Masks, Pubs, Church, and Singing.

I have just received a Facebook message from someone who feels disappointed about a monthly church social meeting returning online after meeting physically for the past couple of months. Whether this was the preferred decision made by the host or whether the host was met with requests by his members to return online, unless I'm otherwise told, I can only speculate. But I would not be surprised if the host's final decision to return online was to meet their wishes.

The Apple Computer draws a social group.

And so, a new norm has arisen from the pandemic that had dominated the globe for the last couple of years - the culture of fear, that sense of over-caution over a virus that requires laboratory testing to see whether one has it or not. As such, this probably would explain the feeling of unease I experienced when, on the previous day, someone started to cough raucously whilst I was trying to relax in the sauna. Unlike the Bubonic Plague of 14th Century Europe, where symptoms such as rings of boils would appear across the patient's face shortly before snuffing out his life - and hence the origins of the children's rhyme, Ring a Ring of Roses - Covid managed to kill around 0.1% of the population with practically no visible blemishes. This contrasts with the Black Death affecting 25% of the known population, or one in every four persons having died from it.

And so, back in the Middle Ages, patrolmen wheeling their carts would call out in the city streets to "Throw out your dead!" as one diseased body after another would pile up as they were then taken to the mass-burial site. At such sites, piles of corpses shared a common grave as each individual was buried without a name, no gravestone, and no memories. I guess I feel hardly any surprise when I read stories of supposed spookiness arising when tunnelling took place beneath the streets of London, as the new underground rapid transit system began to take shape during the late 19th Century and into the 20th.

And so, the atheist would protest over the nonsensical stories associated with subterranean ghosts while at the same time insisting that the Earth is spherical and not flat - whilst under the same breath, also insisting we all wear facemasks whenever we step out of our homes. At least those "14th Century superstitious fantasisers who knew virtually nothing on the scientific front" - according to the modern atheist's thinking - attended church every Sunday as the population prayed, pleading with God for the longed-for relief from that dreadful pandemic.

As the physicians of the day had no knowledge of pathogens, let alone any solution to the problem, it can be said that God answered the prayers of the people when the pandemic was placed into the hands of church leaders. By studying whether the Bible had anything to say on the matter, they came across Leviticus 13:46, where God instructs Moses that anyone who has a contagious disease must "dwell alone, outside the camp must his habitation be" - that is, the one who has the illness must isolate.

Therefore, the need for anyone infected with the plague to isolate. Without any medicine but instead, by this Biblical method, the Bubonic Plague was brought under control. Just by obeying an instruction recorded in the Bible. It was a wonderful endeavour. Had the Plague kept on running out of control, any remaining population might have been too small or too sparse for the Renaissance to have occurred, as knowledge of the Bible, especially from the 14th Century onwards, had given the rise of great scientists such as Samuel Morse, Isaac Newton, the Wright brothers, Galileo, Nicolaus Copernicus, Louis Pasteur, Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, and others, with many of them had believed in the historicity of the Bible.

Edward Jenner was another outstanding scientist. He was the one who, in 1796, used cowpox to create immunity against smallpox, apparently with enough success to launch the invention of the vaccine. Jenner is another example of a great man who had arisen from obedience by 14th Century church leaders to the advice given in the Bible to bring the Bubonic plague under control. And as I can see around us, it's thanks to this guy that we now have vaccines to deal with the present Covid pandemic.

And now, the rise of the new variant, after being given the name Omicron, seems to be back to Square One. With new restrictions already imposed by our Government once again compromising our freedoms. For example, only this morning, as I walked into our local Sainsbury's superstore to buy the paper, there stood the marshall, after a couple of months without his presence. He was fully masked, and his job was to ensure that we were all wearing facemasks as we walked in, unless I wore a lanyard around my neck instead. This is an item I felt tempted to get for myself so that no one would question me for not wearing a mask. But I would be living a lie, as I'm not really medically exempt. Neither would I feel at peace with my soul had I rebelled and refused to wear one. 

I must now wear a mask in the shop, whilst sitting on the train or bus, at a cinema or at a theatre, and in church. But in a pub, coffee house or restaurant, I needn't wear a mask. Nor would I need to wear one on the train if I happen to have a mug of coffee in my hand. I think those are the rules, at least for now.

Then, recently, an article from the website, The Christian Institute, appeared on my Facebook page. It read that masks are not required for singing in church, but is needed for other purposes, such as sitting quietly whilst listening to the sermon. Quoting word-for-word the opening paragraph of the article, it reads:-

While congregational singing was never explicitly prohibited under previous Covid regulations, the latest rules confirm that while mask-wearing will be mandatory in churches, they may be removed for congregational singing.

Please now. I actually believe that breath from the lungs is actually expelled with greater force when singing than breathing normally or even engaging in normal conversation. At Ascot Life Church, we sing a song of praise that contain the lyrics, It's the breath in our lungs so I pour out our praise. Indeed, I certainly don't want a piece of cloth over my mouth to muffle my praise to God, do I?

It was the Church that brought the Plague under control...

This is why I believe that, throughout this pandemic, national and even worldwide, logic seems to have descended into absurdity. Last week, my friend Dave, one of our church elders, and I sat across the table at Starbucks Coffee. Young enough to be my son, this married man with a growing family has always been happy and humble enough to accept advice from me, according to my own greater life experiences. I demonstrated that we were less than a metre from each other and talking face-to-face without masks (Starbucks have small tables, after all, we don't eat proper meals at a coffee house.) It was perfectly legal, and neither of us felt uncomfortable, and neither of us believed that we were going to go down with an infection.

But if Dave and I were both strangers sitting on a train, opposite each other, then masks would be compulsory. Never mind the British idiosyncrasy, that you must never talk to a stranger whilst travelling on the train, and even then you are between 1.5 to two metres apart, or several metres away from the next person, masks are still mandatory. But if I was holding a cup of coffee in my hand or even a Mars bar, either of them bought from a passing trolley, then I can remove my mask. Woe betides if both Dave and I are holding a cup of coffee as we sit opposite one another without a single word spoken. The virus will either jump in excitement or suffer a food phobia!

What's the difference between browsing the shelves alone at a superstore, with several metres between that person and the next one, and sitting much closer to one another in a coffee bar which is annexed to the store, thus with easy access? Why is it so important to wear a mask when you're browsing the shelves while it's okay not to when you're sitting at a coffee house table?

Going back to church life. It's now mandatory to wear a mask while I'm sitting and listening to the sermon, or, I assume, while our heads are bowed in silent prayer. But, according to The Christian Institute website, it's okay for us to remove our masks if we're about to sing. I suppose there is some justification after all, at our church in Ascot, that the members of the band at the front don't wear masks when they lead the worship. Perhaps the distance between the band and the front row of seats is more than two metres wide, and with the windows open, blowing an (often cold) draught through the room and therefore, eliminating the chance of any virus lingering around. At least, when the band leads, the songs are heard with clarity.

