Educational School Trip or a Holiday?

The daylight was already filtering through the closed curtains of our small dormitory. A quiet conversation was whispered between us boys when either something was said or something happened which made me let out a whine. Afterwards, I felt nothing more of it, that is until Mrs Brown, fully dressed, strode into the bedroom with her repeated question:

Who squealed? Who squealed?

I admitted that I did. Mrs Brown, a rather tall, choleric primary school teacher then pulled back the bedclothes in which I was under and smacked my exposed thigh. Then she threw the covers back into place and walked out of the dormitory. At least I didn't cry.

Such an act of corporal punishment for what I have regarded as an insignificant offence was quite common around the late 1950s, into the 60s. But we, as the fledgeling Baby-Boom generation, regarded all this as normal, to be expected. Where was I back then? It was our primary school Summer-term two-week trip to Swanage in Dorset. As the school takes some pupils away every year, I remember at least two of these trips. To Swanage in Dorset. The other was at a hostel in Llangollen, North Wales.

Ballard Down cliff from Swanage beach.

Both these trips, which were paid for by my already hard-up parents, were meant to be both educational and for a chance of us inner-city Londoners to acquaint ourselves to the countryside and to the coast. And with quite a high level of disciplinary attitude. Whenever we were out and about, it was compulsory to walk in line with each pupil partnered up into twos, with the staff checking us over before told to move. In the evenings, before bed, we all had to fill in a diary we were each given, describing the place we had visited, even detailing the morning and afternoon weather.

At Swanage, I was immediately struck by the chalk cliffs of Ballard Down. I thought it was some kind of magic as we walked along Peveril Point from the esplanade, and watch from across the bay Old Harry Rock, the two Pinnacle Stacks and the southeast-facing cliffs beginning to unfold from beyond Ballard Point, as if like a telescope. As for being educational, up to this day, it's difficult to work out how knowledgeable our teachers were. Indeed, even at that young age, I was able to identify Ballard Down as a chalk headland, but geological terms such as Purbeck Stone and the very hard Portland Stone, both making up Durlston Bay, south of Swanage, as well as the coastline beyond, I doubt if our teachers knew anything of it all, let alone me. 

View of cliffs from Peveril Point, not seen from the beach. 

Like the time we were at Llangollen. The hostel is towered over by a high hill rising on the other side of the River Dee which flows through the town. The hill was topped by the ruins of Castle Dinas Bran, which gives a spectacular sight from our dormitory window. I asked the headmaster himself if he knew any history of the ruin. He apologised, unable to answer. But to be fair on him, which was long before the invention of the Internet, such research on the castle's history was very hard to come by.

When considering my own childhood experiences of school trips during term time - half-term in my day consisted of just Monday and Tuesday off, thus just a long weekend - I can't help having mixed emotions over those public schools and grammar schools sending their pupils to a skiing holiday in the Alps. Either I was grossly misinformed, or such holidays - and that's what they are, holidays in contrast to educational trips - I have thought such holidays had never existed during my boyhood days.

Physical activity? As a schoolboy, this meant long walks. And in Swanage, this included bathing in the sea at high tide, when there's hardly a beach between the lapping sea and the promenade wall. Although it was late Spring, it was cold and I couldn't swim. Furthermore, I was afraid of the abundance of seaweed washed up on the beach, discarded kelp fronds. From within the pile, (so I thought) some nasty creature may come out and bite! (And for the record, such abundance of kelp and sargassum fronds are now non-existent at our beaches. Indeed, I miss them.) 

What I thought was merely a day of leisure, a day at the (virtually non-existent) beach, it was much later I came to realise that this was part of a toughening up process the staff felt was a necessity in preparing us to face a challenging world as adults. And this included cold sea bathing with practically no other option. Even when we were staying at Llangollen, we were taken by coach to a beach which was infested with live jellyfish. We were still encouraged to swim. As far as I'm aware, there was no record of injury among us.

Kelp seaweed, abundant during my boyhood days.

Wind forward more than five decades and here I am, in full retirement. Although over such a timespan, memories linger. And so we are all under threat of a coronavirus epidemic, and it won't come as a surprise when this crisis is declared a global pandemic. What I have found so infuriating is that posh pupils from grammar and public schools have flown for a half-term skiing holiday to Northern Italy where unknown to them, the COVID-19 virus has already taken a foothold with the infection rapidly spreading.

These trips were proper holidays which, to me, are quite different from the school educational trips I had to go through. At all other times, I would have given them no other thoughts other than to wish them well. How they must have enjoyed themselves as each of them hurtling down a snow slope on two rails fixed to their feet. Then in the evening, it's the bar. Although too young for alcohol consumption, no doubt nightlife was provided for them. All paid for by parents who can afford the exorbitant price.

Apparently, say at a school of 300 students, about thirty go on such trips. Then at the start of the second half of term, a couple of students becomes unwell. The whole school is shut down and all 300 students quail with fear, pondering whether they might have picked up the virus, even if they did not fly out in the first place. And after the school closes down, those living within the vicinity start worrying. Then the rest of us begin to worry.

Maybe it's just me, who knows. But I believe that I would feel far more sympathy had those returning had been casualties of a Middle East war, who caught the infection whilst on the front line. Or volunteering medics out to lend assistance to Third World families suffering from malnutrition, who had picked up the virus. Or Christian missionaries and their volunteers unfortunate enough to become infected. I would even have greater sympathy towards those who flew out to be reunited with their families, or for those who were sent out by their employers to fulfil a contract. But a group of well-off students out on a skiing holiday? I think this what irks me most of all. The fact that skiing is quite an expensive activity which is patronised mainly by the middle-classes is the root cause of the rub.

And here I am, shaking in my shoes with fear, anxiety. Not just for me but for my beloved wife as well. Yes, I know. The death rate is only about 2% of all infected. But the majority who has died was mainly among the elderly and among those with existing health risks. Then what a shock when a newspaper announces that if the infection becomes widespread here in the UK, it's the younger and stronger patients who will be given priority for treatment, ahead of the elderly and the more vulnerable. A revival of eugenics in its own country of birth!

