2020 - Another Year, A New Decade...

It's Boxing Day, and as I write this blog, with Christmas Day having fallen on a Friday this year, it still leaves another five days before we see this year out, much to the relief of a large majority of the UK population, apparently. But who knows what could happen within the next five days. Our Government making a sudden decision for the whole of the UK to remain a full member of the European Union? Dream on! Humpty Dumpty has already fallen off the wall he was sitting on, and his fractured skull cannot be repaired. So it was thought.

With all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't be able to put him together again, it was unfortunate that the NHS wasn't able to either, despite its advance in medicine. Then again, our National Health Service wasn't around when Humpty fell off the wall, as I have heard that the fate of this egg-head was to do with the fall of the Roman Empire during the 5th Century AD, which may have had a connection with the advance of hedonism. Oh, how unfortunate! Yet, he shouldn't have gotten so drunk as to pass out without first getting down off the wall to sit or lie down to sleep off his intoxication.

Just as we were young children attending an infant's class at a junior school, we joined hands to form a rotating circle, singing to the tune of Ring a Ring of Roses, who would have thought that rhyme had to do with the Bubonic Plague back in the 13th Century, the result of a deadly pathogen wiping out much of Europe, including Britain? And so I ponder whether a new rhyme, poem or song will ever be written about our present Coronavirus pandemic - or some mournful dirge of an ode would ever be written and recited so that children of future generations can reflect on the UK leaving the EU during the early 21st Century.

Ah, the fantasy of Great Britain resurrecting itself into new sovereignty destined to parallel the days of Empire, enjoying its greatest height during the 1930s and even into the post-war fifties. It's just ideology, with as much realism as a little girl crawling into a rabbit hole to find a subterranean kingdom reigned over by a playing card and inhabited with talking flowers and grinning Chesire cats.

Yet the beat goes on. Just in the first couple of months of this year were centred on Brexit and the year-long transition period, something nasty was brewing in China, and thanks to the middle classes on their world travels, especially students out on a gap-year, this nastiness was brought by airlines into Britain, Europe, and the rest of the world, as far apart as Australia, New Zealand and the Americas.

And so Brexit was knocked off its headline news pedestal to be taken over by Covid-19. The virus had the power denied from either Leave or Remain, and that was to shut the country down in a near-complete lockdown, something I had never seen throughout my near-seven decades of daily living. And so, Brexit had to be swept under the carpet - for now at least, and concentrate on this new pathogen which posed a far, far greater threat to our livelihoods.

And especially to the vulnerable. Such as my beloved wife who also early this year had to go through a course of radiotherapy as part of her cancer treatment following chemotherapy in 2019. This meant a fifteen-mile daily trip to Royal Surrey Hospital in Guildford. Although it might just have been plausible to take the train - a mode of transportation almost certain had she had no further disabilities, but being confined to a wheelchair while out and about outdoors posed too many problems. And since the taxi daily for fifteen working days would have been too expensive, we resorted to the bookable daily pick-up, a free transport system arranged by the NHS.

It proved to be very unreliable. A series of late arrivals and even no-shows meant that her appointments had to be rescheduled several times. And then the shaking of the vehicles as they traversed poorly-maintained roads meant that her back went into severe pain and she also experienced fits. And on several occasions, she was taken to A&E instead of the Radiotherapy department. This meant for me an apologetic phone call and an unscheduled trip to the station to board a train for Guildford. But in all cases, she managed a session, even late in the evening after a day spent at A&E, and then having to take a taxi home past midnight at an extortionate price, arriving home some twelve hours later than scheduled. 

Wasn't I relieved when her final Radiotherapy session came and went! And just in time. For soon after her discharge, the hospital had to adapt to accommodate Covid patients, with the likelihood of shutting down all daytime departments so the staff can concentrate on these infected new-arrivals.

And so from March onwards, the country went into lockdown, as as the weather got warmer, the sun began to shine, spirits were lifted and trips to the coast were made on a grand scale, thus defying lockdown rules. With such wisdom from the powers-that-be, it was decided that all public conveniences remained shut, thus the beaches were left contaminated with defecation, the stink and the pollution after everyone had gone home, those who had to clean up afterwards blamed just about everyone, with the resort Council bureaucrats taking quite a slice of the blame.

A crowded beach at Bournemouth, Summer 2020.

The summer months enjoyed a reprieve from the virus until the start of Autumn. As the weather cooled, and so the rate of infection began to rise again, as did hospital admissions and the death rate. Shortly after the end of a second month-long national lockdown, it was announced that our area is to go into a tough Tier 4 of restrictions which is again a lockdown but with another name.

What with Ascot Life Church no longer able to hold services, along with most other churches across the nation, this was the one thing I missed most of all: face-to-face church fellowship. Perhaps the hole left in my soul after church shutdown could be the reason why the New Testament is rather hot about advocating active interaction between Christians - not so much about coffee and doughnuts, although still a necessity - but rather to teach, to edify, to comfort and to encourage, even to discipline if such is called for, but more important of all, to love one another. There is something therapeutic about a physical handshake, a hug is better still. Too bad that here in England, the holy kiss is not a done thing. A pity. There must be something very beneficial a kiss can be, even physically.

And so it has been a year of social distance and wearing of facemasks. Or in other words, rather than the sweet fellowship experience described above, every person sees each other as a potential source of infection, a walking disease to stay well away from. Like the time I was standing on the escalator in readiness to exit Oxford Street Station. The mask I was wearing prompted me to cough, and the young lady directly in front of me took off. What surprised me was that she didn't scream. And churches were not exempt from this new culture, either.

The disease has also revealed the "chocolate Christian" mentality, who melt when the heat is on. That means panic arises if anyone comes too near them. Like I did at one alfresco Bible study group during the warm Summer. Upon arrival, I caused panic to ensue, followed by frayed tempers. And not a single virus among any one of us.

What a crying shame all this is - the ban on hospitality for one. To invite a friend is banned, nor would any Christian have me at their homes. By law. One can argue that I should be thankful for technology where "virtual services" are laid on. But really, staring at a pigeonhole on a computer screen does in no way holds a candle to a real face-to-face experience. What a contrast all this is to the Christians at Galatia, who were tempted to be put off by Paul's conjunctivitis, a very infectious viral disease to the eyes which brings unsightly mucus at the eyelids (Galatians 4:12-16.) The ancients were familiar with this eye condition, for apparently, it was common. They were also aware that conjunctivitis is contagious, but the believers in Galatia did not melt - running away screaming in panic. Instead, they have embraced him and invited them into their homes. 

This isolation, this alienation of brother from brother, house from house, church from church, town from town, and nation from nation - has made this year one of the most testing years in recent decades. Indeed, one can argue that going to war, as our grandparents had to, was worse, due to not knowing whether one would ever return. But camaraderie has always existed among troops, as this brings morale and encouragement when entering the battlefield. Instead, this pandemic has made every one of us suspicious, with the wearing of the mask compounding the situation to the point of each one seen as a threat.

However, out of God's tender mercy, I have one friend who has stuck closer to me than any brother. Enter Young-Earth Creationist Dr Andrew Milnthorpe, who accompanied me on many walks during lockdowns. Hence, I mention him quite frequently on these blogs. The friendship between us is unique since it transpires across all social class barriers, along with any national and political differences we have. Yet I treasure his friendship, it is worth greater than gold. And such a friendship as this one must be of high value in God's eyes, for King David once wrote:

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! It is like the precious oil upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even Aaron's beard: that went down to the skirts of his garments; as the dew of Hermon and as the dew that descended the mountains of Zion; for there the Lord has commanded a blessing, even life forevermore.

Psalm 133 AV.

And it's God, his love, grace and mercy which has helped me through this year. And God's mercy can be shown through the affection of this friend of mine, who has over the years, accompanied us on day trips and even weekends away.

Dr Andrew Milnthorpe.