Do I make sense? Or am I losing my mind? Am I really thinking that the world is getting more and more cock-eyed as the pandemic keeps on feeding our fears, our anxieties, and the need for greater caution? In addition to the mandatory mask-wearing, on the cards at Parliament might be the need for a Covid passport to enter a pub or a restaurant as well as at larger venues such as nightclubs, theatres, and sports stadiums. I personally don't believe that any pub manager will be happy to have a staff member at the door, a sight conspicuous enough to deter any customer who might, at a whim, decide to stop for a drink or a social. And yet, contrary to my belief, polls seem to indicate that Covid passports are more favoured by the customer.

Nothing new to me. I recall 1997, after flying into San Diego from Los Angeles Airport. That evening, I walked into a bar for a refreshing alcoholic drink. I watched the barman behind the counter prepare my drink, filling the glass to the brim. But instead of asking for payment as I was expecting, instead, he asked for my identity. I was shocked, then apologetic. I never thought that in a civilised State such as southern California, I would need to show my passport just to order a drink. With such reasoning, I left my passport tucked safely away at the hostel dormitory. The barman refused to hand the drink over, as well as having refused to take my money. What did he do with the beverage? By then, I had already walked out of the bar, onto the street. So I can only assume that he had poured the whole glassful down the sink. No other customer would accept a "second-hand" drink from the bar. Such anti-British bureaucracy causes much waste!

If there were reasons why here in Britain we are treated and trusted like proper adults than I was while I was in America, then this is a good reason. True enough, here in the UK, I do miss the balmy Californian climate, the palm trees arranged nicely along the street, the Rockies, the Grand Canyon, the Wild West Country, the desert cacti, the thundering Niagara Falls...

But I'm grateful for the taxpayer-funded National Health Service where treatments are free at the point of use, the ability to walk into any pub or bar and order a drink at will with no need of identification, the freedom of speech, the gently rolling hills of Surrey and Sussex regarded as Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty, it's rugged Dorset coast, burnt toast, the pageantry of royalty, the red public telephone box, it's many historic monuments...but the most treasured side of our culture, personal freedoms - this very virtue for which many had given their lives during the two world wars.

Very British - the old phone box.

Oh well! Here we go again! As I write this, I'm wondering just how well would the public accept another full lockdown and the loss of our precious freedoms if the stats for the Omicron virus shoots through the ceiling? Despite the rapid rate of infection, this variant could be less harmful than its predecessors, so my mate, Dave, who has a degree in microbiology, speculates. But thanks to a successful experiment carried out by Edward Jenner, just over 300 years ago, we now have vaccines to help combat the virus, thus holding to the hope that the rate of hospitalisations and deaths from Covid will remain very low.

In the meantime, sing away!

Wonderful Therapies During a Crisis.

As I sat at Starbucks this morning with a cappuccino, a croissant and The Daily Mail newspaper - all in a traditional Saturday morning ritual, and an Asian young man sitting at the table next to mine with a laptop, and just a few metres away, a group of thirty-something women laughing during a hearty conversation. I find it rather amazing that a coffee bar can bring the best out of people, despite that my beloved is on her way, by taxi, to the hospital to have a new catheter fitted, and my own spirit grieving over the fate of those stranded at Hamid Karzai Airport of Afghanistan's capital, Kabul.

While I could help but feel the oppressive air around me, caused by the endless news bulletins covering Afghanistan and the distress felt over those who are stranded there, together with my wife's poor health and her recent hospital visits, I have found one sliver of hope which has wonderful therapeutic benefits to both mind and soul alike: to recognise the sovereignty of God and to thank Him for the good things we have the freedom to enjoy.

Britain, being an island, is very different to landlocked Afghanistan. At least, despite our appalling climate, there is always the trip to the seaside. Whilst stuck in a traffic jam stretching several miles along the road, difficult - and expensive - parking facilities, or rather the lack of them, bored children aggravating their parents as the car in front refusing to budge forward a few inches, and the prospect of the blue sea lapping gently over a sandy beach being so alluring, many a family is prepared to take the risk of being stuck in traffic for several hours - even if Dad finds damp sand clinging between his toes so irritating.

If an Afghan family wishes to visit the coast, they must first cross into Pakistan - if they can do that with ease, as far as I'm aware, Pakistan doesn't support the Taliban. But even with a safe entry into the neighbouring country, it would be a long drive to get to the Gulf of Omar coastline, around 16 hours by car, covering 1,226 km, 757 miles, from the Afghan border at Chaman. And that if there is no traffic congestion.

 

According to Taliban custom, everything associated with entertainment is banned. Music is banned, along with owning and playing of all instruments, so is television, the VCR, ariel dishes, the cinema, theatre, the internet, watching or playing football or any other sport, kite-flying - a popular pastime among children - is also banned, as with having pictures, toys and models of all animals. Women are denied any education, and they must only leave their homes wearing a full-face burka and accompanied by a male chaperon related to her (eg, husband or brother.) Little wonder there are many trying to flee!

As I sat at the table, I was looking back on how I felt towards God. And I couldn't help feeling a degree of anger towards Him! Especially about my wife's poor health caused by a side-effect brought about by her daily medication. My mind was racing with one question after another, basically, Why? Why are we having such negative experiences while there are other Christian believers living life to the full? As I pondered on these thoughts, I began to realise how blessed we really are. Especially as I turned the pages of the newspaper and arrived at the page featuring Covid. Then I remembered.

At the start of the pandemic in March last year, I stood on a boardwalk near my home and cried out to God for us not to be affected by the virus. Seventeen months later my prayer remains apparently answered, even if my wife had it for a few days last summer before her immune system freed her from further infection. Her recovery was swift. Whether I was affected by the virus, I will never know. But this was something to thank God for, our safekeeping during the pandemic. So far. Even though we're both fully vaccinated, I refuse to sit on our laurels. We could still be struck down.

And I'm so thankful that we live in a land of democracy and freedom. And despite the lockdown, our freedoms remain enviable if compared with living under a Taliban regime. Indeed, during the first lockdown, someone may be fined for enjoying a flask of tea outdoors or taking a dog out for a walk in a large, deserted park. But at least nobody received floggings for such "offences". Add to that, the restrictions were temporary. Furthermore, we still enjoyed a greater level of liberty than Australia or New Zealand - thanks to our successful vaccination rollout.

Australia. I have backpacked through this wonderful country in 1997 for nearly six weeks. The trip included snorkelling at the Great Barrier Reef and hiking through the Blue Mountains National Park. Yet, I now thank the Lord I don't live there, despite wishing otherwise earlier. The lockdown restrictions imposed during the pandemic wasn't that far off from the restrictions imposed by a Taliban State. For example, facemasks were mandatory outdoors, with fines handed out to anyone out and about without one. And what I have heard, it took just one infected arrival to New Zealand from Sydney to shut down the whole of the country. Yet despite such draconian measures, the number of infections is growing, albeit slowly. As Sweden taught us, the virus is here to stay. The pathogen cannot be eliminated. It's here to stay. We just have to live with it.