With my wife on recovery from breast cancer and myself, a senior citizen living with permanent heart failure, the risk from such an infection would be considerably higher. Therefore it really irks me to read that NHS doctors will give priority to treat a young student with wealthy parents and just back from Italy over my beloved who is in a worse condition due to an immune system weakened by chemotherapy.

But one thing I must be clear here. I'm fully aware that these pupils had no idea they were flying into an affected area. If they knew beforehand, no doubt they would have cancelled the trip or consider a switch to a safe destination. Therefore, with this in mind, I can't blame any of them. Not individually anyway. But I do blame the system. I know this is quite difficult, this blaming of an abstract quality instead of a person or a group of people. But I guess this is our British culture. Pampering the well-off student instead of throwing him into a cold, rough sea with piles of floating kelp and a few live jellyfish!

The ruin of Dinas Bran dominated our dorm window...

But holding resentment against the British class system will neither benefit nor hurt anyone other than myself. Such irksomeness will only destroy me, no one else. As far as I know, school trips of this calibre will continue to be organised, there will always be parents willing and able to pay. There is no hint whatsoever that skiing will go out of business - unless, of course, global warming will put and end of mountain snowfalls. But even if that was to happen, these elite bunch of pupils will find alternate activities in different destinations. It's all part of once privileged always privileged. 

Therefore, there is no benefit in holding a grudge, nor is there anything good in worrying or feeling anxious, having fears of the future. Instead, I can follow the footsteps of Jabez, an otherwise unknown Israelite found among a long list of names detailed in the first ten chapters of the Old Testament book of 1 Chronicles. In 4:10 an interruption of the long list of names is given for this Jabez, the wisest of a family of brothers. The name Jabez means pain in Hebrew, although it can also mean sorrow as in the KJV, as a more intense birth pain was felt by his mother at his birth, hence was given this name.

He simply turned to God and uttered this prayer:

Oh that you would bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain.

And God granted his request.

This verse has been turned into a popular song which we sing at church. However, an extract from the Lord's prayer has been added to the original verse: Let your kingdom come, Let your will be done, On earth as it is in heaven...

It looks as if there is a hint of human nature within the thinking of the songwriter. Jabez prays: "Oh that you bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain." And that's it. Jabez did not condition his prayer with any form of a promise. A very simple request passed on to God, and this request was granted with no strings attached. That is the object of grace, undeserved mercy!

For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. Romans 10:13.

Either this is true or it isn't. The only requirement is to believe that this Jesus of Nazareth crucified is the risen Christ. It's a heart belief, a conviction that Jesus has risen from the dead physically. And from such a heart, just call on God to rescue you, and that's it. Paul promises that all who call on the Lord will be saved.

Of course, Paul is applying this to salvation, but not necessarily Jabez. Instead, he asks God for earthly blessings, the enrichment of this life, the here-and-now. I don't think there's any difference between praying for salvation or earthly enrichment. By calling upon God's name both were answered. Jabez may not fully understand about the afterlife in the same way we do, but having called upon God, he was saved as well as looked after whilst alive.

I have been in fear of this coronavirus. Mixed with this fear was my anger directed at those posh pupils arriving back from a skiing holiday now spreading the virus and threatening us all. It was in this pit of darkness when I remembered this piece of Scripture and I read it. And then I prayed:

Oh Lord, bless us (Alex and myself) and protect us, O Lord, from the threat of this virus. May you guard us, protect us and keep us free from this infection and from all illness relating to it.

Bless us, O Lord, and keep us financially secure. In Jesus' Name. Amen.

As the weeks come and go, we'll see whether God will answer our prayer. In the meantime, I have felt relief from such fear and anxiety.  

Tears on the London Underground.

It was one those unusual evenings after alighting at London Waterloo Station when I thought a walk across the River Thames on a traffic-free footbridge would be more fulfiling than boarding a London Underground, or Tube train, direct from the mainline terminus.

An old route has recently been reopened. After being closed off for several years due to the presence of a huge redevelopment project, a footbridge now crosses the busy York Road into South Bank, where two newly-built skyscrapers reaching heavenward stand side by side, with a pedestrian concourse in between, giving easy access to Jubilee Park which fronts the river, itself dominated by the huge bicycle wheel-like London Eye, erected twenty years earlier to commemorate the start of the new Millennium.

London Eye across Jubilee Gardens.

The presence of these sky-high buildings, along with the noise of busy traffic behind, made me feel very small and insignificant. And indeed, whilst at the otherwise deserted concourse, a mother and two young children were making their way in the opposite direction, towards Waterloo. The mother was frustrated with her daughter, looking to be six or seven years old. Although she was telling her off for something, her foreign tongue prevented me from understanding what she was saying to her. The sole parent was also wheeling a pushchair, within a two-year-old boy was strapped, his cheeks run with tears as he was screaming his protest. By looking back after they had passed, the reason for his tears became obvious. Poor Mum, thinking only for the best for her son, attempted to cover his head with a woolly balaclava, only to be violently whipped off immediately whilst the child cried even louder.

There was something about the whole scene which hit me hard. The two huge and intimidating skyscrapers, with us in between, the roar of nearby traffic. And the sight of a screaming two-year-old whose wails contrasted so feebly with the traffic noise. All in all, a picture of minuteness in a huge, uncaring world. I felt my emotions slide into a deep depression.

Halfway across the gardens, I was approached from behind by an Afro-Carribean, in his twenties, who asked me where he can find Eye-Park. A very suspicious question indeed. Whether he was referring to the gardens we were at, or Hyde Park (quite a distance from where we were) or some other location I had never heard of before, I just turned around and, I hope, with an aggressive expression, I said I don't know. He beat a rapid retreat. Being very aware of sly pickpocketing gangs using this very approach to avert attention, I was very wary, checking that I hadn't lost anything.