2020 has been the year of infections, illness, social distancing, wearing masks, not visiting each other, closed churches, lacking interactive fellowship, isolation, being told what to do and what not to do in our own homes, closed shops, restaurants, bars and hotels, travel under restrictions if not banned, worry, fear, anxiety, loss of family contact, and lately, banned from visiting our family members for Christmas. I thank God that I'm not a singleton. It is those people whom I feel sorry for this Christmas.

And now, 2020, which ushered in a new decade, is about to end in a few days, hope for a vaccine - several vaccines, in fact, will for 2021, slowly restore everything back to normal and see the exit from this insane madness.

Ho-Ho-Ho? Or Boo-Hoo-Hoo?

One Christmas Eve, alone in my second-floor bachelor apartment and just before settling down for the night, I placed a dish with a mince pie next to an open kitchen window. Ah! by the next morning I should see the pie gone and in its place, one or two gaudily-wrapped Christmas presents. But alas! 

When I rose to check whether St Nicholas has called and hadn't by mistake overlooked my residence, the window was still open, the pie was still in its dish, untouched, and there were no presents. For crying out loud, when would our all-red suited, white-bearded elderly gentleman learn that I had already flown my parent's nest some years earlier? Or does having central heating instead of an open coal fire poses problems? After all, I have yet to watch a letter to Santa lying on a cold empty grate suddenly fly up the chimney without any source of propulsion.

At least the tooth fairy was far more sharp-minded and right up-to-date. I recall as a boy staying with my aunt, quite a few miles from home, while Mum and Dad decided on a romantic break at the seaside resort of Folkstone. One of my milk teeth became loose and eventually dropped out of my mouth. In next to no time the tooth vanished, only to see a sixpence where the tooth was deliberately left. Either there were many tooth fairies or, like Santa, just the one, but on full alert when and where a tooth becomes available, even over a great distance geographically.

But despite my disappointment on that particular Christmas morning, I have been wondering, just how old Santa is supposed to be? If according to tradition, if he was around in AD 320, then he would now be more than 1,700 years old. Indeed, not bad for someone living in a cold climate and travelling only for a few hours once a year. But even as a child, as with all young children in the Western World, so it has never crossed my mind on how could a small sleigh carry enough presents to gift every child around the globe. Neither on how a reindeer, let alone a team of them, was able to fly at a tremendous speed over distances as far apart as Wellington in New Zealand and London, UK, and then as far west as Hawaii - all within a time frame of 24 hours without crossing the International Date Line. Aerodynamically, such a flight would be riddled with problems, not to mention both the anatomical and mechanical inadequacies involved. 

And yet, it happens every year. Santa Clause is coming to town once again! Time to put out the mince pie and leave the window open, since we don't have a fireplace!

And oh yes, this time, I will leave a note with the mince pie:-

Dear Father Christmas,

I have moved out of Mum's home over 45 years ago. I now live here. Please leave my presents just inside the open window and enjoy the mince pie I left for you. You'll be needing it for the rest of your journey. Stay safe. Many thanks.

Love, 

Frank. 

At present, I may consider the "reality" of Science, but as children, we never pondered on any of these "realistic" issues. We really believed that Santa Clause, or Father Christmas, existed, and all our toys and games which filled our oversized stockings came either from the sky or through the chimney. Oh! The excitement and the wonder of it all!

However, when the penny finally dropped - that our presents didn't fall from the sky or through the chimney, but instead, were bought beforehand by my parents from a local store - suddenly, all the magic had gone out of Christmas. Everything changed. After the change, the reality that the time has come for me to buy presents for other family members. And believe me, that was far from easy!

Not having any sons or nephews of my own, I had to resist the temptation to buy train sets, toy trucks and cars, or games such as checkers or chess, or even Ludo or Monopoly, for my two nieces. Apparently, they weren't into dolls (as far as I was aware) - therefore, deciding what to buy for them was an annual nightmare, that is, until they were old enough to receive and appreciate a card containing a gift voucher. Very un-Christmassy, I know, but a worse scenario of unwanted presents was avoided, along with my perception of seeing forced smiles after unwrapping. 

But going back to Father Christmas, it was my uncle, Dad's older brother, who sternly warned my mischievous nieces that unless they were good, they won't be getting any presents from Santa. It seems as if the air in the dining room was cut with a sharp knife. As I sat with them, I thought:

I would never talk that way if I ever have children of my own, nor allow him to come anywhere near them.

This was long before I met and married Alex. Rather, having already flown the nest, this happened while I called for a Sunday visit, and Dad's older brother and his wife were staying with them for a few days. 

A statement like that has made me wonder how a "conditional Christmas" would engender love and thankfulness in the hearts of either of my nieces. In fact, I could ask, if being good enough was the condition met to receive a present, then is this "present" really a free gift? Or is it due to good behaviour? 

I felt ill at ease, perceiving that there's something not quite right about this behaviour-dependency. And it bodes ill for Santa's character, too. It gives the impression that Father Christmas is all-knowing and with a hint of omnipresence, constantly watching and recording every detail of behaviour, and only give away presents if he's satisfied with the recipient's behaviour throughout the rest of the year. Uncle's definition of generosity does not engender any affection for this supposedly Ho-Ho-Ho gentleman.

It reminds me of a pre-Christmas 1934 hit, Santa Clause is Coming to Town, with which I'm more familiar with the Jackson 5 version of the song, released in 1970. It contains the words, He knows if you been bad or good, so be good, for goodness sake.

I could see that this "conditional Christmas" which my Uncle so sternly warned about did not impress either of my nieces, back then still in their pre-teens. It didn't impress me either. And I doubt if he had impressed my parents as well, who was also in the same room. 

This attitude is just the setup needed for me to think, So if that's how it is, Santa, then you can stuff your presents where the sun doesn't shine! As for the girls, to whom the threat was addressed, chances were that they both cringed in fear within, already wondering whether their day-to-day behaviour had earned enough merit to receive presents for Christmas.

Therefore, I can identify my Uncle's perception of Father Christmas' attitude with the God of Roman Catholicism, from whom I can only receive salvation if I stay faithful and loyal to the Church, and to live a holy life. If I sin, then I must confess to a priest and then do penance - a set of prayers and good and charitable works - assigned to me by the priest to regain my salvation. If however, I unexpectedly die with unconfessed sin, then entry into heaven will be denied, either temporary if my sin is slight but eternally if my sin is serious. This is salvation by works, and according to my experience, both within me and around me has shown that this is the most destructive doctrine ever invented.

Although I knew the words of ritualistic prayer by heart, this conditional salvation led me into atheism throughout my teenage years. It was simply easier to deny the existence of God than it was to try to satisfy a deity who was constantly listing my shortcomings to see if I'm worthy to be saved. Even then, salvation was something I would see as something well-deserved rather than as a free gift.

Back in the mid-seventies, I once knew a regular sauna user who was very loud and profane in his language - not the type I would see in church! An extrovert and life of the party, he was the one who dominated any group discussion in the sauna cabin, and I felt intimidated by his presence. One day I had the opportunity to be alone with him, and I asked him what he thought of Jesus Christ. He launched an angry tirade, saying that he was brought up as a Roman Catholic and he despises the faith. I knew where he was coming from. And he was not the only one. I have met and spoken to others who had the same opinion and attitude towards God and any form of organised religion.

All from the reality of a holy God and the awareness of sin, thus making it impossible to please God and win His approval. This is why lately I have been watching YouTube videos posted by atheists. Not to throw cold water on my own faith but to try to get to the bottom of their unbeliefs and their apparent hatred of God. And I feel that there is a general apathy towards God extending nationwide. This huge, unbridgeable gap between the holiness and purity of God and the awareness of dirtiness within our consciousnesses has indeed brought in this sense of hostility which isn't unlike my late Uncle's version of Father Christmas.

But Christmas isn't about St Nicholas, it's all about Jesus - the greatest free gift God could give to us! I'm one of the fortunate ones who had, several times, visited the traditional site of the birth of Jesus Christ in Bethlehem, therefore I may have that extra awareness of what this free gift means to me.