I thank the Lord for the brilliance of both the British and European scientists for their rapid development of the AstraZeneca and the Pfizer vaccines. As such, we have regained much of our freedoms. As an anti-masker, I feel relief that here in the UK, those wretched "face nappies" are no longer mandatory in many places, but I still carry one when out and about should I be asked to wear it.

Further thoughts passed through my mind as I sat at that table. How is it that by living in the West, I have a better chance of hearing the Gospel and believing than one born in the Middle East, especially in a Muslim country? This, to me, is not only grossly unfair, but it's also practically insane. A baby born in a "Christian country" and with a church found in every town and plenty in larger cities, there is a good chance that the child will hear the Gospel. But where Islam dominates, if ever the Gospel is announced, the preacher is likely to face execution. The child growing up hearing the Gospel in an Islamic State is nigh impossible.

A Mosque in Afghanistan.

All this makes me wonder why God allows such a scenario - that your eternal destiny is determined by where you were born? That if you believe that the Bible says that faith in Jesus Christ is the only way to Heaven after death (John 14:6, Acts 4:12.) Then I think about one poor Afghan who was so terrified of the Taliban takeover of his beloved homeland, that he tried to escape by clutching at the wheels of a US Force plane as it was taking off from Hamid Karzai Airport - only for his remains to be discovered after landing at Kuwait. He was only nineteen years old, a very handsome young Muslim and a promising footballer. His fear of the Taliban ending his potential career in professional football and his liberties was too much for him, thus putting his own life at risk. A lost eternity? So much for being born in an Islamic State.

However, that does not deter me from grieving over my own countrymen. Although a third of our population claim to be Christian, the majority are either agnostic or atheist. Among the Christian claims, the greater majority are nominal. That is, they don't attend church regularly but only for Christenings, weddings, funerals and Christmas. As for the atheist's way of thinking, they tend to lump all religions as one anti-science nonsense, including Young-Earth Creationism. I fear that the takeover of a State by the Taliban and then imposing draconian restrictions will have a bad influence on Christianity in the atheist's eyes. After all, Muslims acknowledge Jesus Christ having once lived. Only that they believe he wasn't even crucified, let alone rising from the dead.

The average atheist, and perhaps many Christians too, are unlikely to be aware that the Christian faith and Islam does not lead to the same God, as the Vatican insist. Allah is not the triune God of Israel or of the Bible. The God we worship as Christians are in three Persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. By contrast, Allah is a single entity that has no son. Rather, Allah represents the moon god, and this becomes evident, as seen above every mosque. The symbol on the roof of each mosque is always shaped like the crescent moon, and the symbol is also found on some Islamic flags. These include Algeria, Comoros, Pakistan, Maldives, Tunisia, Malaysia, and a few others, but neither on Afghan nor the Taliban flags.

The founder of Islam was the prophet, Mohammed. His bones are with us, buried in the city of Medina in Saudi Arabia. The founder of the Christian faith is Jesus Christ. Mohammed died a natural death and did not atone for our sins. Jesus Christ was crucified as a criminal specifically to atone for our sins. He was then buried, as Mohammed was, but three days later, Jesus rose physically from the dead - the first person ever in human history to do so - whilst Mohammed remains in his grave to this day. Hence the difference between Christianity and Islam is so wide, it could be considered poles apart. Jesus Christ rose from the dead. No other religious founder had achieved that. 

Oh, the ugliness of the Crucifixion and the beauty of the Resurrection! I love to say that after His Resurrection, Jesus Christ has two bodies. He took one with Him to Heaven, leaving the other behind. Hence my thanksgiving for all the good things God has given us. Thinking of all my travel experiences - memories I treasure - and the lovely wife I now have...

Thank you, Lord.

Giving thanks to God for his goodness - even if everything looks to be so dire - is good therapy. Maybe this psychological therapy was well recognised by the apostle Paul. He wrote on many occasions to always give thanks to God throughout the New Testament. And that applies specifically to people like me. My natural temperament tends to be pessimistic and prone to fear of the unknown, anxiety, the feeling of uncertainty and depression. Recognising God for who He is and counting my blessings and acknowledging God's goodness are all good antidotes to these negative emotions.

The crescent moon topping every mosque. 

And church fellowship. One of the greatest benefits I missed during the pandemic was face-to-face contact with other Christians, the moral support gained when the chips are down, the greetings and hugs, and the one-to-one talk with another believer over coffee. And now we have the technology. Through Zoom, I find the weekday morning prayers a great benefit. And also through Facebook. However, with Facebook, there are several Christians who refuse to be "friends" with me. And some of these folk I knew personally as far back as the late seventies.

One, in particular, arrived at our church from University around 1978 or 79. By around 1981 or 1982, he then took on a mortgage for a property not far from where I lived, and he also took in two graduate lodgers whose incomes helped sustain his mortgage. When I played squash each week with one of his tenants, he took me to this grad's home for toast and coffee. We teased each other in good spirits. There was never any animosity between us. Instead, laughter abounded as well as some more serious discussions. As far as I'm aware and my memory allows, I had never intended to cause any offence.

Earlier in the week, I was browsing Facebook, and I came across his friendship seeking list. When I clicked onto his profile, I saw included in his photos one of the Grand Canyon. This inspired me to ask for his "friendship" having known him for over forty years. No response. I then checked his response on his profile before writing this blog. Not only was I rejected, but the Friend Request prompt was deleted. It was paramount to being blocked.

He is not alone. I have known several grads within my age margin who has taken the same attitude, all of them I've known for decades. I just don't understand why. I prefer to know. Like this, I can make appropriate amends if necessity calls for them.

These are very critical days. With my beloved, and myself too, under the constant eye of the NHS, along with the Taliban bringing all faith into disrepute, including and perhaps, especially the Christian faith, it's time for brotherly love, support and friendship to take a stand.

John Bull: Should I Support Him?

Daniel was one Biblical prophet I have learnt to admire. According to what is recorded of him, he was very well educated and had exceptional qualities. He was also trustworthy, he was also very loyal to the king, and there was no corruption in anything he did, nor did he ever show any negligence in his calling. And how devoted he was to God, trusting in Him completely and praying regularly in the privacy of his own room every day. He was also innocent of any blatant sins, such as adultery and murder, two of which King David was guilty of during his lifetime, around four hundred years earlier. Yet, David too was referred to as "a man desiring God's own heart" - according to his biographers.