I approached Embankment Station on the other side of the river, and after passing easily through the barriers, it was only a few moments later, whilst sitting at the platform, when tears were rolling down my own face. The young child back at that concourse brought out all mental images of my beloved, first her present absence, then her illness, her hair loss during chemotherapy, now her daily trips to Guildford for radiotherapy, in addition to our own daughters growing up elsewhere...I felt no shame as my tears flowed, only to be interrupted by the rumbling of the train slowing down as it enters the tubular station.

As the train doors opened and those who wanted to alight had all done so, there was this gent with a holding case just standing there on the platform edge, outside the waiting train, blocking my entry just as the doors were about to shut. I muttered:
For heaven's sake, get in there!
He stepped in with me immediately following. He then launched into a tirade. How dare that I hurried him to board the train! I had a choice. I could either:
A. With my clenched fist, force him to swallow his own teeth, or
B. Ignore his tirade and move away along the carriage.

With the train packed with many standing, including both of us, I thought B was the better option. After all, a scene was what I just did not want, being on board a crowded train, and then the police, etc, etc.

At last, I alighted at the street at Russell Square. Directly opposite the station is a Pret A'Manger Coffee bar. I was hungry so this was quite a welcoming sight. Yes, as soon as I had settled down with a cappuccino and croissant, another Afro-Caribbean or one of Asian origin, looking to be in his late twenties or early thirties, approached my table from behind, asking for small change. Despite my anger, I just told him to go away without swearing or being too rude. I was amazed when he went around all the other tables, including one occupied by two women, with the same request. No one gave him anything. And rightly so. He looked healthy, well-fed, and clothed reasonably well. Not only that, but outside in the street, I saw him prattling around without any sign of distress, asking passersby for money. Homeless? He looked to be a fake.

Gosh, what a journey! Four separate incidences within just a couple of miles and feeling down in the pits. But where was my final destination? It was at Senate House of the University of London, where I was to attend a lecture delivered by Prof Michael Scott, who is also a BBC TV presenter on classical archaeology, on the same par as BBC presenters Brian Cox or Simon Reeve. Tonight's theme was about the ancient city of Herculaneum, destroyed by the eruption of Mt Vesuvius in AD 79.

I felt all my negative emotions melt away as I entered the Woburn Suite fifteen minutes before the start of the lecture, feeling far more relaxed and content. As I occupied a seat on the second row from the front, I did notice that the majority of attendees making up the audience were senior citizens, very much unlike the audience of Oxford students who attended a debate two weeks earlier at Trinity College. These were not only predominantly senior citizens but they had an upper-middle-class look about them. Yet the topic of Herculaneum was always something of interest, going way back to 1973 while backpacking Italy, the train I was in flew through the station of Portici Ercolano whilst on its way to Salerno from Central Naples, to alight at Pompei to visit the excavations.

I felt a sense of anticipation as I watched the professor talking to one important-looking elderly chap, dressed in suit and tie, before commencing on his talk. During his lecture, there was one item of discussion which, to me stood out from the rest of the life and events of Herculaneum, and that was to do with the effects of the eruption. People attempting to hide from the pyroclastic blast were annihilated instantly. This including the boiling of the blood and other body fluids to complete dryness in 560-degree Celcius heat. But what I found most striking of all was the brain of one individual vitrified into a glass fragment as the hot blast hit him. Scott spent quite a bit of his lecture on this alone, explaining that the early archaeologists thought that the glass fragment, which was found inside the victim's skull, were pieces of jewellery until laboratory testing proved otherwise.

This glass fragment is actually a vitrified human brain.

Another view of the same glass fragment found inside a skull.

A human brain vitrified into a piece of glass? Isn't glass made from sand mixed with some silicone heated to a very high temperature? In other words, glass is sand which as been through intense heat. Yet he's speaking about a human brain, made of organic material consisting of billions of nerve cells - turning into a piece of glass!

I can't help but remember the Scriptures, that the first man, Adam, was created from the dust of the earth. After the Fall, God reminds our first parents that they were made from the ground, they are dust, and to the ground, they return (Genesis 3:19). How amazing then, that Science, Archaeology, and a secular Professor has all unwittingly endorsed the truth of Holy Scripture!

Following the lecture was question time. Unlike at Trinity College where the moderator decided whose question will be received, this time it was Scott himself who pointed at my raised hand. I then asked:
Sir, back in the eighties I had a copy of The National Geographic.* In it was an article about the find of an upturned hull of a boat found in one of the arches of Herculaneum. Archaeologists were very interested in the find, but with the interior concealed in mud, they were keen to discover how the Romans fared at sea. But the hull was scorched to charcoal and therefore very brittle to the touch. Has any more information about this boat come to light since the article was published?

Professor Scott looked flabbergasted as he tried to answer my question, then admitted his own unawareness of the boat. After the meeting officially closed the important-looking elderly chap dressed in his suit and tie then approached me in person.

He then went on to explain to me that yes, he is familiar with the boat, and it's now on display at the Pliny Museum, located on-site at Ercolano. Looking at his prominent breast identity badge, I could see that this fellow was Rob Fowler, chief Treasurer of the Herculaneum Society, which is responsible for annual escorted tours of the region, which he tells me that this year's trip is already fully booked up. Such visits allow visitors into parts of the excavations not open to the public. All members also receive literature, news and updates mainly on Herculaneum itself. Fortunately, he did not try to push any sales tat on me to join the club. Who knows, maybe I just don't look the posh type! Before I left, I shook hands with open-neck Professor Michael Scott himself, the TV celebrity, and thanking him on how well I have enjoyed the talk.

What a contrast of moods in just one evening. How I felt after seeing this mother and her two offspring, followed with my threefold reaction to different fellows at each situation has confirmed that unless I'm fully acquited by Jesus Christ and having his righteousness imputed into my account, there is absolutely no hope of Heaven after death. As such, believing in Once Saved Always Saved, or Eternal Security of the Believer is vitally crucial in my walk with God. Such reality of Biblical truth was as if forced upon me during the lecture. Here I was reminded of the awful, instantaneous deaths suffered by the people of Herculaneum and Pompei alike.