But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8.

Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. 1 Timothy 1:15.

The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life. Romans 6:23.

Christmas is about the birth of Jesus Christ in a stable, a free gift God has given to everyone who believes. It's the greatest gift of all, it's free, and no work of any kind can earn it. Neither must I be good to receive it. There is no list made in heaven by God to see if I'm worthy to receive the gift. In fact, I'm totally unworthy. But God, who justifies the wicked, (Romans 4:5) - credits His own righteousness to me and to everyone else who believes, and thus the free gift of eternal life in the presence of God forever.

On behalf of Alex and me, we both wish you all a very merry Christmas and we wish you a more hopeful year ahead. God bless.

The Paradox of Prayer.

It's one of those days when nothing seems to turn out right. With my own laptop deciding to give up the ghost and instead, using my wife's computer, I shall begin to write this blog in a slightly different, less familiar environment. Ah, what is it about technology? Have we become so dependent so much on it that without it we are utterly lost? Or like an illegal drug, we have become addicted, and nothing short of cold turkey would be able to free us from the addiction?

My Fujitsu Laptop - on the blink?

And so being on Tier 2 of the Coronavirus restrictions, home visits by friends are banned, although I would have much preferred to use the term discouraged. With neither of us - my wife and I - having the virus, I would have thought that some friends can visit, even if the number of households is restricted to one, maybe two. Not to worry. Over the coming Christmas period, up to three households are allowed, but only for up to five days, which is between the 23rd and the 27th of December, inclusive.

Yet despite the gloom, our health not being so great, plus a conked out laptop, under social restrictions, the threat of going into Tier 3 isn't far away, despite the promise of a vaccine. With the prospect of not being able to sit at Starbucks over a cup of soothing coffee, let alone enjoying a drink at the pub, the threat of such a forlorn lifestyle isn't that far away. Literally. As less than 25 miles from our hometown, this cloud of gloom looks to be about to settle over Greater London, a phenomenon which threatens the whole national economy and a loss of many jobs. I wonder how many fed-up Londoners are looking ahead with dread? 

And earlier this week, whilst attending a Zoom prayer meeting with a few of my Ascot Life Church friends, I expressed my concerns on quite a different topic. I was praying for a post-Brexit agreement of a deal between our Government and the leaders of the European Union. As I'm writing this, it does look very likely that no agreement will be made, therefore, we could be in for a No-Deal Brexit by the end of the year. For an example of the consequences, I can thank God that I'm not a sheep farmer. With new tariffs to be levied after the end of this transition period, the extra cost in exporting lamb into EU countries could put the farmer out of business. But hey! What difference does one unfortunate individual make? As long as the State becomes sovereign again, be all and end all. Hmm. Can I hear some sound coming form Karl Marx's grave, with both Lenin and Stalin also clapping their hands?

Will Britain become great again after its divorce from the EU? Really, at the end of the day, it's up to God to decide. I can say even further that God already knew of the fate of Britain (and Europe) in the 21st Century even before the world began. Hence God's Omniscience. After all, soon after the Fall, the certain Promise of a Redeemer was made some 4,000 years before Jesus Christ was born. And it was fulfilled at exactly the right time.

Hence the Paradox of Prayer, a title of one of the YouTube videos (with the latest count of 229,092 views) posted by our aforementioned atheist Alex O'Connor. O'Connor was the YouTuber whom I had the privilege to meet in person at Oxford early this year, thus a minor celebrity in his own right (with a present total of 34,895,163 views - and rising.) This Oxford undergrad is reading Theology, and perhaps looking, in my view, to be a future Einstein, this committed vegan has the knack to put omnivores like me to shame.  

Like in another of his videos, O'Connor's argument for veganism is based on the cruelty of animals being slaughtered just for the benefit of our taste. Thus, for raising chicken for the egg industry, all male chicks are gassed alive while female chicks are allowed to live, are fed, and grow in order to lay the eggs as adult females. The only snag with this argument is that in order for some eggs to be fertilised to stabilise the high population level, some male chicks must be spared, but O'Connor does not mention this.

My guilt in consuming milk is enhanced by the atheist when he explains that a newborn calf is forced from its mother, with both suffering distress, in order that the cow's milk, meant by nature for the calf, will instead be for human consumption. Too bad, I, as a milk, meat and egg-consuming Christian and a Creationist, would be labeled a hypocrite for what amounts to an endorsement for the cruel suffering of animals at the abattoir, while at the same time, I acknowledge the existence of a God who was supposed to approve of us eating meat, milk and eggs. 

Thus, his attitude to prayer in his video carries a valid point. If God is an all-knowing, omniscient God who not only knows well in advance what's going to happen in the future, but actually directs everything which does happen, then what is the point of prayer? Here, O'Connor gives two classic examples - prayer for someone who has cancer and prayer for the favourite team to win.

Suppose I prayed desperately for my wife to be healed of cancer (she actually had breast cancer) and there was no treatment offered to cure her of the disease. Therefore, I pray fervently. But God already knew, according to O'Connor, what the final outcome will be, and God will see to have this met. Therefore, if she recovers, it can be said that it was God's will for her to recover and thus, my prayer was considered answered. But she would have still recovered had I not prayed at all, according to the undergraduate. But if she had died, then God had already known this would happen, he allowed it to happen, and my prayer remains unanswered.

Or in the case of a football team. During the 1990 World Cup tournament, I knew a devout English church-going Christian who prayed and fasted for England to win the Cup. However, England was knocked out through a penalty shootout by West Germany in the semi-finals, opening the door for West Germany to lift the trophy against Argentina in the Final by one goal to nil. The prayers and fasting of this Christian remained unanswered, as God already knew who would lift the trophy on that particular occasion, as He already knew from eternity beforehand, according to O'Connor. And unfortunately for that Christian, seven more World Cup tournaments took place without England winning any of them. Indeed, what is the use of prayer?

Alex O'Connor.

It is indeed an unfortunate twist for the meaning of prayer in the Italian language, for the Italian word for prayer is pregare - to beg. Perhaps looked in the same way as that poor widow who begged an unwilling and stubborn godless Judge to grant her justice (Luke 18:1-8) - it does seem that God is reluctant to answer prayer until the begging edges towards hysteria. But here Jesus went on to explain that unlike the unjust Judge, God is quick to answer prayer.

But where I would like Alex O'Connor to consider is the intercessory prayer recorded in the Old Testament book of Daniel. In chapter 9, verses 4-19, he would see the prophet pleading with God for the forgiveness and restoration of Israel, particularly Jerusalem. This was seventy years after Jerusalem was razed to the ground by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar in 586 BC. After King Nebuchadnezzar died, his son Evil-Merodach reigned over Babylonia, followed by his son King Belshazzar, who was defeated around 516 BC by the armies of the two kings, Persian king Cyrus and the Mede king Darius. 

As King Darius took over the throne in Babylon, thus fulfilling seventy years of Exile, Daniel pleaded to God in prayer, acknowledging the greatness and the majesty of God, Israel's rebellion against Him, and the punishment due. He then calls upon God's mercy and for the restoration and the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the nation restored.

But God already knew that in 516 BC, King Darius the Mede would take the throne after seventy years, because through the prophet Jeremiah, he said so before or during the start of the Exile. God also knew that King Cyrus would grant the Jews to return to their homeland, for He had already foretold this through Isaiah around 700 BC (Isaiah 44:28, 45:1) and actually mentioned his name.

Therefore, what was the point of Daniel's intercessory prayer if God knew everything beforehand and willed that everything was fulfilled exactly as He said it would? Was his prayer pointless? Would King Cyrus still set the Jews free if Daniel hadn't prayed? Yes, He would. Such was His plan all along. And timed exactly right.

Was O'Connor right after all? That praying is a waste of time? It certainly looks that way! Yet God the Holy Spirit invited Daniel to pray on that particular day, even by God's own Omniscience, it looked as if deemed unnecessary. But Daniel prayed. He gave his whole heart into his plea. Daniel loved his fellow countrymen, he had a reverence for Jerusalem, already aware that from king Solomon onwards, God has written His own name in that city, and to see it destroyed must have hurt him deeply.

