How I Long For Yesterday...

I know, all the Media is jam-packed with news about Coronavirus, and just like with me, perhaps you too have all this already coming out of your ears. Especially with these Government announcements, appearing on Facebook and other social media, along with on television, constantly repeating what we had drummed into us for the past week - stay at home, don't go out at all except for essentials - food, medicine and exercise. And oh yes, keep a distance of at least two metres from the next person and always wash your hands.

And so a dog walker drives alone to a remote spot at the Lake District National Park or the Pennines National Park, both very large natural and undeveloped areas, and he is stopped by the Police while he was walking his dog on a leash. A bit odd that is, and as a result, these national parks are declared closed to the public. Indeed, only last Sunday, crowds were seen at such beauty spots as well as on our beaches, thanks to a very unusual early Spring sunshine accompanied by a calm, balmy warmth. Such sights of crowds socialising, whether it's within the National Park boundaries, city spaces such as London Kensington Gardens, or local open spaces such as South Hill Park, just a stone's throw from our house, the sights of such crowds has sent our Government ministers into a spin. 

Lake District National Park. Last visited 2016.

Such beautiful scenery with ideal weather provides a level of distraction from these perilous times when one patient after another is rapidly dropping down like flies as the virus spreads. But as being human is all about taking our minds off the crisis should it otherwise drive us all insane. I, for one, will need some form of distraction just to stay sane. Indeed, both my wife Alex and I can be considered more fortunate in a way that we know God through faith in his Son Jesus Christ, and therefore time can be spent in prayer, as demonstrated in last week's blog.

And here I stood, at the back of a long queue slowly moving as it snaked some 150 metres to the entrance doors of our local Sainsbury's superstore. I found all this quite shocking, indeed, when considering my usual habit of "just popping in for a moment" was always taken for granted since I started going there for the last 25 years or so. But at least the queue wasn't as it seemed. Each person standing in line stood at least two metres apart, maybe more, thus fewer people than it first looked. One of the stewardesses patrolling the line and bidding us all good morning approached to where I was standing, and apparently, I was the only one in my area of the queue to respond with an audible greeting. It goes to show how just a little response is enough to lift her spirits and make her arduous day's work a little easier.   

But overall, I was overwhelmed with apprehension. It is as if all of my life flashed before me. The times I "popped in" to buy something, and this goes way back into boyhood when mum despatched me to the corner shop to buy something she either forgot to buy herself or to have run out of sooner than expected. Oh, those were the days when innocence prevailed, a happy boy skipping along without a worry in the world, memorising what he needs to get.

I woke up at about three in the morning earlier this week. I found myself struggling to breathe, although I was not coughing, neither did I have a high temperature, two of the most prominent signs of infection. It seems as though shadows filled the bedroom as my wife slept soundly beside me. I arose and opened the window into the cool night and took deep breaths. That didn't help much. This was because I was filled with fear of death. Death by asphyxiation while asleep. I got back into bed and snuggled up close up to my beloved. This was the reason for the fear. To be separated from my wife, who would not cope well with widowhood due to her own physical lack of wellbeing. Furthermore, would I enter Heaven if I was to die now? Or would I tumble into Hell, in torment, never to experience the love of my wife ever again? Such thoughts kept feeding my fears.

As I lay there, I concentrated on the Cross of Christ and quoted Scripture, mainly John 3:16 and Romans 10:9-10, 13. Whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved. That is how the Authorised Version has it. But according to the AV Interlinear Greek/English New Testament, the stronger words -will be saved- is used, as in all other versions. Thus, I whispered aloud, Whoever calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved, several times. Suddenly I felt much better and immediately dropped off back to sleep.

But this experience has caused me to reflect back on my life. How much for granted have I taken all of God's blessings since I was born? True enough, I failed at school, which had a domino-effect throughout the whole of my working life. There were many times when I looked at the young man in a suit and tie passing through the machine shop of an engineering factory where I worked, on his way to the office upstairs. How I wanted to be like him! Well educated. Well respected. So did my late parents who wanted me to be like him too, instead, at the time they were frustrated with my lack of school progress.

But what a difference it is to know the Gospel of Jesus Christ! As everything started to improve after conversion at the age of twenty years, it becomes easy for me to start taking my blessings for granted. Like the time I saw the Old City of Jerusalem for the first time in my life. That was in 1976. Such a view from the Mount of Olives has not only brought the Bible to life but also the memories of those crushingly dull R.E. lessons I had to take back at school. It wasn't until my second visit there in 1993 when I was mature enough to allow God to speak to me concerning the city, and how I was wonderfully blessed.

Jerusalem from Mt of Olives, stock photo. Last visited October 2000.

Transatlantic flights for leisure? During the 1960s, this wasn't even dreamed of, except perhaps by a handful of well-to-do aristocrats and a few prominent businessmen and celebrities. Even back then, the thought of foreign holidays - that is, to the Spanish Costas, was only emerging as the latest progress for middle-class vacationers, the asking price of about two to three hundred guineas for a full-package holiday was astounding but in 1970 such a trip was still financially out of my reach.