Daniel's faith in God was so strong that he wasn't afraid to be thrown into a pit containing hungry lions. And that was what his associates desperately wanted - for him to die - but not peacefully in his sleep but with intense pain and bloodshed by the sharp-toothed jaws of these feline predators. Their motive was jealousy. That deep resentment felt among them after their inability to interpret dreams the king had, nor were they were able to read and interpret the supernatural writing on the wall which foretold the Babylonian king wanting - and his resulting demise that very same evening. Yet, the prophet was able to solve these difficult problems with remarkable ease, giving them the impression of superior intelligence, learning, and power.

The fact that the prophet Daniel was a Jew - a "proper" Jew at that - as he was from the tribe of Judah, from which the word Jew originated. His associates, of Chaldean origin and renowned for their knowledge of mathematics and astrology, already harboured a deep resentment in their hearts for having a Jew appointed over them by the king. After all, it was they, the Chaldeans, who sent their armies to Israel, under their former king Nebuchadnezzar, to raze their city to the ground and brought the captive Jews into Babylon to settle in subservience to them.

And so, as Daniel was praying, or even lay asleep in the lion's den in the company of sleeping lions, King Darius the Mede, tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep and in the grip of deep sorrow and anguish, as he imagined the flesh of the prophet being torn apart over a puddle of human blood soaking into the ground. He also felt angry at the astrologers for their idiotic decree. He was also angry at himself. How could he allow such a stupid, stupid decree to be signed by his own hand? That one irreversible law of not allowing anyone to pray to any god or man except to the king only for the next thirty days! Perhaps the most senseless scheme ever thought up by these so-called "intelligent" Chaldeans. And he fell for it, hook, line and sinker. How could he not smell a rat? And afterwards, he was then forced by law to condemn an innocent friend to a horrible death, despite his plea to his advisors for clemency. 

Meanwhile, in stark contrast, the Chaldeans responsible for Daniel's demise lay in their wives' arms in bed, feeling smug and content that, at last, there won't be an exiled Jew telling them what to do! How little did they know that this would be their very last night in their lover's arms? For the king's wrath would spill on them at daybreak, and they will all be food for the hungry lions.

However, the goodness in Darius' heart was manifested when, at the crack of dawn, the king made his way to the pit while he was still wearing his nightclothes, and called out to the prophet, perhaps expecting silence or at least a roar or two from the lions. Instead, to hear the Jew calling back to the king had caused his heart to change from distress to joy - and then to anger - anger at those Chaldeans who wanted his friend dead to get him out of their way.

It's the jealousy lurking in the hearts of these Chaldeans that has given me some food for thought: The 1993 murder of Stephen Lawrence by a gang of white racist youths is one example. Could I see a parallel between these youths towards Lawrence and the Chaldean's attitude towards Daniel the Jewish prophet? Just as Daniel displayed divine wisdom at a level beyond the Chaldean's capabilities, so Stephen Lawrence, who was black, was already better educated than his persecutors, and they knew it.   

Then at a football match, there is the racism that often exists at the stands. This is when fans make monkey noises at a black player or even throw a banana at him. There is a story that when the very first black player, Wilf Mannion, scored for England in the 1950 World Cup in Brazil, the English supporters refused to accept the goal as a valid score. The resentment that was seen among English fans against non-Caucasian players throughout the decades to follow has, to my mind, has given English fans a bad reputation on the international scale, particularly in the eighties.

I too have been a victim of this prejudice, albeit in a much milder form. This began in school, followed by my work colleagues into the late sixties and the seventies, and then into the eighties and the nineties when I was part of a group of five unmarried Christian men from several churches. Their commitment for England to win the World Cup and the European Cup caused my skin to tingle and my hair to stand on end after categorising me as an Italian, despite being born in England, and as such, someone to be regarded somewhat as an inferior, more of an out/group than in/group. And all that is manifested whenever the European Championship or the World Cup football tournaments comes around.

I think that had I done better at school, things might have been different and I would be treated with better respect, although two areas of my life have given me a morale boost. Firstly, knowing Jesus Christ as Saviour, and secondly, my love of travel. However, mingling with Christian friends who were avid England supporters came to a head during the 1998 World Cup. Rather than face my friends if England were to lift the trophy once again since 1966, I bought an air ticket and fled to New York. However, I was still in the UK when England was knocked out of the Cup by Argentina on penalties after a 2-2 draw. But rather than ask for an airline refund, I gladly flew across the Pond to visit the Big Apple, where I stayed at the world's largest HI-affiliated hostel, according to the Guinness Book of Records.

And while I was there, I successfully photographed the twin towers of the World Trade Center from the ferry linking Battery Park to the Statue of Liberty. Back then, I never realised how precious those pics will be after 9/11. 

World Trade Center, taken 1998.

I find it amazing how everything changes for the better after one member of the group finds his ladylove and marry. The young architect, and perhaps the most handsome in our group, was the first to marry. Not long after, the accountant marries. This is followed by the banker. Finally, I marry - after meeting Alex just a few months after flying home from the New York trip (actually, I flew home from Boston Massachusetts after spending a week there.) However, one other member remained single right up to the present, the kitchen porter. He was the most patriotic in the group, the one who believes that the English are the kings of the world and all other nationalities - especially the Italians - are ethnically and culturally inferior. Yet, this same chap, who is proud of his British stiff upper lip, remains unmarried and is now in his sixties.

I was affectionately referred to as that Reckless Itai (pronounced eye-tie) by the banker, and I'm still called that to this day. I don't mind that at all, for it's always done in a friendly spirit, and not in a derogatory one.

With the group long dispersed after we had all gone on our separate ways, my apprehension over whether England will win the cup or not has somewhat wained. Perhaps not entirely. I still feel a little of it now. But just goes to show how much psychological harm can be caused for Mr B, when Mr A thinks he's nationally, culturally, and even biological superior. Then Mr A's team knocks out Mr B's team, from the tournament. Then Mr A appears smug and looks down with a patronising gesture towards the hapless Mr B. I recall this happening once, some 25-30 years ago. When his English rugby team beat the Scots, the mockery from the England supporter was enough for the Scotsman to break into tears, to which the Englishman finally admitted, Oh dear, I'm not behaving Christlike.

This spirit of England has become, in my opinion, something of an anomaly since the start of the Coronavirus pandemic. Perhaps I can personify England as John Bull, a character that is supposed to represent courage, stoicism, and to keep going during a crisis. Mr Bull, I think, is generally introverted, and he's not the one to be a braggadocio people-minded individual but more of a task-minded person who is shy when it comes to winning contests and quite happy to accept defeat. After all, it's the participation in the game that counts, whether win or lose. Such as John Bull, that is, until recently.

Oh, what has happened to John Bull? Have we become a nation of chocolate teapots? Have we become afraid to ditch the facemask? Isn't there any optimism for the near future? Do we have faith in the vaccines? Does the majority believe that there will be another lockdown before the onset of Winter? Are we constantly looking out for a new variant? Would this new variant result in an immediate lockdown? Will it be vaccine-resistant? Are we avoiding each other as if each one of us is carrying the Bubonic Plague? And have we become reluctant to return to the office which involves commuting in a delayed packed train?