Daniel pleaded for his city and for his people. He loved them dearly. But to add to this, prayer is a privilege, even when it's difficult to pray at times, either due to lacking faith or not knowing what to pray for. As such, I have found that thanksgiving to God for all the good things I have is a good starter.

Furthermore, for all believers in Jesus Christ, God is our Heavenly Father who cares for us. As it's written, Cast all your burdens on Him, for He cares for you - Psalm 55:22,  Matthew 11:28-30, 1 Peter 5:7.

But it's also Science which backs the benefit of prayer, as O'Connor just about worships science. But any psychiatrist, psychologist and other therapists agree that there are benefits in prayer. It's good for mental and spiritual health, and it can also benefit physically. There is something about calling upon God. It isn't a sign of weakness but one of humbleness, acknowledging my helplessness in certain situations and calling upon God for guidance.

Prayer is about thanksgiving, recognising His goodness. And that includes thanking God and interceding on behalf of the NHS, whose skills are excellent in bringing healing against illness and disease. As God had created the brain and its vast complexities, so He had given the ability to learn and gain knowledge which includes the field of medicine. No, Science does not contradict the Bible and faith, rather it supports it, as many of the great thinkers and inventers, such as Raymond Damadian, the Young Earth Creationist who invented the MRI body scanner, a machine which advanced the NHS by leaps and bounds.

Not to mention academics such as the late Henry Morris, another Creationist and hydraulic engineer. Another example, chosen randomly, is Fred Brooks. He was the computer architect and software engineer and a committed Christian who holds the Bible as truth. And there were, and are, many others.

MRI Body Scanning.

Indeed, prayer is simply a good conversation between a man and his God. Put in perspective, prayer is not a ritualistic set of words often used in Catholicism. Rather it's a way of expression of the heart to God, to tell Him what's in my heart. Like O'Connor, I too grew up as a Catholic, and during my early teens, I learned the Lord's Prayer, the Hail Mary and the Act of Contrition by heart, but reciting these was not praying.

Being aware of O'Connor's background, I think I know where he was coming from. Prayer is not a recital. Rather, it's a heart-to-heart talk with God.

Have We Lost Our Mind?

 It felt so relieving when I finally lowered myself into the public swimming pool, just a few minutes down the road to where I live, for a pre-booked fifty-minute lane swim after five-week abstinence. This was just after the end of a month-long lockdown, the second one this year and one not so severe as the first one, due to the coronavirus pandemic. And just as the second lockdown ends, so freedom is partially restored, for now at least, along with the fantastic news that a new antiviral vaccine is on the cards - and a couple of remarkable statements made over the Media.

It was while this second lockdown was still in place when my wife and I both watched the drama, Small Axe on the BBC iplayer. It was not only just good drama but a true story about the opening of the Mangrove Cafe at #8 All Saints Road, in the London district of Notting Hill. Its owner, Frank Crichlow, (1932-2010) was an Afro-Caribbean immigrant who arrived from Trinidad into England on the Empire Windrush in 1948, then as a young man. 

The opening of the Mangrove, 1968.

Not long after the Mangrove Cafe opened, members of the all-white Metropolitan Police began raids of the venue, intending to close it down. Apparently, after strong resistance to keep the business running, providing an essential social haven for other blacks, and despite word getting around that Crichlow was against taking or selling illegal drugs, the police secretly planted drug packets around the cafe so they could be found and warrant an arrest. This occurred in 1984 when the owner was falsely imprisoned whilst awaiting trial but was acquitted.

But it was in 1970, after several failed attempts to raid the cafe, that Crichlow and eight others organised a demonstration to protest against police brutality. The march was well-attended by a large crowd of Afro-Caribbeans and they stood outside several police stations to make their protest. This led to the trial of the Mangrove Nine at the Old Bailey around a year later in 1971.

The Police Sergeant who led the raids stood in the box and at the start of the trial and with a Bible in his hands, swore an oath to always tell the truth "the truth and nothing but the truth". However, throughout the trial, he riddled his testimonies with lies and then covering them up with his declaration for his love and support for the British Empire with its national and racial superiority. However, with the forceful and persuasive questioning of Crichlow, along with one or two others of the Nine, the sergeant was unable to verify his testimony with any substantial evidence and was ordered by the judge to stand down, and all nine defendants were eventually acquitted by the jury. However, the judge himself rebuked both parties of racial hatred after the conclusion of the trial.

The Mangrove Cafe eventually closed down in 1992. But the institutional racism among the British Police Force continues to simmer, even if apparently underground.

Then came the murder of Stephen Lawrence while he was waiting at a bus stop in the London district of Eltham, April 22nd, 1993. It was a deliberate attack by a gang of five belligerent white thugs on an up-and-coming black student architect from Plumstead who was accompanying a friend as the two waited for the bus to arrive to take them home after an evening out. The conviction of these five was never verified due to "lack of evidence" and the five were photographed as they arrogantly walked out of the Court, wearing suits and ties, back into freedom.

It was over ten years after the death of Stephen Lawrence that a BBC Panorama reporter, Mark Daly, spent seven months training as a police officer at the Stockport Division of the Greater Manchester Police in 2003 after then Home Secretary Jack Straw established the MacPherson Report in 1997, resulting in that the police officers in the Stephen Lawrence case were institutionally racist. What Daly has seen and heard had sickened him. Casual office conversation often was about their prejudice against blacks, their hatred of them, and referring to them as monkeys and therefore should go back to their own (backward) country.

One issue seems to become clear, and that is the parallelism between the attitude of the British Police, whose officers are almost universally caucasian and have sympathy for the former British Empire and its invasion and subjugation of foreign lands whose indigenous inhabitants were black or Asian - and the worldview of the German Nazis who had Jews, blacks, those having physical or mental disabilities, and others who were considered inferior, slaughtered in the Holocaust, simply due to their "evolutionary disadvantage" to their superior Aryan race and therefore looked upon as unfit to survive. And also considering that the non-caucasian living in the Caribbean, including Trinidad, were descendants of African slaves of the Middle Passage into which the white English imperialists had dipped their hands into black profits.

Never mind that the white plantation owner of the 1800s New World was legally able to copulate with a female slave to produce a mulatto offspring, and that has happened far more frequently than sleeping with their own white wives, and the latter only to produce a male heir - the African slave was considered a sub-human, down to the level of a mere animal, a stronger worldview than even Charles Darwin himself would at first have ever considered, yet had never entered their minds that such easy interbreeding negates any idea of physical, mental, or genetic inferiority of the female slave.

Cotton Slaves in American Deep South.

And so the world turns. Technology advances. Computers are invented, followed by the Internet. And with it, we can communicate by typing on a keyboard, press "send" and the recipient would receive the message instantly. Indeed, if it wasn't for the rapid growth of Amazon and other parcel deliveries, the Post Office would have long gone out of business. As technology advances by leaps and bounds, so in Medicine, new methods of treatment are invented, including keyhole surgery replacing conventional methods, along with the discovery of new drugs and the research done on new vaccines.

And so, with the breakout of a new virus from China, the Covid-19 advances around the world, thanks mainly to middle-class long-haul flight passengers, along with public school students skiing on the Italian Alps and holiday-making at the heavily-infested Lombardy region of Northern Italy. Britain gets infected, a three-month lockdown is implemented, and all town and city centres become ghost towns. And in laboratories around the world, scientists are busy in their attempts to find a vaccine to combat this new virus. And this includes those at Oxford.

Personally, I find it difficult to reconcile the refined, well-educated English academic with the loutish, belligerent football fan who makes monkey noises at a black player from the stands. Such thinking endorsed by memories of my cardiac procedure in 2015, where many of the NHS staff at Harefield Hospital, including the consultant who operated, were foreign-born. As with last week when I attended a cardiac clinic at Wexham Park Hospital for a scan. All the staff there were foreign-born, including the doctor and receptionist alike. That does not mean, of course, that the scientists at Oxford are all foreign-born, but what I have experienced in person seem to back this idea.