Were they greater sinners than I am today? By no means, according to Jesus himself. But unless I repent, I too will perish like they did (Luke 13:4) and unless I believe that he is, I too will perish in my sins (John 8:24.) To change my mind to believe that this Jesus of Nazareth is the risen Christ is the essence of repentance. But once having truely believed, my being becomes the home of the Holy Spirit and I forever become a son of God. That is wonderful news.

That's why I long for those who don't believe in Once Saved Always Saved to realise what a bad situation to be in. There are many such Christians, some I have known personally. Perhaps the idea of keeping the British stiff upper lip will prevent them from falling into sin. The trouble with that idea is that one can fall into sin just by harbouring a pleasant but unclean thought. Or to silently or under breath call someone an idiot without actually verbalising it. Really, how far into sin one sinks into before losing his salvation? No one can define where the line is, when crossed over, salvation is lost. But the Bible says that one who keeps the whole Law perfectly until he stumbles at just one point has already sinned, having broken the Law and is subject to judgement (James 2:10.) That's why God justifies the wicked or the ungodly through the imputed righteousness of Christ (Romans 4:5.) There is no other option.

Professor Michael Scott, whom I met personally.

Indeed, sin is still in me. John the Apostle agrees. In his first letter, he writes that anyone who says he is without sin is deceiving himself (1 John 1:8). Not surprising, as a human, I too suffer emotional turbulence - even as a believer in the risen Jesus Christ. And that had begun just by seeing a screaming two-year-old trying to survive in a big, noisy and apparently uncaring world. Yet, I did not sin when I saw the child. What has happened straight after, the emotional knock-on effect eventually led to sin.

I thank God for God's mercy - and not end up like any of those poor souls in Herculaneum.

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*National Geographic, vol 165, No.5. May 1984.

An Astonishing Contrast?

Put two men together and anything can happen, whether in the world of politics, sport, comedy, starting and running a business or even on theological issues. Comedy? Much of that form of entertainment have thrived on just putting two men together in front of the camera. Steptoe and Son, Morecambe and Wise, Only Fools and Horses, even Till Death Us Do Part (rivalry between father and son-in-law). Talking about Steptoe and Son, based on an elderly widowed father, owner of a rag-and-bone business which was prevalent in the early half of the 20th Century, with his only son who remains unmarried well into adulthood. 

In one episode, Albert Steptoe, the father, had to mind his manners when his son Harold had a new luxury double bed installed in readiness to bring home his girlfriend, to whom he was trying hard to keep up a good impression. However, this bed was unique. Instead of the normal springs with straw, hair or cotton filling, Harold's brand-new mattress is the new-fangled type which is filled with water. During the son's absence and in an act of clumsiness, the father accidentally stabs the mattress with a dagger, creating a surface pool. Frantically, he attempts to patch up the damage and ensures that the water bed was well made and ready for use before the son returns home.

Of course, later that night as expected, there was pandemonium as soon as the couple got into bed! The patch was unable to hold the water in, and the combined weight of the two bodies upon the water pressure causes a fountain or geyser to erupt from the gash under the bedclothes. No doubt, the maiden was unimpressed as the raging son ended up chasing his father out of the house.

Harold Steptoe and his Dad, Albert, 1960s Comedy Hit.

It's little wonder that British comedy remains unrivalled as it's exported to be broadcast worldwide. But even with this, imagine another two men elsewhere, each in their own homes, who both have watched the same show on television. One roars with laughter, while the other thanks God for allowing the sin of fornication to be averted, even in a funny way, but still frowns over the son's lack of respect in not giving proper honour to his father. For the latter viewer, the fact that father and son were roles both played by Wilfred Brambell and Harry Corbett respectively after a long series of takes and retakes under a signed contract, yet still fail to wash. Let's face it, I for one would feel far more comfortable in the presence of the first viewer rather than with the second one. Indeed, both viewers watched the same comedy, yet each went away with a different and contrasting perspective.

And I write this after two rather contrasting sermons, yet on the same theme, both occurring only last Sunday. Amazing enough, both preachers bore the name Simon, who I will call Simon A and Simon B. And I must emphasise here, both spoke the truth from the Bible. Both were right in what they had to say, but my emotional reaction to each one was different.

It was one of those rare Sundays when Storm Ciara hit the UK and the galeforce winds and driving rain kept me at home, deterred from the weekly four-mile cycle ride from home to church, and another same-distance ride back home. Therefore, instead, I listened to the recorded video of the preach by Simon A - twice. His text was taken from Romans 9, especially from verse 15:

I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.

Is this unfair? Does God prefer some people above others? Does God love some people but not others? Indeed, how does God feel about me? Does he even love another Christian more than he loves me? Surely, I know better than to ask such questions after nearly fifty years of Bible study! Then Simon A gives the analogy from Genesis which concerns the family of Isaac, Abraham's son. This fellow himself had two sons, twins actually. The firstborn was Esau, and Jacob was born soon afterwards. Yet, even before their births, God himself assured their mother, Rebekah, that the older will serve the younger. Jacob was the son of the Promise rather than his older brother.

Then this verse:

Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated. Romans 9:13.

Did God really hate Esau? How would a newly-converted Christian take to this? Or an interested inquirer? God actually hating Esau? And how would this go down with readers who are new to the Bible? My own experience bears this out. When I was a newly-converted Christian back in 1974, in church, I sat next to another young fellow who was greatly distressed by this verse, and he cried out for me to help him. With my knowledge of Scripture still in its fledgeling stage, I tried to explain what I thought, (over 46 years, I can't remember what I actually said to him) and he came around, feeling greatly relieved. He finally realised that God indeed loves him dearly.