Therefore to board an aeroplane at London Gatwick on both the 1977 and 1978 trips across the Big Pond to Toronto and New York respectively was something I should have taken as a great gift from God, a blessing undeserved. Yes, I did think that way, but the temptation was also there to declare these trips as my own rights. The same applied to the 1990s. It took as my own right to fly to Singapore, Australia and California in 1997 as well-deserved when I also knew full well that such Round-the-World trips would have astounded just about everybody just two or three years earlier. Such as when I was at the Travel Exhibition held at Earls Court just a few weeks before take-off. There I astonished a TV cameraman and his crew when I told them what I was up to. 

Travel aside, there are many other things I take for granted rather than giving glory to God. Besides our strong and robust marriage, this also includes going to the gym, also swimming and the sauna at will, with no hindrance. In the past, I was able to run distance races to raise money for charity, as well as compete in Triathlons and cycling tourism. Then, of course, to go shopping whenever I need to. Groceries of every form so readily available at a nearby superstore. No need for hunting trips or to travel miles to find water. 

If all this is pure boasting, then let me boast in the goodness of God who has blessed me so well throughout my whole life.

And this is what this present Coronavirus crisis has done, in a way it has brought me to my senses. The sudden change in lifestyle - staying at home in isolation, the need to queue to visit a superstore, to see all the other businesses and traders shut down, no more visits to the Leisure Centre to exercise, the end of newspaper reading at Starbucks and Costa Coffee, something I have enjoyed doing particularly since 2015, all these is a sudden cultural shock, the forfeiture of my freedom. 

Then the weekly church service. Like all the other churches, Ascot Life Church now has only virtual-meetings. That is, partaking in worship and listening to the sermon via a computer screen while I'm alone in the room, which could be anywhere in the world. I can't help thinking that this resembles a Communist country where all church meetings are illegal, and anyone meeting would suffer persecution including trial and a prison sentence, maybe even execution. I need to be thankful that our churches here in the West have not reached such a scenario and I hope they never will.

But I feel, in a sense, homesickness in my spirit. Ascot Life Church is my spiritual home, and since it isn't there, I do feel isolated, a wanderer looking for a home. This is another angle of my life this pandemic has exposed, that I love my home church fellowship far more than I thought I did. And I miss it intensely. Strange, isn't it? It can be quite easy to criticize the fellowship, how it's run, its structure of leadership and service, midweek meets and whatever, but it takes something big like this virus pandemic to expose my real feelings, my heart and soul commitment and sense of belonging.

Old Paddock Suite, meeting venue for Ascot Life Church.

A loving fellowship is not confined within the racecourse restaurant where we meet each Sunday. In the past months, even in the last few years, I had several one-to-one chats over coffee with elders and friends alike. Furthermore, a strong sense of brotherhood thrives between a doctor of philosophy, who excelled so well at school and university alike, and me who - er - didn't do quite so well at school! Thank you, Andrew Milnthorpe, for being such a great companion at the Leisure Centre, on day trips and on long weekends over the last few years. Now the crisis has forced us apart, I must admit, I miss your company.

It is my prayer that this crisis will pass, and to see all shops and businesses reopen, to be able to walk into any superstore without the need to queue up, to resume my exercise schedule, to enjoy a cappuccino coffee at Starbucks, to board a train whenever I need to and to attend church every Sunday. But most important of all, how I long to see for myself the turning of thousands to God through faith in Jesus Christ, a national and global realisation that God exists and the turning the heart to Him for forgiveness, salvation and in in-filling of the Holy Spirit. How I long to see existing churches swell in numbers and grow spiritually, and for new churches to spring up.

If anything good can come out of this dreadful time then let it be for greater awareness of God and the turning of many to him.

A Cry to God from the Boardwalk.

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

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

A pub in London.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Image of Coronavirus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 Corinthians 5:19.

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

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

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

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

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

BBC TV presenter and author Chris Packham.

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

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

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

An Edenic Message: Panic-Buying.

In last week's blog, I shared some of my experiences with international travel, centring on the provincial small town and how God will continue to work within one of them, Red Deer in the Canadian province of Alberta. It has in itself gained an unusually high level of readership in just a week, which I find encouraging.

In it, I emphasised how visiting an "untouristic" town such as Red Deer can be a revelation to the backpacker on how the indigenous of a particular country live, without having to "put on a show" for the benefit of the tourist. The latter includes being swamped by shops selling tourist trinkets, seen just about at every other shop along the precinct. Although I have never actually walked through the main thoroughfare of Red Deer itself, I have visited smaller townships such as Amarillo in Texas, San Luis Obispo in California and even Monterosso-al-Mare in Italy, where at the time, picture postcards on sale were difficult to find. 