Ande coming to think of it, I have been wondering whether there's an unclean spirit in the air, the same one which dwelt in the heart of Haman, the Agitite Prime Minister who ordered the slaughter of all the Jews living under the Persian King Ahasuerus around 480 BC, and featured in the Old Testament book of Esther. Could this same spirit also have influence among the Caribbean and American Deep South slave owners of the 1700s and the 1800s? Could this same entity have dwelt in the heart of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi cohorts, and at present influencing the hearts of racists, including some football fans and police officers? 

Then the Belgian firm Pfizer was given British approval for its vaccine to be rolled out, the first country in the world to do so. It was State Secretary of Education, Gavin Williamson, who cried out with excitement that Britain was "the greatest country in the world" as if referring to an Empire. I would consider his statement to be nonsense. After all, the vaccine was not made here in the UK but in Belgium, an EU country. However, to give credit, Williamson, whose parents supported Labour, and was educated in a state comprehensive school before graduating in Social Sciences at Bradford University, supported Remain at the 2016 referendum and therefore, I have doubts whether he holds any real nationalistic or neo-Nazi worldviews.

But to my mind, I don't take Williamson too seriously. With the case of Brant Shapp, a Jewish-born Secretary of Transport, he too had made a comment that anyone flying in from a country not listed in the Covid-19 "safe corridor" should quarantine for two weeks, but important businessmen, sportsmen and celebrities - people of higher value - can arrive here in the UK without the need to quarantine.

Whether he was really serious or not, I cannot say. But to differentiate between a "person of higher value" from an "ordinary" person is definitely unbiblical! And extremely unpopular among the masses. When this news appeared in The Daily Mail national newspaper, in the long comments forum trailing the article, just about everyone condemned Grant Shapps, Boris Johnson and the Tory Party altogether. Only one commenter agreed, saying that if in any business suffering a pipe burst and a plumber has to be flown in from Germany, then for him to quarantine for fourteen days from his arrival here would benefit no one, certainly not the business! But such a comment is ludicrous. There are plenty of local plumbers available who can do the work within hours of the call. And besides, is a plumber a person of extra value? I doubt that Brant Shapps had the plumber in mind.

Shapps also voted Remain in the 2016 referendum. But soon after he became a supporter of Brexit after realising that Article 50 shouldn't be dispensed with to remain in the EU. I believe that to differentiate between the value of people according to social status and this combined with Williamson's "Greatest country in the world" could throw fuel into the fire of the Bexiteer's sense of national superiority, and Neo-Nazi supporters would relish in such statements coming from Parliament.

Therefore I tend to believe that this unclean entity is more likely to find a notch among the minds of Brexiteers than of Remainers. However, after witnessing such things going back well beyond Charles Darwin, I'm beginning to ask myself, Are we losing our mind? Is this dominant theory of evolution actually robbing our brains of everything good?

To believe in the supernatural Divine Creation, to accept that since God made us and therefore loves us enough to redeem us and to atone for us through His son Jesus Christ's death and resurrection, is the antidote for all this madness. Paul the Apostle certainly never believed in racial or national superiority. In his letter to the churches in Galatia, he writes that,

You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise. - Galatians 3:26-29.

Indeed, no man's ideas can eclipse such a statement!

One Glorious Proclamation!

 And so the scientists have spoken, our Government ministers have listened to them. No, the present one-size-fits-all national lockdown wasn't enough, according to these great academics. And that despite the Coronavirus infection rate is falling just about everywhere, which had started doing before the start of the lockdown. When this lockdown ends in the middle of the coming week, instead of breathing a sigh of relief and celebrating the return of something resembling normality, instead, the whole of England - except for Cornwall and a couple of offshore islands - will enter the 2nd and 3rd tier restrictions. This is just another lockdown but with a different name.

London under lockdown - Westminster Bridge.

Never mind the high probability that those who live in the neighbouring Devon city of Plymouth could cross the River Tamar into Cornwall for a drink at the first pub they come across - unless border controls resembling the old Checkpoint Charlie of the East/West Berlin frontier will be installed, complete with barbed wire and soldiers patrolling with guns - the ease with which the crossing is made could tempt anyone who has a car or even a cheap train ticket to make the crossing. After all, the view from the two bridges over the river is quite spectacular.

Then there will be cases of a small, isolated village trapped into Tier Three, the band with the severest restrictions, simply because it would be lumped with cities such as Manchester, some 25 miles away. At the same time, London gets away with Tier Two, a lesser restrictive band. After all, these City executives and slickers must be given all priorities to go about their business. After all, the entire British economy rests on their shoulders, does it not? Never mind that the virus could have a field day in a busy office, a crowded underground train or coffee bar.

All this makes me wonder whether wearing a facemask in enclosed public spaces such as a shop, train, taxi or bus, had really been a valuable asset. According to my observations, whenever I'm out and about, to take a glimpse of someone without a mask in an enclosed space is so rare, that I have a greater chance of being struck by lightning than seeing a maskless face. At least all this is where I live, in the Bracknell Forest area. Maybe there are other towns and cities where mask-wearing hadn't taken such a hold, hence allowing the virus to spread.

If there are any cries of protest going on, then the deafening silence I find overwhelming! Then again, this is Britain, the land of stoicism and submissive obedience - even to the point of banning hugs, handshakes, and yes, board games on Christmas Day, and the encouragement to wear a facemask whilst over the cooking stove or watching TV, while at the dinner table, each one should be given a place name and sit at his assigned seat, well away from the next person. If the large table happens to resemble the outline of Great Britain - something you see every day, of course - then sitting at coastal towns such as Brighton, Bournemouth, Plymouth, Blackpool, or Skegness would all be feasible. But trying to sit at inland places such as Birmingham, Manchester or even London could present a problem - the latter which not even the Thames Estuary would be able to solve!

Am I making all this up? Er - No. This seating arrangement according to geographical locations was a proposal put forward by one of the Government's scientists, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if our ministers look upon such a proposal with favour. After all, we must all play our part in keeping the virus from spreading. Not to mention the pro-lockdown crowd who accuse the rest of us as wimps, and feel obliged to compare the loss of our freedoms to our grandfather's compulsory call up to fight in World War II more than eighty years previously.

I sit and rest my head in my open palms. How much longer will this insanity go on? Until the Spring next year? Here I should make myself clear. I could be referred at as a Lockdown Sceptic, or if you like, a Covidiot. However, that is quite different from a Covid Sceptic, one who believes the virus doesn't exist. Rather, I'm fully aware that it does exist. Oh, I know that our ministers mean well. Personally, I'm sure that Boris Johnson, our Prime Minister, imposes such rules with a heavy, reluctant heart. It's the scientists who dream up all these rules and proposes them, to whom the onus ought to fall.

And so, to add to the stress, within the last two weeks, my wife and I had to pay for a taxi ride to an out-of-hours GP surgery for her to submit to a blood test. Her sample was sent to a hospital lab for analysis to see whether she can receive a special medicine through an intravenous dose - Zoledronic Acid. The benefit of this clear fluid is to strengthen her bones which might have been weakened by her cancer tumour. Zoledronic Acid can have some severe side-effects, which her neurological condition could well amplify, that is, intense muscle pain, possibly with flu-like symptoms.

Therefore I had a very heavy heart at the thought of her taking the dose, fearing the possible consequence. Listening to her scream in agonising pain is no novelty, such as happened in the past, yet I need to go with the flow. Therefore, with a reluctant heart, Alex and I took another taxi to Frimley Park Hospital, where, in a large ward-like room filled with other patients, all receiving the same treatment, Alex settled in. No sooner had the catheter had been inserted into her arm and the drip-feed began when her back flared up into intense pain, causing quite a scene in the otherwise quiet but busy ward.