I say "we", but I have never seen the inside of an office, let alone work in one. This idea of "flexible working" - the concept of part-time office work mixed with working from home - a new trendy culture that would never be dreamed of during the early days of my own working life! I recall the days when there were two kinds of occupation: The salary-earner and the wage-earner. The man in a business suit and the man in a boiler suit. The one who signs in and the one who clocks in. The one who works flexi-time and the one who is told when to start and finish. The one who takes a company-paid business flight to a foreign country, and the one who pushes a broom across the factory floor. The one who is highly respected and the one who is treated like cattle.

And it all comes down to the level of education, does it not?

Like the scientists who are advising our Government on which course of action for the whole nation to take. Like the king listening to the prophet Daniel, our MPs are listening to these scientists as they bow to their wisdom gotten at Oxford. And the rest of the people bow. At least the Brits are quite unlike the ancient Chaldeans!

Oxford University.

Don't be surprised when I say that there were times that I felt a pang of jealousy. Maybe, I understand how these ancient Chaldeans must have felt. After years in college, they became great and well knowledged for that period. Then this exiled Jew arrives, and with his powers, wins the favour of the king, who then sets him over the whole kingdom. No wonder the Chaldeans felt miffed!

Daniel's character is admirable, and with all honesty, I would very much like to be like him. He had the mind of Christ. And this level of spirituality is attainable by anyone who wants to have it.

There are three choices I can make:

I can be like one of the ancient Chaldeans and wallow in envy towards those who are better off.

I can be a typical Brit, which, at present, seems characterised as a chocolate teapot.

Or, I can inherit the qualities which Daniel the prophet had, which can only be possible by having the Holy Spirit dwelling within, who is available to anyone who asks God.

A Wild Fling of Imagination...

A typical weekday evening. You arrive home from work, tired, and the wife brings in a mug of soothing coffee as you sink into the comfortable sofa, facing the television which is already tuned in for the day's news bulletin. Just as with us when the news is about to start. We always watch the news on the BBC, as neither of us cares about advert breaks in the middle of the broadcast. Then after the main bulletin ends, the regional news begins.

And it was during one of these regional broadcasts, during the airing of a live report when all of a sudden the report was interrupted and the anchorwoman, Sally Taylor, appeared on the screen for between five and ten seconds without her knowing about it. She was looking away from the camera and gazing seriously at something which seemed to have caught her attention. Could it have been a bug crawling up the wall or a nearby piece of furniture or equipment? Or a spider, remaining stationary at that spot throughout the whole duration of the programme, maybe even for the whole evening? Or perhaps finding a spelling error in her notes?

It was that kind of unintentional whoopsie which adds that little more enhancement to life, the ability to smile when all around there is no reason to smile, as each gloomy item is delivered one after another from the newsdesk. But this unintentional error made by the screen controller has set my imagination racing as I ask, "What goes on at the newsdesk during a report, especially a long one delivered by a major foreign correspondent?"

Back in the eighties and nineties, it was normal for two anchormen to sit behind the newsdesk before the BBC decided to slim down on its budget. It was the perfect set-up for my imagination to run riot. Say, for example, that the headline is about a significant Middle East incident which is threatening the already fragile peace agreement at that part of the world. And so we watch the reporter standing in the cold, speaking into the camera, when all of a sudden, we're back at the newsdesk. And as the foreign correspondent drones away at his report, the two anchormen are caught larking about, totally oblivious of being on-air. Here I can imagine the late Peter Sissons, back then a smartly-dressed anchorman in his fifties, blowing chewing gum bubbles or laughing raucously at his companion blowing up a balloon which suddenly pops, throwing the smartly-dressed colleague back startled, and upsetting the glass of water all over his own trouser leg, much to Sisson's delight.

But immediately afterwards I see no more of the tomfoolery, for the controller, realising his mistake and with much embarrassment and in fear of losing his job, instantly switches back to the report. After the report concludes, who would ever guess, by the serious look on Sisson's face as he begins to deliver the next news item, bits of thin rubber are scattered across the studio and a huge wet patch remains hidden under the desk?

But it would have been too late. Poor Alex, sitting there and wondering what was so funny as she watches me literally rolling on the floor in uncontrollable laughter. But along with the amusing thought, would have been my curiosity on how the rest of the nation would have reacted. But going by experience, the nation watching would have been divided into two main groups: the men, rolling in uncontrolled laughter, and their wives and girlfriends looking with astonishment and wondering when their opposite gender will ever learn to grow up. Surely, anyone angry or upset with such a scenario must be of a small minority.

But it's just this, the boy in the man, something I wrote about before.* A very healthy psychological trait which, I believe, distracts from the stresses and disappointments life can throw at us, the doom-and-gloom spouted at us evening after evening, accompanied with ever-climbing graphs and continual lockdowns. With the gyms, swimming pools and spa suites closed, along with theatres, cinemas, pubs, bars, coffee houses, cafes and restaurants all closed, along with non-essential shops, indeed, I need some fun distraction to get my mind off the reality - that I can go into a garden centre to buy a gnome but unable to replace my worn shoes or a much-needed shirt should the time come.

And as such, I can take a real-life experience of the South Today broadcasting error and use my imagination to create a scenario set on a breach of a private moment. But such must be genuine, a bad mistake made unintentionally by the screen controller and followed by apologies from the BBC and not a deliberate put-on as characterised by any comedy show.

I can buy this little fellow but not a pair of shoes.

And all these sorrows caused by the pandemic with the new variant of the virus, couldn't have come at the worse time of the year - the Christmas season - that time of year when my beloved suffers a low mood, and often I do too, the setting in of Seasonal Affected Disorder, or SAD, an affliction I have been suffering for many years already. In addition to all this, on New Year's Day, Facebook was covered by posters submitted by Brexiteers rejoicing in their victory against those like me who would have preferred to have remained in the EU. And so they jump in victory as if England had just won the World Cup.

And so I can thank God in a sense that we're under strict lockdowns - or else I would have witnessed street parties held by Brexiteers, with St George flags and Union Jacks, mixing in the crowd to watch the fireworks display across the river. And their mantra: We've won. You've lost. So get over it! - and such chanted even by professed Christians and church-goers too, as they celebrate with the wicked, making this whole palaver into one mighty miracle that I hadn't ditched the faith and embraced atheism, as it looks to me, the latter doesn't seem to be going around chanting such slogans while they're denouncing the Bible to embrace Darwinism.

And such high hopes of a vaccine against this dreadful virus is diluted by news of supply shortages and tangles of red tape and bureaucracy. And so I now read that the most vulnerable of patients who had already received their first dose of the vaccine and were promised the second dose just three weeks later are now told that they must wait up to three months before they get the second jab. And I feel like tearing my hair out as I read that the making of the same vaccine in India was so efficient that their roll-out should proceed with ease. And that is a country with one of the highest population density in the world.