The quote which Paul used in Romans was taken from Malachi 1:2-3, which is the last book of the Old Testament. Going by verse three, it becomes obvious that the quote was referring to Esau's descendants, the nation of Edom. Also, in the shortest book of the Old Testament, Obadiah, God's displeasure in Edom is well explained. This nation gloated over the fate of Israel and Judah as they were taken into captivity, and rejoiced over their demise, while they, the Edomites, held their heads up in pride. Yet God must have still loved them, after all, they're still people made in His own image.

A Crowd at a Concert. Does God love them all?

This is demonstrated by a rather obscure yet wonderful promise that Edom, along with her sister-nations Moab and Ammon, will be delivered from all oppression towards the end of history, according to Daniel 11:41. Since all this is still future from today's time frame, descendants from these three nations must have existed alongside us right up to this day and will continue to exist. This is far from the hatred by God enforced by national annihilation. Rather, Christ died for them too.

Simon A admits that this election process looks to be so unfair, with smacks of hyper-Calvinism. Although true Biblically, I still cannot deny that throughout the day I felt ill-at-ease. God choosing who to save, allowing the rest to remain in rebellion against him as they all rush towards a lost eternity. When I consider all the Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, along with all cult members - Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons, etc, along with many nominal Roman Catholics, non-committed Anglicans, etc, not to say agnostics, atheists, and so on and on, families with small children, the victims of Third World war and starvation, little children dying of illness in their mother's arms - this idea of Elective Salvation, which is the main feature of Hyper-Calvinism, without the other side of the issue, just does not sit well with me.

It's indeed easy to say that we're all sinners and therefore God's Elect is in itself an act of mercy. Yes, that is true. We all fall short of the glory of God and there is no one alive who has never sinned, for without his grace we all stand condemned. But to translate this to day-to-day living is, well, not quite so easy! Especially in consideration of all the staff working in the NHS, who has, out of compassion, have made great efforts in preserving our lives as husband and wife, Alex's from breast cancer which otherwise would have been fatal, and me from a possible fatal cardiac failure.

Instead, I watch a Muslim youth die of illness or shot dead in battle, or a Hindu infant die of malnutrition whilst in the arms of his weeping mother, and at the same time watch a well-educated, middle-class English Christian pursue his career with astonishing success while raising his family to the point when their children, who are also Christians, reach college age. Not to mention a nice house and garden and a front driveway on which two, maybe three, cars remain parked, itself a symbol of prosperity.

A group of Christian students from a nearby university pose together for Facebook dressed in dinner jackets, tails and bow ties, whilst down the road, a member of a drug gang is fatally stabbed. Even within the church, any church, a graduate will always be the preferred one to preach from the front, although indeed, there are exceptions now and again. One Christian man prays for England to win the World Cup while an unbeliever languishes in jail, contemplating suicide.

Elective salvation. It looks to me living here in England that God has a preference for middle-class, well-educated candidates.

Thank goodness that's not true at all!

Because there is the other side to elective salvation argument, the truth that the light of Jesus Christ shining into the heart of everyone born into the world, according to John 1:4, 9. Paul endorses this truth by insisting that although these unbelievers knew God, they did not glorify him nor give him thanks, because they continue to push away the truth despite that his existence is revealed through his entire creation, thus with everything he has made, the light of his existence still reside in the unbeliever's heart, Romans 1:18-23.

Thus, the other side of Simon A's argument is that salvation is open to everybody. Thus he is patient, not willing for anyone to perish but for all to come to repentance, because God now calls all men everywhere to repent, that is to change their minds concerning Jesus of Nazareth being the Christ, as demonstrated by rising physically from the dead.

And so, after not turning up at Ascot Life Church because of the storm, I message my friend Andrew Milnthorpe to ask him whether he'll be at the Kerith Community Church that evening, so I can join him in worship and listen to what Simon B has to say in his preach.

His theme was about God's love amid failure. He reminds us that everyone experience failure in one way or another, but the reality of God's love shining like the sun on a clear day is just the tonic needed to get through the peaks and troughs of life. This got me thinking of the medics who has treated both of us and their commitment to keeping the treatment ongoing. The revealing of God's love, yes even to them, as God so loved the world, not just his elect.

It's the universal love of God which motivates me to give towards those in need whenever I feel it's right, to have hope when the chips are down, for my beloved to attend radiotherapy sessions twenty miles away every day for three weeks. It's the universal love of God for all men which makes the world much brighter, less judgemental, less hostile despite the present political upheaval here in the UK and elsewhere. Faith, Love and Hope is in a way a trinity of lovers, each of the three virtues walking arm-in-arm, blessing the good in this fallen world and a reflection of God's character.

Kerith Community Church, Bracknell.

Simon B's preach is the answer to Simon A's sermon that same morning. It does not contradict each other, rather they are complementary. While the first, although true, got me to do some thinking, the second was needed, and it came just at the right time, to put everything in proper perspective. I left the Kerith Centre edified and in a better mood.

As for Albert and Harold Steptoe, indeed, one has a choice - either to judge their sinful behaviour, especially in bringing a girlfriend in for the night, or recognise all this as acting by paid actors who signed a contract with the broadcasters to make us laugh.

A Killer Question Asked At Oxford.

After alighting from the train at Oxford Station and exiting onto the street outside, had someone approached to ask me whether I arrived onboard an interstellar spaceship, I would have considered this to be quite a valid question. Because indeed, from the moment of arrival, I sensed this historic, academic-centred city was on a different planet from the one I lived on. For the first time in my life, I was about to enter the Sutro Room, located upstairs in the heart of Trinity College, one of many institutions of the University of Oxford.

This is a result of an advert posted on Facebook by the Oxford Forum for an hour-long debate between a Christian and an Atheist on the question of whether morality without religion is bankrupt. The Christian representative taking part was Professor Keith Ward, someone who looks to be around my age or older. Ward would be discussing his views with the Atheist Alexander O'Connor, a minor celebrity under the username of Cosmic Skeptic, whose 125 YouTube videos have attracted 25,299,347 views by February 7th, 2020, along with 308,000 subscribers, after just seven years of self-broadcasting on the Internet.