Doctors and nurses flocked around my beloved, and I was questioned about her medical past. Her procedure was aborted, and while she afterwards lay on the bed within a side room, the doctors will have to decide the next move, to discuss whether she is still suitable for the dose. If so, then she would be called back in due course for a second attempt.

A catheter.

Did I have a premonition that something was about to go wrong? I was very unhappy about the dose of Zoledronic Acid, a feeling I did not have for any of her other treatments - the mastectomy itself, followed by a course of chemotherapy, then by her radiotherapy course and the daily transport problems which came with it. Neither any doubt about the hormone pills she presently takes. By the time all these were behind us, I felt hopeless, powerless and adrift in spirit. The next morning I joined a Zoom prayer meeting with other members of Ascot Life Church and I shared with them everything which occurred on the previous day. One of the Elders suggested that for some reason we are not aware of, God had interceded by causing her back to flare up and so, abort the dose.

I guess it's the Romans 8:28 ethic - which we know that all things work for good for those who love God and is called according to his purpose - all things, not just good things. Her sudden back pain might have saved her from a much worse condition which might have demanded hospitalisation for heaven knows how long.

We had a TV-free evening on that day and so we tuned into YouTube. We came across some videos under the title Our Daily Bread, and one series was presented by Dr Con Campbell, a devout Christian. He shot a series of videos tracing the life and journeys of the apostle Paul. It was essentially a Travel series, detailing some of the cities Paul stopped at, including Ephesus, with the ruin of its classic library, along with the Greek amphitheatre where a riot took place as a result of Paul's crusade. Both are still reasonably intact. As for the great Temple of Artemis, one of the largest in the ancient world, only one lonely column remains standing on swampy ground. The rest of the temple had vanished. Being into Travel myself, this series I found to be very edifying, as he diverts his devotion from the life of the apostle to Jesus Christ himself, with the Gospel of salvation thrown into his narration from time to time.

It was after the video had finished and Alex went upstairs to bed, by clicking onto the home page, a short extract from the atheist Alex O'Connor came up. The short clip, lasting about seven minutes, was about his denial of the Resurrection as history. O'Connor, or Cosmic Skeptic by username, was the highly successful graduate and full-time YouTuber with whom I had the privilege to meet in person and talk to in Oxford back in February. 

I checked through his comment forum under his video, There were many comments, but all of them fully agreeing with him in his stance against Christ and the Gospel. What a contrast between O'Connor and Dr Campbell! But I didn't allow the atheist's reasoning to bother me. Instead, I added my own comment to the forum:

Jesus of Nazareth: He has risen. HE HAS RISEN INDEED!

I went into the kitchen feeling jubilant, a vivid contrast to how I felt throughout the week. Jesus is alive. He has risen from the dead, proving He is the Christ and guaranteeing my salvation. I called out, Jesus has risen! Jesus has risen! Jesus has risen! Suddenly, I felt some kind of release from my fears, worries and anxieties. Jesus has risen. That is the centre point of everything in life.

Bringing the reality of Christ's Resurrection into daily reality is helping me cope better with our present Coronavirus situation and with our health as well. Yes, living with heart failure means trips for me to the hospital as well, like next week's visit for a cardio scan. But knowing the Resurrection of Jesus Christ of Nazareth I found to be a boost for morale.

But does that mean that I didn't believe in the Resurrection before then? Yes, of course, I did, as faith in the Resurrection is absolutely vital for a rebirth of the spirit. But this was a reminder as if God was saying, look, I'm here. My Son Jesus of Nazareth is alive, and this must be central to everything in your life.

Well at least someone read my comment, for he replied with the words:

HE HAS RISEN INDEAD.

It just goes to show how O'Connor and his follower's embracing of Darwin's evolutionary theories is absolutely exclusive with faith in Jesus Christ. As one who is wholehearted committed to Divine Creation as described in the first two chapters of Genesis, how easy this fits in with the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

The Resurrection of Jesus Christ. The very proof of Him being God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. The Jewish Messiah, the one who came to fulfil the Promise made by God to our first parents as well as the expectation of the Jews. And here is something of a mystery for all who deny the reality. That is, close to two thousand years after the event, we are still talking about it. Surely, had it never happened, such an issue would never have arisen.

Indeed, as one example, at least I'm aware that Pythagoras existed and he was the one who worked out that the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the square root of the other two sides added together, eg, if side A is 4cm, side B is 3cm, then (4x4)+(3x3)= √25=5cm. This brilliant Greek discovered that regardless of the size of the right-angled triangle, the theorem is always the same. Another example, let's say, side A is 12cm, side B is 8cm, therefore the hypotenuse is (12x12)+(8x8)= √208=14.42cm approx.

The longest side is the Hypotenuse.

Pythagoras' theorem works well, indeed, professions such as architects and engineers can benefit well by using it, but no temples, churches or shrines were ever built to honour or worship him. Yet he died and has been dead for the last 2,500 years, yet we know about him to this day. So far, like all other humans deceased, he's still awaiting his resurrection. The very fact that a church building is easily found across the Western World (including Israel) testifies that something special must be attributed to Jesus of Nazareth. So far, He's the only human to have risen physically from the dead. So far, nobody else ever had, and I take it that after two millennia, we are still celebrating the event every Spring. How can the atheist be so blind?

Maybe as a lockdown sceptic, I'm asking whether this two-tier restriction farce is sensible. Maybe I'm as blind to Science, especially in virology, as the atheist is blind to the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Stern Reprimand or Gentle Love?

Last week I opened my weekly blog with a testimony of our trip to Eilat back in 2000 as a couple, together with a bunny in the oven, after recently watching this YouTube presenter dive-bomb from the pierhead into the coral-rich turquoise sea. But today I would like to go back even further, to the Summer of 1970, when I was a seventeen-year-old teenager. Back then I spent a couple of weeks at Butlin's Holiday Camp located on the Sussex coast, close by to the traditional-style Victorian seaside resort of Bognor Regis. It was my first ever away-break taken without my parents.

Butlins Holiday Camp around the 70s.

To every reader who doesn't live in the UK, maybe a little insight might help define a holiday camp. It's a typical British institution, the original idea dreamt up by a fairground lover and entrepreneur William Butlin, who established a holiday camp, I believe, near the Lincolnshire resort of Skegness, on the North Sea coast sometime in the 1930s. Overnight accommodation originally consisting of tents, along with a nearby fairground, the camp soon began to develop into a full resort with chalets replacing tents and many other facilities added to the fairground, including a roller-skating rink, swimming pool, a table tennis hall, other games facilities, several theatres, two ballrooms (one for Old Time dancing, the other for modern ballroom, and there was also a discotheque.) All these facilities were free to use by the holidaymaker once the booking and cover fee for chalet hire was paid for.

Back in 1970, each chalet was a small self-contained room with a bed, a table-and-chair and a small bathroom, but no kitchen, as it was required to eat at the resort restaurant at given set times. It was the home for the vacationer for the whole of his stay. Had I gone with a friend, then we would have had a separate chalet, one for each of us. Nowadays, the chalets are greatly improved with kitchens for self-catering guests and larger family accommodation, in other words, what we would call holiday homes. 

For all the residents, in 1970, there was a huge restaurant, accommodating several hundred people at a time, where three meals were served, free, each day throughout the stay. Also nowadays, there are a variety of cafes and coffee bars catering for all, but especially for day visitors.

Set in a time when dishwashing machines weren't yet installed and thus crockery was washed by hand, in the kitchen behind the service hatch and out of sight from all the guests, the staff was busy in both in the preparation of the food and the washing up during and after each mealtime. Looking back, I tend to believe that many of the kitchen workers were undergrads on Summer leave from their universities. The stress which goes into such seasonal work is often revealed by a sudden loud POFF! - followed by a cheer from the guests - "Hurrah!"