Thus, I can easily imagine a team of men wearing a suit and tie getting their sums disastrously wrong, and forcing our Government to change their minds over this vaccine roll-out. And the man in a suit - the archetypical Englishman whose high education, business success and resulting wealth and high social status make him the ideal icon for Brexiteers to aspire on a national level out of sheer pride, self-effort and determination. And so anyone who wished to have remained as an EU member is looked down upon with that awful, arrogant and patronising spirit which has no truck with the love, mercy and the grace of God, yet still embraced by some Christians.

Indeed, one offset is that we have left the EU with a last-minute deal which, I hope, will temper the potential dockside congestion caused by the new tariffs and paperwork which is now required for exporting and importing goods to and from the EU. And so the world turns, life must go on. As for me, any moaning done over Brexit must stop, indeed, by moaning, I cannot add a single cubit to my life, I must die exactly when appointed by God. Instead, I can pray that both Alex and I will be protected from infection.

And we can do more. That is the taking of a combined Vitamins C and D3 supplement which also include zinc, selenium and copper. Several respectable doctors on the Internet advocate the taking of Vitamin D3 as an additional supplement which they say is beneficial in keeping infection in check (but not as a cure) for all who live in the colder latitudes during the winter months. Although there may be others who disagree, personally, I feel that nothing is lost by taking them.

And so we stand and smile at the world, our faith firmly rooted in Christ, the Rock of our salvation. Okay, so it's mentally and emotionally healthy to allow the imagination to run riot, so to speak, of the incredible stupidity of formally-dressed newscasters making complete idiots of themselves when they thought nobody was watching them. Yet I know full well that this is just fantasy, with as much realism as watching Superman on the Big Screen. I enjoyed watching Superman on the Big Screen back in 1977 or 1978, but that does not mean scanning the sky every five minutes afterwards, but the movie did inspire a trip to the USA a short time later.

But as Alex and I have already agreed, it's not about the boy-in-the-man, nor Brexit or the pandemic. The whole idea of our existence is about being reconciled to God through faith in Jesus Christ. And so, despite our present circumstances, by God's grace and tender mercy, we will march on, not allowing anything to put us down but to turn to God for help and reassurance whenever we need to.

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*For my original blog about the boy-in-the-man, click here.

Crazy! Just Sheer Crazy!

Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub. No nursery rhyme here. Rather, I'm referring to three gay men who once occupied the jacuzzi at the public spa suite located within our local leisure pool facility. And so they recline in the warm bubble bath, keeping themselves to themselves as I made use of both the steam room and the hot sauna, long before Corona meant anything other than a refreshing drink. And so, those three were seen as regular bathers before they moved out of our area, I believe, to settle in San Francisco. But even after their exit from the UK, the well-known nursery rhyme I had to recite at our primary school had taken on a new meaning. At least their names had never appeared under any scandalous headline in our local newspaper, let alone a national one. 

A Bubble Bath. Stock photo.

Rather unlike three teenagers in a car, whose names did appear in the national press, but hey, it doesn't sound so rhythmic as the three men in a tub, does it? But their story had a much greater impact than any butcher, baker or candlestick maker could ever achieve.

I'll refer to the three teenagers only by their first names, but these are their real names: William, Luca, and Ollie. William was at the wheel of a powerful BMW only days after passing his driving test. The car was a reward from his well-to-do Dad for passing the test. And then, just a few days later, William wanted to show off his brand new treasure to two of his pals and so, all three clambered in. 

The over-confident teenager put his foot down on the accelerator as the engine roared into life. Further down, the road suddenly rounds a bend, but by then it was too late. The speeding vehicle struck a grass bank, flew thirty metres through the air before hitting an electric substation. It must have been a spectacular accident, worthy of any James Bond movie stunt, but even before the car came to rest, Luca had already stepped off this planet and into eternity. Seeing his best friend with serious head injuries, Ollie, soon after, took his own life. With the car written off, only its owner got away with barely a scratch.

And so William appears in Court, wisely dressed in a white shirt and a blue and red striped tie. Much to the disgust of Luca's parents, William gets away with a six-month suspended jail term and a two-year driving ban. He is pictured walking free, thumb up and smirking under a large facemask. How is it that here in England, a shirt and tie can make such an impact on the Judge passing such a lenient sentence? It's a story I have seen and read about before. Smart dress is often worn by defendants in their hope to have their sentences mitigated.

There is something about the whole scenario, from the moment he passes his driving test to the snapshot of him leaving Court, which stirs my emotions into anger and frustration! Indeed, supposing I was the father of Luca, the passenger who was instantly killed. Here, I attempt to put myself in his place. I watch as the defendant walks out of Court with a victorious smirk. Yes, how would I feel? Never to see my son again. Watching his coffin enter the crematorium, knowing that after a short farewell service, coffin, clothing and body alike will all be reduced to ashes. 

The silence in his bedroom. A lifeless computer and play station, school books piled on a small desk, his school uniform hanging from the wardrobe door handle, his bed still unmade, pyjamas left thrown on the foot of the bed. His sports kit stashed proudly away in his chest of drawers. The silence. The stillness. Memories going back to his birth, that tiny shrill as the baby takes in his first breath, inflating his lungs for the first time ever. Watching him breastfeed at his mother's chest as she looks so lovingly at his tiny face, bathing him, listening to his crying at two in the morning, joining us at the table as he grows up. Witnessing his progress at school as well as developing into a keen sportsman. Then, as an adolescent, he passes his exams to qualify for university and who knows, a girlfriend, a wife whose own child would make us proud grandparents - but now this.

As William smirks as he leaves Court as a free man to continue living a normal life, there is something gut-wrenching about Luca's death. Oh, so unnecessary! Why, oh why did Luca entrust his life to this over-confident, smart-ass buffoon? In a fit of rage, I fight with every effort I can draw within my fibre against the strong temptation to smash my fist into his smirking mouth and force him to swallow his facemask. But instead, I just stand there, doing nothing. 

As I walk home, or back to the railway station, I thought about what would have happened had I gave into temptation. I would have ended up as a defendant and charged for Grievous Bodily Harm, or GBH. His father would have made sure that I receive the maximum sentence for daring to lay my finger on his son. And the judge would comply, throwing the book with full force at me. Indeed, to be smartly-dressed and well off seems to have big influences in making decisions. After all, if William's father can buy a BMW, just like that, as a reward gift for his son, then he can't be short of a bob or two.

The BMW featured might have looked like this.