O'Connor's typical YouTube video prompt.

After giving a positive response to the advert, I felt a surge of excitement over the prospect of seeing O'Connor in the flesh, after watching so many of his videos. I suppose this is a hint of celebrity-worship, despite that not ever appearing on television (as far as I'm aware) or on film, I rate him as a minor celebrity. But to be known by almost 25,300,000 people around the world is indeed something. But furthermore, what I really wanted was to speak to him personally, to testify to him that this Jesus of Nazareth is the risen Christ.

I arrived at Oxford early, purposely to allow for any train delay hampering the journey. Therefore, about forty minutes before the debate was due to begin, I approached the superintendent's office just inside the college gate for confirmation of the meeting. After some searching, his computer revealed that there is a meeting at the Sutro Room right at this moment. Commencing at 3.00pm and due to finish at 6.00pm, the superintendent was rather nonplussed. He had the keys to the venue right there with him and therefore cannot be anyone present in that chamber. Therefore, under his suggestion, I took a stroll down Broad Street and looked around the magnificent public library which was nearby.

Perhaps I was asking too much. I had no idea what this Sutro Room looked like. I imagined it to be a theatre-like auditorium seating hundreds of people. I imagined the debate being watched by all of us from a distance before the two debaters vanish backstage, their celebrity-status snobbery keeping them from talking to us as "ordinary" individuals. 

Trinity College, where our beloved Englishman, Etonian and ardent Brexiteer Jacob Rees-Mogg resided as a student, was about to become familiar. As I returned to the entrance from the library, some students were lingering just inside. The superintendent, remembering me, suggested to one of the students to lead me to the venue. We chatted happily until we arrived at the far side of the building from the entrance and led me through a door and up a flight of stairs. I was surprised by the small size of the panelled room, no bigger than a school classroom. About 25 chairs were already arranged, theatre-style, and my emotions were overwhelmed in being in the very heart of Oxford University yet at the same time, also with the small size of the room, giving a far closer intimacy with the debaters.

I was the first guest to arrive, about fifteen minutes before the start. Only two or three other people were already there, setting everything up, including O'Connor himself and one who will be monitoring the debate. I had the privilege to introduce myself and expressed my commitment to Christ.

By seeing him in the flesh, I was taken back by his youthful good looks and his slim, athletic build for a man in his early twenties, as well as his high intelligence, knowledge and intellectual abilities. But what surprised me most was his height. He was taller than me by several centimetres, something not so noticeable in his videos. I also found him to be very likeable.

The room was filled almost entirely with male students, with a few females. The small room was packed with, I would estimate, to be between fifty to sixty people, with some spilling out through the open door. Undergrads, postgrads, all casually dressed, including the two debaters. It was almost difficult to believe that if 41.1% of Trinity College students come from state schools (grammar schools, I assume) then the remaining 58.9% are from public schools such as Eton, Harrow and Winchester. Yet as I looked around the crowd, most of them sitting and standing behind me, it was impossible to tell whether this audience is representative of the overall statistic.

Prof Keith Ward opened the debate. His reasoning that morality without religion is bankrupt. He then went on about Theism is the setting for moral values such as love and compassion and knowledge of the love of such a Being would stimulate love and respect for others. He then quoted Emmanuel Kant, who said that morality was impossible without belief in God. He also discussed that opponents of gays and their lifestyles were not necessarily religious. Many secularists also oppose homosexuality. Prof Ward then goes on to say that humanism is anti-religious, and atheism lacks the resource to make morality workable.

The debate, with Keith Ward, left, and Alex O'Connor, right.

O'Connor's side of the argument is in question form: Is morality without religion bankrupt? His answer is No, morality can still exist and work well without the need for religion (as advocated by the likes of both Richard Dawkins and the late Christopher Hitchens). He then takes aim for the Bible being insulting to modern morality, especially in the Old Testament. If there is a God, then he must be looking in horror at deeds done under religion. The religious attitude towards gays is one striking example, the put-down of such people by the religious, making them feel rejected, isolated, subject to violence and suicidal. O'Connor also insists that it's quite possible to believe in Evolution and practice religion too, although how the two can exist harmoniously side-by-side, he even admits, remains a mystery. In all, if God is the source of all good, then good must also exist outside of God. To which Prof Keith Ward explained that God is eternal, and if so, good is also eternal.

As the debate progressed, I feel like bursting! My heartbeat felt rapid as emotions rose. Throughout the entire debate not once was the name of Jesus Christ mentioned. I wanted to shout about the crucifixion, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ and that no man can be justified by God through his own morality, but I also knew that if I had disturbed the gentle flow of the debate, there would be no uproar as in Paul the apostle's time. Oh no, of course not! This is not the 1st Century Middle East. This is modern England, and furthermore, Oxford, the home of English gentry. Had I caused a disturbance, one or two students would be asked by the coordinator to quietly escort me out. 

It was after the conference was over, and the chance to partake in the ten-minute question time was denied from me by the monitor. It was after declaring the meeting closed that I had that moment alone with Alex O'Connor, and after posing for photos, I then proceeded what was in my mind:

Alex, I said, It's a real privilege to talk to you like this. I have watched many of your videos and I'm impressed. I'm aware that you believe in Evolution, and therefore, I'm aware that if death preceded Adam and Eve, if they ever existed at all, then Jesus could never have atoned for us and my faith would be in vain, for the crucifixion was precisely for Adam's fall. Then again, I'm aware you are studying all this.

Well then -

Do you believe that Charles Darwin's cousin, Francis Galton, by using Darwin's theory, used the theory of Natural Selection to coin up eugenics, and this was taken by the German Nazis to use for the Holocaust, the slaying of six million Jews? In other words, by denying all religion, Hitler was amoral?

It was difficult to hear O'Connor's answer due to the surrounding babble, but I did hear of his denial that the holocaust had anything to do with Hitler's sense of morality. Rather, he might have hinted at having a religious conviction. I then shook his hand and departed, to head back to the station. Indeed, I was by no means the first to leave, much of the room was already empty by the time I left.