These accidents tended to be quite frequent, hardly a day passes without one plate, cup or saucer dropping to the floor and shattering. And so the wheels of the machine keeps on turning - the famous Redcoats kept us all entertained, especially in the evenings, other staff were lifeguards at the swimming pool, others supervised each ride on the fairground, and still others pushed brooms, mops, and the daily use of detergent keeping the Environmental Officer happy and everyone, staff members and guests alike, enjoying the minimal risk of picking up a bug on the campsite.

And not to forget back in 1970 when it was quite fashionable for a lounge to be sited in the same building as the swimming pool, and below the water level. Huge tough-glazed observation windows lined the pool, giving a fabulous sub-aquatic view of the swimmers as each thrashes his legs about at the deep end of the pool. It was just like looking into an aquarium. As the loungers relax in their comfortable armchairs watching all the goings-on underwater, so the continuous, almost melodic low hum of the pool chlorinators ensure that its hygiene safety was kept to the right level.  

What a pity it is for such sub-aquatic views not to exist anymore! Watching swimmers and bathers through a sub-aquatic window was so relaxing, indeed, even therapeutic, hence the presence of fish tanks in some public venues to this day. Could it be the case of underwater flatulence be the cause of many prudish spectators taking offence and complaining to the staff? And even causing others to snigger? Not to mention the embarrassment felt by the bather himself. Indeed, the 1960s and 70s was a very different era, an era of innocence, even naivety, perhaps. Our last visit to a Butlin's holiday camp was at Minehead in 2003, with Alex and our baby daughter. It was to attend a Spring Harvest Christian festival, and the upgraded swimming pool, complete with flumes and a space bowl, is housed in a building of its own, without any observation windows.

Camp Restaurant around the 1970s.

I suppose these days when huge dishwashing machines now line the kitchen walls and far fewer dishes break, all this make kitchen work considerably easier, as even now the large restaurant for overnight guests is still fully functional. But going back to 1970, it has never crossed my mind just how often a van arrives with new crockery to replace those constantly broken. And so, such a vehicle may arrive rather discreetly in the staff car park and out of sight from any guests.

I guess might be quite easy for someone in his own home, having accidentally dropped and broken a valuable plate, to be criticised and be called a clumsy fool, especially when the offender is a child. Of course, the one making the accusation had never dropped any breakable item, and he believes that he never will. But then again, there is a difference between a plain white plate, cup or saucer, one of many in a large restaurant, and a highly valued antique handed down over several generations of a family.

One more-recent incident occurred while I was at a leisure pool restaurant following a gym and sauna session. A family was seated at a table directly in front of my table. Suddenly, the young daughter of the family, a girl I guess to be three or four years old, accidentally dropped a white side plate and broke it. She immediately burst into tears, perhaps with the realisation of it happening before and receiving a telling-off from one of her relatives. One of the staff members then approached and calmly cleaned up the shrapnel, probably even smiling and reassuring the little girl that nothing was really amiss.

The result was it didn't take long for the girl to calm down and cease her weeping, and the rest of the family was able to finish their post-swim refreshments without any further ado.

The incident of the little girl directly in front of me was out of an unexpected and unintentional circumstance, as with the worker who accidentally drops a dish at the restaurant kitchen. There is quite a difference between this little girl and say, a rebellious son who deliberately smashes a plate out of anger and frustration from not getting his own way. In the boy's case, a firm reprimand is needed to teach him the difference between right and wrong and that the world doesn't revolve around him, maybe with further punishment in withholding treats or favours and even to be sent up to his bedroom for a while.

Therefore, I could ask, what has inspired me to write a blog such as this one? Earlier today, my beloved was cooking in the kitchen whilst I remained in the lounge, reading the paper. We have an agreed rule here about not having two people in the kitchen at the same time. Suddenly there was this almighty "POFF", and I was startled. Alarmed, I made a dash into the kitchen, expecting my wife to be in a neurological fit, something which can happen quick and unexpected. But instead, she looked up at me very apologetically, a smashed bowl of stew all over the floor. The vessel had slipped through her fingers as she took it out of the microwave oven.

But did I reprimand her? Not at all! Having been married to each other for more than two decades, I knew perfectly well that this was purely an accident. In fact, I can say for sure that this is the first time something like this has ever happened. All I did was to take her in my arms and reassured my love for her. The same attitude Jesus Christ has for His Church, which is seen as His bride.

I suppose this incident is a kind of picture. Just as I was able to feel no need to reprimand her for such a misdemeanour but instead reassured her of my love, I believe that is how God sees me whenever I slip up. And I slip up all the time. Even King David once wrote that if God was to take account of all his sins, how would he stand? (Psalm 130:3). And considering what James says in his letter, that if someone keeps the Law perfectly but stumbles at just one point, he is guilty of breaking the whole Law (James 2:10) - and such he must be taken to Court, just as any car driver who was unfortunate enough to be caught speeding. He might plead to the magistrate that he had never driven in excess speed before, but his plea would be of no use. He has broken the law and must face a penalty.

That is unless someone pays the penalty on the driver's behalf. Once paid, the driver is free to go. In judicial terms, the driver was forensically acquitted. Praise be to God, the penalty for my sins, and there are plenty of them, have all been paid for by the crucifixion of the One who had no sin, His death and burial, then His Resurrection to prove that the atonement was effective and anyone who believes can receive this forgiveness of all sin - past, present and future. Are all my future sins already forgiven? Well, how many of my sins were committed after the Crucifixion? All of them, for there were nearly two thousand years between His death and Resurrection, and my birth.

Camp chalets, around 1980.

But being what I am, I can, and do sin in the same way as that boy throwing a tantrum for not getting his own way. In my childhood day, I would have gotten a smack from Dad (and indeed, I was smacked!) Such discipline was well deserved. As the Bible says, we will all stand before God (Romans 14:10, 2 Corinthians 5:10.) But this will be a judgement of rewards, not salvation, as every saint have been forensically acquitted. Therefore, all will either be rewarded or suffer loss. And I believe there will be plenty of tears, but all will live. Because forensic acquittal got by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, not a single saint will lose his salvation, but instead, he will suffer the loss of heavenly rewards.

However, God the Father has promised that He will wipe every tear, according to Revelation 21:4. After giving my account to God at the Judgement seat, I can imagine some tears will be shed. But God Himself will produce His heavenly hanky and wipe the tears away in tender loving care. It would be like the little girl who accidentally broke a dish at the pool restaurant. The member of staff who swept up the shatterings gave her a smile of reassurance and she made a rapid recovery. Or in the case of my own beloved, who thought I would upbraid her for her clumsiness and the waste of a complete lunch, but all I felt was love and tenderness for her. She quickly pulled through, and I went out to our local superstore to buy two identical replacement bowls.

Oh, to pour out my heart to God, and to throw all my burdens, anxieties and worries on Jesus Christ, because He cares for me - 1 Peter 5:7.  

Prosperity Gospel is Heresy.

 As we spent the evening together browsing YouTube - there was nothing worth watching that particular evening on either of the BBC channels, neither does commercial TV grab our interest either - we tuned onto a video of this young Christian couple exploring Eilat. And I was disappointed with their footage. His wife, already in the sea and using a waterproof video camera, filmed him leaping off the pier to dive-bomb into the turquoise sea. True enough, where they filmed, it was at a location further south along the coast to where we were two decades earlier. Yet, we were still intrigued as we watched him plunge into the sea bum-first over and over again, so close to the Egyptian border.

Coral Beach, Eilat, taken October 2000

Eilat is situated on the most southerly tip of Israel, where one of the two "fingers" of the "arm" of the Indian Ocean floods into the rift valley separating Israel from Jordan, the Gulf of Aqaba. Eilat is right at the "fingertip". The other "finger" branching out to the west is the Gulf of Suez. Both are extensions of the Red Sea, itself the "arm" of the Indian Ocean. The landmass between the two "fingers", the southern tip of the Negev Desert, is a mountainous area, believed by many to be the Mt Sinai where the Decalogue, or the Ten Commandments, was delivered to the Hebrew nation from Heaven. 

