Eight Men, Four Women and a Baby

December 1972. Walking in the rain, long hair hanging wet as I saunter along the Strand, heading towards Charing Cross Station dressed in a thick overcoat, covering an open neck shirt and without a tie, I had just presented myself for admission into the Lyceum Ballroom, close to the intersection of the Strand, Waterloo Bridge and Aldwych. Two smartly dressed doormen, one slim with a snooty look about him, the other burly and having every resemblance of a wrestler, stood at the entrance.  The slim one stretched his leg across the open narrow doorway whilst the other told me straight to go, take a hike.

...I sauntered along the Strand... Stock photo

Those two had actually done me a favour. A very big favour. Having been dumped by a girlfriend some eight months previously, any attempt to find another female for a relationship had since then drawn a blank. But as I sauntered along, feeling humiliated, ashamed and defeated, it didn't take much of a resistance to accompany two young strangers who stopped me in the street, each about my age, into a nearby pub after inviting them to dry off in a much warmer, cosier atmosphere characteristic of any tavern.

As they got me to read from a Bible one of them had produced, I suddenly realised that the refusal of those two doormen at the Lyceum to admit me was the work of God, to allow me to encounter these two much friendlier guys and to receive the Gospel. By believing that this whole West End scenario was a work of God resulted in an inner change which would have a massive impact on the rest of my life!

From that fateful night, what have I gotten myself into? This - my heart-belief that this Jesus of Nazareth was presented by the Jews to Pontus Pilate, endured a sham trial, was crucified, buried, and three days later, rose physically from the dead, and has ascended to His Father in Heaven, and eternal life is given freely to everyone who believes. And salvation being a free gift, it can never be taken away - ever. Why not? Because I have received a new birth, a regeneration into a new creation to be forever adopted as a son of God. Moreover, to be "in Christ" means exactly that: To have God the Father see me in exactly the same way as He sees His own Son, and to add to that, to have the whole Trinity - Father, Son and Holy Spirit making their home within me, according to John 14:23.

Through faith, God has put me into a new society, the church. Since 1974, after a time in the "wilderness", I attended three different churches, one after the other. The first was St Jude's in Brixton, South London. Sadly, this Anglican church had long gone out of existence and its traditional building with a spire was demolished. That, to me, is sad. Because, looking back, St Jude's Anglican was looked upon as a "nursery church" - a place where I began to grasp the fundamentals of the faith, to be fed with the milk of the Word. But even back then, the milk must have been very good. By then I found myself contending with a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses, attempting to prove to them that the phrase "Son of God" means that Jesus himself is God, one of the "persons" of the Trinity. Just like with physical exercise, to stress out my faith strengthens rather than breaks it. It was also at that phase in life when I testified at work that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.

Because each visit to St Jude's involves a train and tube journey, an agreement was eventually made for me to attend a church closer to home. I was recommended Bracknell Baptist Church, and so in the Spring of 1975, I paid my first visit there. I have found the Rev Ben Davies' authoritarian method of ministry quite different from the gentle ministry of the vicar of St Jude's. I personally refer to Bracknell Baptist Church (as it was called then) as the "university church". I remained there until 1989, and I drifted a little before joining Ascot Baptist in 1990, and I have always felt fully at home in this "adult church" right up to the present. Today, it's Ascot Life Church, taken from John 10:10.

Throughout these years I got to know many people of all ages. This included eight men who all passed their 50th birthday without ever marrying, let alone raising a family.

Neil, my former school classmate, was taller than me, slim and quite handsome. His phlegmatic temperament made him one of the easiest chaps to get on with, but such personality also had a downside. He had no sense of adventure, instead, he spent all his life within his comfort zone at his parent's home. Remaining unmarried, he died at the age of just sixty whilst caring for his elderly parents.