Any historian would be aware that Adolf Hitler was born a Roman Catholic and his mother was a practising catholic. But from adolescence onwards, he not only renounced his religion but hated it. Later, when he came into power, Adolf Hitler began to assemble heads of the Nazi Party into his Cabinet. These included Dr Josef Mengele - Darwin's "Angel of Death", Martin Bormann, Heinrich Himmler - Darwinist and mass murderer, Dr Joseph Goebbles who was the Darwinist father of the Holocaust, Hermann Goring, Reinhard Heydrich - a fervent anti-Christian Holocaust mastermind, Dr Alfred Rosenberg - "the scribe of the new gospel" of Darwinism, and Julius Streicher - an anti-Catholic Darwinist and Hitler's mentor.*

These men were all former Roman Catholics who renounced their religious faith mainly during their university years. There all agreed as one man, that Natural Selection needs a helping hand on the social side, just as Charles Darwin's book is properly titled:

On the Origin Of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life (emphasis mine).

Going by his title, Darwin hinted at one race of humans being in favour over other races. It was his cousin, Francis Galton, who seized the opportunity to apply this to eugenics, or social evolution, in the name of Science. It wasn't long before the German Nazis had gotten round to using Galton's thesis in the Holocaust to eradicate all "weaker, inferior Jewish and Slavonic races, along with cretins, homosexuals and the physically deformed" in order for the "strong, superior German Ayran race" to breed and thrive. This ethic was diametrically opposed to Christianity and both Galton and the Nazis knew it. Darwin himself also knew that his theories strongly opposes the Christian faith, hence a delay in the publication of his book for a number of years.

Alex O'Connor aka CosmicSkeptic is a likeable student of theology at the University of Oxford. He has shown great intelligence and knowledgeable intellect for a man of his age. But I'm sad to say that he is catastrophically wrong in insisting that morality isn't bankrupt without religion, especially the Christian faith. History has proved otherwise.

So far, his videos have more than 25 million views and have attracted 308,000 subscribers! That's one size of an audience which calls for a blog such as this. He is also a public speaker, delivering talks to audiences filling large lecture rooms alongside any other established professor or lecturer.

How I long to spend some private time with Alex O'Connor, especially over coffee at a Starbucks or Costa Coffee. To tell him that God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, not counting people's sins against them (2 Corinthians 5:19.) the wonderful truth of Imputed Righteousness for every believer, that is, for God the Father to see you in the same way as he sees his Son. A biblical doctrine which the Catholic Church has failed to teach for sixteen long centuries and a doctrine anathematised at the Council of Trent between 1545 and 1563. Thus salvation by works of Pennance had replaced salvation by grace through faith alone and portrays a false, truculent God who looks at every sin committed instead of each believer being a citizen of Heaven.

No wonder O'Connor hates God, just as I once hated him myself when I was a teenage Catholic. As did Hitler and all his motley Nazi crew. But now, I have a heart for the Catholic Church, as I have a heart for O'Connor and his ilk. Longing for all to be reconciled to God through faith in the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

If Alex O'Connor was to agree for me to meet with him at Oxford, I'll be more than happy to board a train to arrive at a pre-arranged venue. It would be a privilege.

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*Jerry Bergman, Hitler and the Nazi Darwinian Worldview, 2012, Joshua Press.

Brexit, A Modern-Day Edenic Lie?

Only yesterday a tradesman called at our home to inspect and upgrade our smoke alarm system. As with most two-storey homes, we have two smoke alarms, one downstairs in the hallway, outside the kitchen door, the other upstairs above the landing, outside the bathroom door. I can understand the downstairs location. Cooking can be a risky business, and a slip up could cause the contents of the saucepan or frying pan to burn or smoulder, with thick smoke rising from the stove which would set off the alarm to screaming mode. 

But how a fire can start within a bathtub or shower unit is a bit of a mystery. Whether scalding my foot as I attempt to enter a bathtub of overheated water would set off the upstairs alarm or not, no doubt the makers of these gadgets had seen the wisdom to have such an instalment.

Can a bathroom generate smoke? Stock photo.

But it's not the gadgets in focus here but rather the tradesman who called by appointment. His broken English, as he introduced himself, quickly gave the game away. Another "foreign immigrant" stealing a job from an indigenous white Englishman who is left to live off Jobseeker's Allowance. Indeed, how terrible the European Union (EU) was to allow immigrants to invade our Sceptred Isles! The tradesman might have glimpsed into our kitchen whilst servicing the smoke detector and not realise that its excellent decor was also the work of non-indigenous foreigners, who also installed a new row of kitchen cupboards as part of their work schedule.

And the tradesman calls on the same day the UK leaves the EU. It was an apt reminder that the result of the 2016 referendum was due to the annoying fact that Britain was swamped by immigrants. Never mind that the total percentage of all immigrants into the UK was only 14% in 2018, the percentage from the EU is only a fraction of this, a mere 6%.

This added that it was the UK and not the EU who encouraged immigration, especially under Tony Blair's Government. And allowing them to live for six months without a job also was our idea, not the EU's. And then all the domestic problems, the kind which can afflict any nation: the wealth gap for starters, then the ailing NHS - which was brought about by our own austerity and the rise of the ageing British population, and not by immigrants, nor the EU. The decline of British industry came about mainly under Thatcher's Government and such resulting redundancy and the rise of crime is of our making and not from EU membership. Terrorism did not arise from EU membership either. Rather it was from the radical Muslims from the Middle East which isn't allied with the EU.*

But xenophobia against European immigration, Poles mainly, which was the main thrust to leave. After the result was declared on the next day, there was a sudden spike of racist and xenophobic violence thrown towards foreigners, again, mainly towards Poles but also to Asians too, who were not from the EU. These incidents were physical as well as verbal, making the reality of Brexit a massive disappointment to these citizens, encouraging them to uproot and return to their homeland with a bitter taste of British experience lingering in their mouths as well as giving the English a bad reputation. Hmm. Very Christian indeed!