And it's this calibre of men which has so much impact right across this nation. Here, I'm talking about the restrictions placed on us by those in authority. It isn't for me to disobey those in authority, as the Bible says, anyone who rebels against authority rebels against God, according to Paul's letter to the church in Rome (13:1-8.) But only today I read in a national newspaper that just one faceless smart guy, backed by a team of doctors, are now persuading our Government to make facemask-wearing compulsory outdoors. I browsed the comment forum under the online newspaper article to check out the general opinion. Just about everyone agrees that this new proposal is utter rubbish, even insulting, and it's nothing more than a quest for greater control without adequate scientific evidence to back it up.

It's bad enough to wear those wretched gags whilst shopping or sitting on a train. Unless the mask is washed in a Dettol antiseptic solution on a regular basis, with me, throat irritation along with coughing will follow. Although I don't agree that wearing a facemask outdoors will deplete the respiratory system of oxygen, as many in those comments think it does, I have looked carefully on the course of the pandemic throughout the last few months. True enough, around late Spring the worst in infection, hospitalisation and death rates reached its peak and they were frighteningly high. A national lockdown was enforced and all three rates dropped dramatically until it looked as if the worst was over.

Then by the end of August and into September, facemasks were made compulsory for all indoor venues including all public transport. I have noticed that the start of the second rise of infection coincided almost exactly with the introduction of and compulsive wearing of the facemask. It seems too, that only one close friend agrees with me, himself a PhD holder. 

I base this reckoning out of experience rather than listening to an expert. If I were to breathe in some coronaviruses in the air, normally they will be all expelled back into the outside air on the very next breath - before any have the chance to stick to a cell within the throat, trachea or even within the alveoli of the lungs. But if I wear a mask, then when expelling, fewer viruses will escape. Hence the idea behind facemasks, to reduce the spread of infection. But if at the same time a mass of viruses begins to pile up behind the mask, they won't be able to escape so freely into the open air. On the next intake of breath, they are sucked straight back into the throat and the rest of the respiratory system. With this back and forth of the viruses within the system, could this be behind my throat irritation, alongside the massive recent rise of infections?

Of course, with not being a doctor or a government official or MP, I don't have the authority to make a stand, but this does not deprive me of having common sense. I personally believe that the compulsive wearing of facemasks lies behind the recent sharp rise of infections. Only yesterday, after wearing a facemask to shop for groceries, I had throat irritation accompanied by coughing. Back at home, a thorough gargle with an antiseptic mouthwash gave some relief. After this, I asked my beloved to wash all our masks in a Dettol solution. 

But the compulsion to wear a facemask outdoors. Perhaps I could think of this:

Going back to the same illustration, here am I, walking along a street, with other people, and I expel some viruses into the air (if I have it, of course - actually it could be normal germs, a cold or a flu virus, so some other niggling pathogen). However, the chance of being breathed in by a passerby is reasonably slim, for in the open air, especially if there's a breeze, the viruses would scatter enough to make it pretty unlikely to be picked up by a passerby, unless he gets really close, almost to kissing, hence the sensibility of the two-metre distancing. But if nevertheless picked up, chances are that they will be expelled in the very next breath.

Thus, although I don't like it, to wear a facemask whilst in an enclosed space, there is some justification for this. Therefore, I wear one when required. Viruses can't scatter so freely in enclosed spaces. 

The Facemask we use.

But how I long to see our Government ministers - and the public too - loosen their reliance on these academics. How I long to see the loosening of the hold these smart guys have on us, by our own choice, this worship of the scientists and MPs behind such restrictive legislation, the robbing of our freedoms which was fought for so hard during the War years. As I see it, wearing a facemask in an enclosed space is reasonable despite the discomfort generated. But I would draw the line when it comes to wearing one outdoors. Under law.

That means if I was to walk along a footpath at a deserted beach, or a park, or in some woods, by the lakeside with very few people around, I would be breaking the law and therefore penalised, despite that there is no way I could infect anyone. Or taking the dog out for a walk. The dog has no need to wear a mask. Lucky dog! The cop would instead come after me.

To make the wearing of facemasks outdoors is sheer crazy! Most of Joe Public would agree with this. But would our ministers listen to these academics and enforce what looks to be a ridiculous law?

Indeed, three men in a tub. Three gay men in a tub. Is there any unseen fondling going on under those spa bubbles? I don't know and I don't want to know either. It's not my business. It's also illegal at a public venue. But they remain wise enough not to get caught. And no way would I snitch, even if I'm suspicious. And yes, for the record, someone tried to fondle me whilst in the bubble bath around forty years ago. I made sure he knew that I wasn't interested. But I still didn't snitch. Therefore, if I was seen without a facemask, walking in a quiet street, through a park, along the riverside or lakeside, or on a beach, I would have to depend on his goodwill not to shop me in.

A Cry to God from the Boardwalk.

Something strange happened this week. A strange situation bringing on an odd feeling. For the first time in my life, and for the first time ever in the lives of everyone who was not old enough to fight in the last World War, the closing of all pubs, coffee bars, cafes, restaurants, as well as gyms, swimming pools, golf courses and leisure centres in general, has all brought a kind of either a fearful or a melancholic shroud across the whole nation.

As someone said online, to tell an average Briton not to go to the pub is like telling a dog not to bark. Indeed, the old tavern and its unique atmosphere have been around within our shores for centuries. Even the early nineteenth-century author Charles Dickens wrote about how the young parochial runaway Oliver Twist was escorted into a tavern by Jack Dawkins the pickpocket. This goes to show that even in 1837 when the book was first written and the railway was in its fledgeling stage of development, the tavern was already a long-established social hub.

A pub in London.

And thus, this morning, the shutters remained closed over the entrance into Starbucks Coffee from Sainsbury's superstore, the latter with some of the shelving already cleared of essential items by panic-buyers, whose huge trolleys are filled to brimming as if to feed a regiment for weeks on end or to face an imminent famine of Biblical proportions. All of a sudden the world has changed to resemble an apocalyptic age, the sort of science-fiction movie scenario where the whole of humanity is facing extinction, whether by an intergalactic invasion or warfare - or from an unknown viral pandemic.

And so, no Starbucks cappuccino this morning for the first time since 2015, and looking as if I won't be sitting at that particular table with the newspaper spread out "until further notice" which really means indefinitely. Then if I were to ride past our local leisure centre, its main entrance would be shut and inside, the swimming pool steeped in deep silence and without a ripple, all the recently-installed gym apparatus standing quietly still, and the squash courts silent from the all-familiar crack of a small rubber ball hitting the wall with full force, which was one of my main pastimes throughout the late 1970s, into the eighties.

Never in my lifetime had I witnessed such lockdown on a national scale. Really, I find it all quite scary. Indeed, may the very last person leaving our planet please turn off the lights. But with Winter packing his bags and preparing to leave for another year as Spring lays his hand on Winter's shoulder from behind, there is a look of hope in the environment. The sun is higher in the sky during midday, the grass looks greener, birds sing in the trees as the bare branches prepare to bud into leaf, daffodils and crocuses beautify the lawns. In and around our ponds, two of them within the vicinity where we live, ducks, swans and geese intermingle with hardly a dispute among them all.

