty. Today’s rising secular orthodoxy can be just as judgmental and censorious as the worst of the 1950s churches, but without the compassion, the community, the forgiveness, the self-deprecation, or the humour’.

Neither can it give us what we truly crave: ‘Many who had been tempted to believe Dawkins’ claim that “the universe has no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but pitiless indifference”, find that it conflicts with their human yearning for lives that have meaning and purpose’. Instead, they are finding that desire met by the one who said: ‘I came that they may have life and have it abundantly’ (John 10:10).

Published in the Stranraer & Wigtownshire Free Press, 3rd April 2025