The other seven guys are all Christians. One of them, a graduate, has Asperger's and has the IQ of any Mensa member. Another had never attended a university. The rest are all singletons who hold a degree. Of all seven, three have admitted from time to time of their sadness and sense of loss from not having a wife and family. The remainder seems to be content with their non-marital status and take each day as it comes.

Present-day Ascot Life Church, member since 1990.

These eight chaps have all passed their 50th birthday without ever putting a ring on the bride's finger. But throughout my Christian life, I also got to know four unmarried women, all of them older than me. Two attended Ascot Baptist whilst the other two attended Bracknell Baptist. Two of them are already with the Lord whilst the remaining two are still with us. The two who died included Barbara, of Ascot, who has spent her whole life as an active missionary before being admitted into a care home with dementia. The other, Rosemary, died, I believe, of a broken heart sometime during the 1980s. Then there was the youngest of the four, who also attended Bracknell, is only a few months older than me.

But it's Rosemary who gets my attention here. Poor Rosemary! Every week, during the midweek prayer meeting, we sat in a large circle in the back room. Then, as expected, Rosemary would spill out her sorrows aloud in prayer, begging God to give her a man who would pour out his love for her. Often these weekly, regular prayers led her to tears, as she sobs her pleading to the Lord within earshot of the rest of us.

Rosemary was short in height, plump with a round face topped with curly brown hair, and wore glasses. As one guy who was engaged to be married to a pretty young fiancee, once said to me,

Ugh! Who would want to marry her? She's so ugly!

And that Sunday evening in the late 1970s. This same chap stood up at the front, and behind the pulpit, delivered his testimony and finished with the crowning glory of his engagement and forthcoming marriage. Immediately, Rosemary stood up and quickly left the building in distress, midway through the service.

Rosemary may have stormed out of the church building in tears and distress, but if only she knew! I actually attended this chap's wedding, but afterwards, his friendship with me cooled, and with him married and with me remaining single, he distanced himself. But it was some years later when talk began to spread. Apparently, one of his daughters became ill enough to develop a disability, and later, his wife met another man at a house party and eventually divorced her husband to pair off with him. Indeed, amidst such events, Rosemary is now far happier in Heaven.

As for myself, having faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour has made a massive difference to my life. For example, watching my own beloved wife slowly deteriorate in health, changing from a beautiful slim woman with long cascading hair into someone a little plumper with hair loss due to chemotherapy, really, having faith in God does make a difference. All those horrific pains she experiences, the calls for an ambulance, those long waits in Accident & Emergency, the abundance of medicine taken by both of us, then watching her cry over the loss of our daughters, yet secure in my love for her as well as feeling secure in her love for me, our devotion for each other, that sacrificial love which meets her needs before my own comforts - all this from having faith in God.

Thus, I'm happy to say that arguments and disagreements are just as rare as a desert oasis, as we both strive to keep our marriage sweet and robust. Her own faith in God is inspiring and is the source of encouragement whenever I feel down and faithless. As such, as a couple who believes in Divine Creation as recorded in Genesis to be historical and not mythical, we see each other as one created in God's image, after His likeness.

And so there is the church, a beautiful church whose members are each created in the image of God, and each one to be seen in exactly the Father sees His own Son, as each one of us is in Christ. Indeed, as God sees none of us with any form of preference, whether ethnic, racial, Jew or non-Jew, working class, middle or aristocratic class, of which nationality or even man or woman, for we are all one in Christ Jesus! Therefore, let him who holds a doctorate embrace one who is uneducated and pushes a broom for a living, let him who lives in a palace hold no issues against the homeless lying there in the street, and even offer accommodation, as both are made in the image of God.

Therefore I sigh - and sigh deeply - when a particular video poster appears on Facebook. Just to get one thing straight - there is nothing wrong with the poster. It was very professionally done, demonstrating a skill most of us don't have, and with certainty, I don't have! It consists of a video of a couple, only that it's divided into 24 squares, each containing an alternating moving image of his wife and himself. And the climax of the video? An announcement that they are going to have a baby.