The resort of Eilat was the furthest location we had ever travelled as a couple, and despite being so far from Jerusalem, Galilee and the Mediterranean coast, (where all three we had already visited) it was possible to spend several hours there on a day trip by bus from Jerusalem. As Alex was nearly twenty weeks pregnant with our first daughter, she felt a little too cautious to snorkel, but having hired the equipment from the hotel kiosk, I enjoyed the full experience of subtropical coral reef wonders while she relaxed at the pierhead, keeping her eye on me.

The tranquil beauty of the reef, with little fishes darting to and fro, either unaware or unafraid of the human hovering just above them, it was a fulfilment of my dreams, also an echo of the Great Barrier Reef snorkelling experience just three years earlier, when I thought back then that I would be a confirmed bachelor for life.

Therefore to watch someone divebombing over an area where marine life is so precious, I have found unnerving. I can imagine any fish swimming peacefully in the vicinity instantly vanish at the moment of impact. Whether both are graduates I can only guess, but going by their more serious set of presentations elsewhere, I tend to think they are. But who am I to judge them over their apparent lack of concern for the delicate semitropical marine life?

The Red Sea, the Great Barrier Reef, even the black basaltic outcrop of the Lanzarote coast plunging into the Atlantic, forming a natural underwater cove brimming with life, I have got to admit how I was incredibly fortunate to see such marine splendour through glass goggles and breathing through a tube. And all such experiences are further enhanced by using a cheap underwater camera, its cardboard structure sealed in a transparent plastic case, at all three destinations. I was somewhat surprised that even with trashy equipment, the resulting underwater photos are good enough to grace any enthusiast's album. 

And such beautiful thoughts and memories, laced with a dash of disappointment, filled our heads and our hearts as we watched the video. Indeed, I consider all these experiences as undeserved privileges, although one can argue that by working hard and saving up hard, I deserve them all.

In Proverbs 16:9 Solomon writes that although man may devise in his heart, it is God who directs his paths. His father David also wrote that although I may reach to heaven, you are there. If I were to make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I was to rise on the wings of the dawn, you are there. If I were to settle on the far side of the sea, even there your right hand will guide me (Psalm 139:8-10).

As far as I'm aware, how can I prove that there was no Travel Agent near to where he lived and reigned? The hint of prophecy, if that was intended, was certainly accurate! As he had also written,

Oh, that I had wings like a dove! For then I would fly away and be at rest. - Psalm 55:6.

Had that always been my wish? Although King David had only dreamed of travel, how fortunate I am to actually fulfil his prophecy. It's as if God had wanted to show me His glory of creation, allowing me to fly away like a bird to see such distant wonders, such dramatic beauty, both land and sea alike, as well as the stars in their full glory from the bottom of the Grand Canyon in 1995. The purpose of all this is to glorify God.

The reef at Coral Beach, Eilat, taken 2000.

If I have something to boast about, then allow me to boast in the Lord. What does it mean, "boasting in the Lord?" It simply means giving God the credit and thanks for allowing me to make such trips.

Indeed, I can look back and acknowledge that God has blessed me well. And I certainly didn't deserve it! As one who by nature always sees the glass as half-empty rather than thank the Lord that there is some water in it, and tend to ask why God has blessed some more than others, here I will say that God has blessed me well without trying to make myself worthy of these blessings. Instead, they came by God's grace.

A psychologist once wrote in a newspaper that personal experience is more fulfilling than owning possessions. I fully agree with him. Here I'm not talking about whether owning a television, a cooking stove, and a washing machine as all luxury goods. These are essential to our modern way of living. After all, with shorter working hours than in Victorian times, a television will help alleviate idleness and boredom. A cooking stove saves us from having to roast meat on a spit in cold and wet weather or to boil vegetables over an open fire. And a washing machine is certainly labour-saving - another burden for the Victorian housemaid lumbered with a stack of dirty linen. And we need a bank account to meet all our needs. But whether there is enough money in the account to meet all one's needs or aiming to stack up millions is another matter.

Or the car, wristwatch or even a bicycle. Surely, there is a difference between owning a Skoda and a Lamborghini! Yet both serve the same purpose - to take the owner from A to B. I could own a £20 digital wristwatch bought from Argos catalogue store, or I can work hard to buy a Patek gentleman's watch for £100,000 from one of London's top jewellers. But both will tell exactly the same time. Or with a bicycle, I can buy a second-hand runabout from someone's private garage for £30 or I can go to a specialist bike shop and come out with an S-Works Shiv Disc triathlon bicycle for more than £10,000. Yet both would get me from A to B by pedal power. The snag is, I have no problem locking up the cheap bike in the street. But I have yet to see a Shiv locked up in the street - as if I ever will.

Or, for that matter, leave a Lamborghini parked overnight in a rough estate? Or even wear the Patek wristwatch whilst walking through a dark alley?

By now you must get the gist. Prosperity. And there is, what seems to me to be strange teaching going around in some churches. It often referred to as the Prosperity Gospel. If I have got its meaning right, then it basically means that prosperity and wealth will follow everyone who walks with God. And if a Christian is struggling with his finances, then he is either not walking entirely within God's will or he needs to "claim the blessing" which may include "rebuking the poverty demon" which is afflicting the believer's life. Again, Jesus does not seem to side with the rich man throughout his ministry.

On one occasion, a young man who is a ruler of a synagogue came up to Jesus and admit that even obeying the Commandments has not reassured him of eternal life. The young man asks, What do I still lack?

To which Jesus replied, Sell everything you have and give the money to the poor and come, follow me, and you will have riches in heaven. The rich man walked away sad, and watching him go, Jesus then declared how hard it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Indeed, it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. No wonder his disciples asked, that if that was the case, then who can be saved. To which Jesus answered, What is impossible with men is possible with God - Luke 18:18-30.

Or the rich fool of Luke 12:13-21. It begins with the younger of two brothers asking Jesus to arbitrate for him concerning his older brother's inheritance. According to Jewish law, it's the eldest son who receives the greater from his father's will. This fellow did not believe this was fair.

To which Jesus tells the story of a rich farmer whose field produced abundantly. Figuring out that his present barn is too small to store his abundance, he decides to tear it down and build a much bigger one. After this, it's a life of ease, eating drinking and being merry. But God called him a fool and that night his soul will be required of him. Then who will inherit his wealth?

Yet supposing this man was a lot wiser and fell to his knees and thanked God for the abundance of crops, then asked Him on how he can distribute to the poor and share in his abundance to those not so well off. Would have died that night? Very unlikely. Rather, his life would not only have greater fulfilment but he would be highly regarded by the community.

The young rich ruler walks away sad...

Prosperity Gospel is a subject my Creationist friend Andrew Milnthorpe and I have been discussing, after having left a church which taught such heresy. If only we all realise that we cannot take a single crumb with us when we die. But I believe we will take our memories with us. I believe that once in Heaven, all bad memories will be eliminated, completely wiped out. But I believe that good memories will remain, and be a talking point among redeemed saints. 

Of course, God wants to bless us. To me, God has given me the tremendous privilege to live in a hostel right in the heart of Jerusalem Old City, the City of the Great King, and to walk through its streets. All this to bolster my faith in Him and to assure me that the Bible is true and also to gain a better understanding. Then all the natural places God has shown me, such as the mangroves in Australia, palm trees and tropical and Mediterranean vegetation in Singapore and Australia, Israel, southern Europe and the USA, the dynamic Niagara Falls in Canada, the majestic Grand Canyon of the Colorado River, the magnificent view of the stars in full glory from inside the Canyon, the coral reefs and marine life of Eilat, the Great Barrier Reef and Lanzarote. Yes, I have a lot to thank God for.

But as for material blessings, God may indeed bestow such on a person or family. But it's not to be stored away in barns but to share with the less fortunate.  Praise God for the death of Jesus Christ on the cross to atone for our sins, His burial, and His Resurrection to give us a new life with imputed righteousness credited to us, turning us from sad young men and greedy rich farmers into benevolent saints of God.