Alongside the grudge against foreigners, the other reason why we voted to leave was to regain our independence and sovereignty. Ah, sovereignty. As one Facebook friend wrote about the newly-gained freedom, how wonderful it is to be free from the domain of the world's worst crooks. World's worst crooks? I thought they were locked up at Alcatraz Prison, an island jailhouse surrounded by the Pacific inlet of San Francisco Bay. Oh, wait! The prison closed down in March 1963. That is 32 years before I visited the site as a backpacking tourist in 1995. With a further 25 years leading up to the present day, 57 years is too long for the likes of Al Capone to settle in Brussels as a member of the European Parliament. Therefore, if my friend's evaluation of these members is correct, then we can only assume that at least one MEP is Capone's grandson.

Alcatraz housed Al Capone and other notorious criminals.

Having visited the EU Museum in Brussels only last year with my beloved wife, I find it strange that there seems to be a total ignorance on why the EEC, the forerunner of the EU, formed in the first place when Europe was still recovering from the ravages of war, and never again want any more of such a world conflict. The result is freedom of movement between countries, free international trade, a universal currency, and the ability for anyone to settle in a different country, including Brits settling abroad and continentals settling here, as well as a deterrent against another outbreak of a global war, certainly has made these "world's worst crooks" look like saints by comparison. Al Capone, you're forgiven!

This national pride (no humility?) national independence (from God?) and national sovereignty (never submit to God or to another nation or empire?) - are the threefold promise constantly put out by Leave supporters. Really, it's not about the strength or weakness of the Economy. It's all about national pride, independence and sovereignty. And a promise to rise in power sometime in the future? This long-sought imperial mentality? According to my experience in life, there is much said about "The Noble Englishman" being right at the top of Darwin's evolutionary chain. According to the Media, that's is what Brexit is all about, isn't it?

Promises of national glory. Prospects of a golden economic future. I can't help but hear the leaves on the trees of history shaking as if blowing in the wind, the flapping of the pages in the Bible. After all, isn't Brexit the very heart and soul of the fallen human psyche? These words continue to echo across a long, long period:

And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die.
For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.
Genesis 3:5.

If I can see a parallel between the Edenic Lie which led to the entry of sin and death to all men - and future national glory, then it's either a spiritual discernment I have or I'm insane or unrealistic. To be proud to be English, as it has been said to me, seems to imply shame of belonging to any other nationality, indicating an admission of superiority as a Noble Englishman. Indeed, that's what Brexit want to aim for, isn't it? National superiority?

I mourn over this. I just couldn't celebrate, whether at home or at Parliament Square with Nigel Farage exalting himself, while Big Ben remains stubbornly quiet, refusing even one bong, and no fireworks either. In fact, at the stroke of 23.00 hours on January 31st 2020, there was only one firework let off from a neighbour two doors away from our home. It was one of those fireworks which threw one explosive star after another into the air after just one igniting of the touchpaper. And that was it. Nothing at all resembling Bonfire Night or even New Year. Yet even Alex and I went briefly to the window to watch it.

Then the ensuring quietness of the night. The sense of normality lasting into dawn, but as Tony Blackburn's Sounds of the Sixties on Radio 2 attempting to bring cheer into our bedroom, I could still sense a death, the passing of something. A sense of isolation. A new beginning? It felt more like a horrible death. Furthermore, on the very same day when we were about to leave the EU, there was also news about how the coronavirus from China had already entered England within two patients, up north in Yorkshire. A very ominous timing indeed!

The world turns. The sun rises, the gentle wind sways the finer branches of the still-leafless trees of Winter, magpies continue to nest, elsewhere, rivers continue to flow, the waves of the sea continue to lap along the beach, clouds drift across the sky. On a more global scale, the Gulf Stream just keeps on flowing, bring warmer waters from the Carribean Sea, across the Atlantic Ocean, to give us milder Winters, whilst Canada and parts of the USA lay under a blanket of snow. And we continue breathing, wondering what has the future have in store for us.

Despite the continuous daily activity of the entire natural order which I could see, hear, and having awareness of, there is this other bad feeling in the air alongside the mournful sorrow. That is the sense of gloating of the Leaver's victory over us Remainers who had lost the original vote and is believed by them that through our ministers at Westminster, we tried our best to overturn Brexit (even if I wasn't involved.) That snooty look down the nose from the likes of Etonian Jacob Rees-Mogg, that smug attitude from other supporters, even from among churchgoers, the laughing and scornful tease from the street mob, shouting down the EU and its supporters in a derisory manner, making us feel small and maybe even embarrassed at their presence.

A pro-Brexit march in London.

And such awful titles such as Remoaner and Remainiac, the latter coined by disgraced Daily Mail columnist Katie Hopkins, one of Alan Sugar's The Apprentice fired candidates, who referred to all Remainers and Londoners alike as being barely distinguishable from the apeman, well behind on the evolutionary scale. Indeed, the Noble Englishman is definitely not a supporter of the EU!

And then there are my fellow brothers in Christ whom I know well. By their support of Brexit by some of them, including my closest friends, I had gotten the impression that Matthew 6:33 actually has Jesus giving the instruction:

But seek first your nation's sovereignty and its glory, and all these things will be added to you.

I'm aware of the seriousness of such tampering with God's Word. But if going by John's cry right at the end of the whole Bible, it's worth considering what the priorities of a believer's life should be.

But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Matthew 6:33.
And John cries out:

He who testifies of these things, says, "Yes, I'm coming soon."
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God's people. Amen. Revelation 22:20-21.

The ushering of God's Kingdom. A Kingdom of peace and righteousness, and with the Curse of the Edenic Lie at last lifted from all Creation. Now that's the hope for optimism and nothing else which falls short should even be considered, especially if it causes so much pain, division and controversy.

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*The Guardian newspaper, February 1st, 2020.