Good for them! I congratulate on God's kindness to them.

According to the latest, the video has collected a massive 475 "likes", including love hearts, and 238 comments, just about all sending their congratulations and best wishes. Both are astronomical! And it's here that I may be risking taking on the role of a sour gooseberry. The video itself is good and is worth congratulating. But the video and all the feedback, 713 altogether could well upset another Rosemary somewhere out there, as the video is set to Public.

And here I take an issue by asking: If the chap was uneducated and actually spent time in prison, or to put it another way, holds a felony record, and she a former striptease dancer, would he get so much feedback? Especially from other Christians? Or if he's a road sweeper and she a superstore shelf-stacker, would they still receive 475 "likes" in just a few days from fellow church members?

Therefore I get that horrible gut feeling that there is a connection between the average English Christian and this couple, especially him, who is middle-class and holds an honourable bachelor degree in theology and Bible studies as well as another bachelor degree in business management. And he's now in a role of church leadership. Therefore are they worthy of far greater honour than the less educated?

The issue lies not so much with the poster but more so with their followers who, despite the recognition that we are all one in Christ, instead, as typical Englishness goes, most Christians can't help but cling on to our national culture where class favouritism is ingrained in the genome.

Poor Rosemary. Even if she was alive now, she would still be unable to find a man at the Lyceum, and her weeping due to endless loneliness will continue.

That is because the former ballroom is now a theatre.

Feeling Fearful

What is it like to have someone you love and cherish, and to commit the whole of your life, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, for sickness and in health - to fall ill to the point of inability to sit up, let alone stand up and walk, and to have a continuous searing pain along her spine?

 

How does it feel to have this cherished one loving you, accepting you as you are, being a thorough helpmate, and hold no reserve in exchanging affection, devotion and love - only to find out that as she lies crying and in fear in a bed at one of the nation's top hospitals, we are told by a couple of its doctors that all tests applied proved negative and any attempted treatment, some very costly to the NHS, have not brought on the expected recovery? She is then transferred back to a more local hospital, having no idea of her future outcome. This, I think, is what fear really is. It's of the unknown, the uncertain welfare of my beloved, of our future together as husband and wife and what this could involve.

 

Last night in bed, after her transfer back to Reading from Oxford, I was gripped by cold, naked fear. Alongside this, all the good times we had as a couple, both at home and on our travels, stirred my memory. The house is quiet, even when I'm at home, and when I turn on the telly or listen to music on the hi-fi, these are not real people, just images and past recordings. I don't have the proper feeling of company. Despite the sight of people and the sound of voices, by the end of the day I'm still at home alone.

 

Yet I should be used to this. I lived alone at a bachelor apartment for 23 years. Those were the days of freedom, to come in and go out whenever I wish, to buy what I desire as well as what I need, the ability to work long hours, to save up and travel the world. Also to take a day off if I wanted to (the benefit of self-employment) and if I couldn't be bothered to wash the dishes after a meal but to leave them dirty overnight, there was no one to reprimand me. Bachelor life was good in many ways.

But fourteen years of happy marriage had changed all that. Because as a bachelor, there were times I felt lonely and unloved, along with a good dollop of boredom. Love and marriage had filled in those gaps left unfulfilled as a single. Of course, as in everything else in this fallen world, nothing is perfect, and we had our share of disagreements and woes. But overall, it has always been a strong, robust marriage, each supporting the other during down times as well as celebrating noted moments together. In all of these, I made it my aim to love my wife in the same way Jesus Christ loves his church - sacrificially, with the ability to pass over any shortcomings she has. For an example, as a bachelor I loved independent travel, world backpacking and hosteling. At the same time I shunned package holidays with their luxury hotel accommodation. I also believed back then, that escorted tours were either for the elderly, or for wimps who did not have the bottle to look after themselves in a foreign country. But after marrying Alex, we went on five package holidays, including the Canary Island of Lanzarote, where I booked two escorted coach tours to explore the island.