Usually, I love this time of the year. The Easter eggs sold in colourful packages means to me to be far more than a pleasant taste in the mouth. Rather they symbolise a rebirth of a new season when the whole land begins to bloom with colour as the weather gets warmer, the days longer and the nights shorter. And of course, for us Christian believers, the holiday commemorates the death of our Lord Jesus Christ by crucifixion, his burial and his resurrection three days later, on that early Sunday morning. Without a doubt, the most important three-in-one event ever to have taken place throughout the whole of human history. Such an event no human endeavour was ever able to match to this day, no matter how advanced scientific knowledge have reached.

But now something happened, and it's not at all nice. Something like a shroud covering the whole land. And all caused by a tiny invader which travelled in an aeroplane without first buying an air ticket. And so this unwelcome immigrant has taken hold, killing thousands across Europe and infecting many more. And Britain is not exempt.

With English posh boys setting off to the Alps for a school skiing holiday and then returning home infected, I find it an easy temptation to feel angry towards them. Spoilt brats, bringing misery and death to our land! But I'm also quick to admit that none of this was their fault. If they had already known about the epidemic before take-off, no doubt they would have cancelled the trip or switch to another destination. Therefore, there's no point in being angry. Only I would suffer the consequence and nobody else benefit.

But throughout the past week, I was literally trembling with fear. I admit I was afraid to die, leaving my beloved behind as a grieving widow, unable to live on her own due to the poorness of her own physical health, even if otherwise she's quite capable. But equally terrifying, if not more so, is the thought of watching her fall ill with the virus and die. With more than twenty years in a deep, loving relationship, how could I revert to life as a singleton? Indeed, in both cases, heaven can wait.

Image of Coronavirus.

Therefore what a terrible shock it was last Friday when I arrived home from swimming. There she was, lying on the sofa, coughing endlessly. As cold, naked fear took hold of me, I dialled 111 (a UK non-emergency contact with the NHS) and asked for advice. Since she had not left the UK, there was no Covid-19 test. Instead, she was told to remain indoors for the next seven days, which she had now completed. That same evening, her cough had quickly stopped as suddenly as it started. I was so much relieved. Earlier, after I phoned 111, I posted her condition on Facebook. One of my friends wrote back, saying that he "commanded the illness to leave her in the name of Jesus" aloud in his own home. Shortly afterwards, her coughing stopped, her eyes glowed like jewels, and felt a lot better. Whether her recovery was a direct link to the command or coincidental, I can never be sure.

This is because I have always been sceptical with these "healing ministries" after having some unsound experiences with them in the past. But there is one issue I will never doubt, and that is, God is with us. And I say this when I feel that God is not with us for one reason or another, whether due to a faulty faith or participating in some sin.

And as the days pass, my emotion rose to elation and fell to despair. And this fall to despair can happen suddenly and unexpectedly, triggered by a passing thought. And it was one afternoon when taking a stroll through a park when such a plunge into distress came upon me. A section of the park consists of marshland inhabited by a forest of tall reeds. A boardwalk crosses it. It was here, that I first made sure that I was alone, and have had to wait for a couple of people to disperse, I began to pray aloud, admitting our transgressions and calling on God to forgive, and to keep the virus from coming anywhere near us.

Such a prayer also included a confession that we have as a nation has transgressed, and sinned against him by turning away from the truth to embrace a lie, the lie of Darwinian Evolution in place of the belief in Divine Creation. As such, the Gospel has become non-effective as we pursue Science. 

O God, forgive our sins and send the Holy Spirit into our hearts and allow him to turn our hearts back to you, O God, and be saved.

With the threat continuing to close in, with the number of confirmed cases of infection rising, along with the corresponding number of deaths also rising as a result of the disease, I feel totally helpless, fearing my wife catching an infection, and totally powerless to stop it. It is during such feelings of despair that I need to remind myself of this piece of Scripture:

For God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting men's sins against them.  

2 Corinthians 5:19.

Therefore when, from time to time, I come across articles written by Christians saying that this coronavirus is a punishment sent by God to a nation for the sin of national apostasy, I cringe. Maybe God has allowed the virus to spread so rapidly, but I believe there is a big difference between God allowing such to happen and actually the disease sent by God. God in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting the trespasses of mankind against them - can be hard to believe at times but it's still true nevertheless. Today is the day of grace, of salvation. This is the year of God's favour, with the day of God's wrath still in the future, and it will remain in the future as long as the Church (universal body of Christians) is still here.

In the book of Revelation, a specific incident takes place where Jesus Christ the Lamb of God is standing before his Father. He then gives the Son a sealed scroll which no other man is worthy to open the scroll and to look inside - chapter  5. The reason for this is simple. Every one of us, both the angels and all mankind, are all God's creation. Therefore only the Creator is worthy to open the scroll, and Jesus Christ, the second person of the Trinity and therefore God himself, is indeed the Creator. Therefore the Earth can only be punished directly by God after this scroll has been opened. 

At present, the scroll is not open. It's still sealed. Therefore, this present coronavirus outbreak is not from either of the four apocalyptical horsemen sent from heaven, as these Christian writers make out to be. The scroll is not yet open and it will not be opened whilst all the churches are still here with us.

Only yesterday I had cycled to a garden centre in Bagshot, another town several miles from home, to buy some cactus feed. As I strolled along the aisle between displays, I found a quiet spot where I can pray without disturbing anyone, and there and then I felt that indeed, I am a son of God, a born-again Christian believer. And so is Alex my beloved wife. It was a moment of peace I felt within as I stepped outside to look at the water features on display for sale.

I have Asperger's Syndrome or AS. That means, in a fallen world, from gestation onwards, my brain is not wired up properly. This involves difficulty in casual group communication such as in a pub or restaurant. It shouldn't be looked down upon. One prominent BBC naturalist presenter, Chris Packham, not only has AS but he used his condition in his favour to be both a successful author and a TV presenter he is today. I know two more friends, both with AS, one with a high enough IQ to be a member of Mensa, and another with a PhD. Yet with me, it could well be Asperger's Syndrome which causes me to physically tremble with fear at the slightest threat.

BBC TV presenter and author Chris Packham.

It could be Asperger's Syndrome that opens a way for doubt of salvation to creep in, making me afraid of death and of Hell. It could be AS which causes me to think that Alex too will perish. And lately, my fears of this coronavirus could be stirred by AS. Actually, I personally believe it is.

I do believe with all sincerity that AS can breach a chink in my spiritual armour, allowing the adversary to push his lies through it. Asperger's Syndrome affects each patient differently. With me, it engenders fear but not necessarily in others with the same condition.

Although I have been a Christian believer for the last 47 years, I still yet to be freed from this malady.