Backpacking days: Singapore, taken May 1997.

Alex is everything to me. Her love for me and her devotion to our marriage had made a massive impact on my life. Even to the extent that independent travel is now by comparison seen as undesirable. As I sit here alone at home, with the recording of the pop band OMD playing through the high-fidelity speakers, I type this blog with a desire for a good cry. The emptiness, along with the fear of uncertainty, can be almost unbearable.

I call out to God to help us, and for Jesus Christ to save us, but even God seems far away, as if on some sabbatical holiday. When I call out, it is into empty air, with not even an echo to answer back. My feelings, my fears and anticipations are not soothed but continue on, unabated.

It is the time like this that it's so difficult to grasp the reality of Psalm 139, for example. In the opening verses, it reads:
O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.

Although I know that such words are true, it is times like this, I tend to wonder whether such atheists such as Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchins and Sam Harris may have had a point after all - that all I'm doing whilst praying, is talking into thin air, with the complexity of the vast Universe too large and myself too small and insignificant to be heard, let alone listened to and taking heed. There are times I feel life is like that, a grasshopper walking on a comparatively huge planet orbiting the Sun, which within - compared to the size of the galaxy - even the whole Solar System looks microscopic as it whirls on its orbit around the nucleus of the galaxy. I tend to feel: Is God elsewhere, carefully adjusting and fine-tuning the mechanisms of another more distant galaxy, and too busy to hear a plea from an insignificant guy from across the other side of the Universe?

Times come and times go, and there are moments when I can lift my hands into the air during church praise and worship, feeling the strong presence of the Lord. Then there are times like these, where my pleading does nothing but disturbs the silent, still air in my bedroom, and remains unheeded. Yet believing that God is Infinite, whose wisdom cannot be fathomed by mere mortals such as us, and yes, he could well be fine-tuning the complex fabric of a long distant galaxy, yet at the same time hold together and sustain the life cells of a bug crawling on the carpet, and also looks into our hearts, knowing more about within ourselves then we ourselves do.

These are the times to reflect on the omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence of God Almighty, whose love for us was demonstrated by the crucifixion, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ to atone for all our transgressions and shortcomings. No matter what the atheists say, it was right here on earth where Jesus atoned for our sins, not on a remote planet at some distant galaxy. God also sustains the very breath of life in our nostrils. As we go about our daily lives, we take for granted that within our chests, each lud-dum, lud-dum, lud-dum, of our beating hearts sends red and white blood cells coursing through our arteries and veins, bringing life to every tissue of our bodies, surely the very proof of the living God.

As we are living in an age of Science, knowledge, including the marvellous mechanism of the genome and microbiology in general, our sinful nature denies God as the Maker and Sustainer of such wonders, and resort to Evolution, with Charles Darwin being the new messiah of the likes of Dawkins and Harris. But it takes distressing times like this that such ideas, false as they might be, offering absolutely no hope, no shred of comfort, no stirring of any other emotion. Rather, Evolution would coldly insist that Alex and her ilk be eliminated from Natural Selection and allowed to die. It is unfortunate that the majority of the medical profession are unbelievers in Christ and of the Atonement, and instead see the wonderful, vastly complex fabric of the genome as having evolved, instead of manifesting the very glory of its Creator. For I believe that God has given mankind an exceptionally intelligent brain which allows study of microbiology and allied sciences to reveal God's glory in creation and to be converted and saved. Yet as they instead remain as unbelievers, we put in our full trust in their knowledge that they can treat such as my wife of a certain illness, and come out mystified, without a diagnosis. And I, for one, fall into despair.

Once again, as I have expressed so enthusiastically in previous blogs, there is that one key verse which Paul wrote in his letter to the church in Rome:
For we know that all things work for the good of those who love God, and are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28.

And no medical doctor can deny that.