Such a phenomenon of tourism has, to my opinion, spoiled the indigenous culture which thrived, for example, within one particular location, the Old City of Jerusalem. At my first visit there, in 1976, each of the souks - narrow streets which are roofed over - had its own characteristic depending on the market it specialised. Thus, Souk David, the main thoroughfare leading from Jaffa Gate towards the Haram-al-Sharif, or the Temple Mount was, in 1976, pungent with spices and exotic vegetables. And the street which crossed Souk David, the Souk-ha Katsavim, was the meat market, where even unskinned sheep's heads hung outside the butchers, its lifeless eyes staring continuously at the throng of passersby. Maybe unsettling to the modern Westerner, to the locals, such didn't get a second look unless purchased for the family table.

A Souk in Jerusalem Old City.

However, I had to mind the donkeys which pulled carts of merchandise to restock the shops. And the donkeys were not shy when it came to defecating. Poop lying in the middle of the street was part of a normal way of life in that part of the world, as was the central gutter which ran through the streets.

Middle-Eastern music was characteristic back in 1976, and it was often heard emitting from radio units people carried. Then the Muslim call for prayer sounding loudly from minarets located at various points of the city. Such prayer calls can also echo through the Kidron Valley, where the residential housing district of Silwan was to pay attention to such calls. 

How things have changed by the time I last visited the city with my beloved pregnant wife in 2000! Gone were the gutters running through the centre of each street. These were bricked in, but the original course can still be seen. Narrow, specifically-built tractors carry the merchandise to the shops, replacing the donkeys. Instead of poop dropped onto the ground, exhaust fumes from the tractor petrol engines temporary pollute the air. Many shops which once sold spices and other traditional fares now sold tourist trinkets and all sorts of souvenirs. One shop had a display of inflated beach balls swaying in the gentle breeze, along with national flags, modern fashion clothing and luggage, particularly cheap holdalls, all making a kind of symbol as Middle-East culture compromise to become bedmates with Western tourism. Also, Western music has replaced the traditional Middle-Eastern music and singing which helped make the 1976 backpacking trip so unique.

And so the municipal authorities in charge of Jerusalem has made great efforts to modernise the city into a tourist-friendly environment, yet on the cost of diluting the spirit of Middle-Eastern culture and atmosphere which, for thousands of years of gradual development, had made Jerusalem what it was, and still so in 1976. After all, what would be more off-putting than to keep on side-stepping donkey's excrement lying here and there on the street?

And for swimming at the Great Barrier Reef? It was a wonderful privilege to snorkel over such marine life back in 1997 whilst backpacking Australia. But at least I was grateful that there were three, actually four, creatures I did not meet face-to-face, the Shark, the Moray Eel and the Sea Cucumber, and oh yes, the Box Jellyfish or Sea Wasp, with its fatalistic sting. The shark, which visits the reef regularly at night I believe, is the appropriately-named Reef Shark. Then the moray eel, that elongated fish which has a habit of poking its head from a gap in the rocks, both it and the shark have a pretty nasty bite! But the sea cucumber? Very tame, even timid - why should I be put off from being in its presence?

Fortunately, sea cucumbers tend to live on the seafloor of deeper waters and therefore unlikely to encounter one at a coral reef. This creature is basically a living tube, with a mouth at one end and an anus at the other, itself quite large by comparison with the size of the rest of the animal. As the sea cucumber defecates, it leaves a pile of poop lying in the seafloor. For me indeed, it's not a pleasant sight regardless of the diving mask. Perhaps for you, it might not be so off-putting. But to me it is. Therefore, in what might have considered an act of mercy, I saw neither of these glorious creatures whilst at the Great Barrier Reef.

Rear-end of Sea-Cucumber, about to defecate

I guess it's all to do with our innate sense of disgust, is it not?

Therefore what I saw only this morning confirmed what I have heard so much about in the Media. Believing that what it says in the newspapers was a lot of hype to boost sales, was true after all, right here outside my own front door. Empty shelves. Yes, the shelves which normally stock loo rolls. Various people were strolling along the aisle, gazing at wonderment at which only two or three hours earlier those shelves were fully stocked up. But as they stood completely empty, it became quite a unique sight among all the other shelves in this huge superstore. I even had a chat with one of the duty managers, and he said to me that the shelves were stocked to the full only that morning, and they will not be restocked for the rest of the day.

It's one of the most puzzling angles of human nature. So far, the national advice given over the COVID-19 virus pandemic was if anyone begins to cough often or have a temperature above 37 degrees Celsius, then he should isolate himself, staying indoors for seven days. Only if there is no sign of recovery after the week had elapsed should then the NHS be called, dialling 111 or seeking the service on the Internet.

And if such advice is followed, then why the need for so many rolls at home? These days, rolls come in a six-pack, nine-pack and twelve-packs. It would take a family the size of an average school classroom to get through a nine- or twelve-pack of loo rolls in just a few days! Here, I see the result of a combination of fear, panic - and disgust, each emotion interacting with each other to bring about such drastic action.

The subject of defecating is never talked about, certainly not openly and certainly not at the dinner table! Neither is it something to dwell upon and there's the sense of relief when the loo is flushed.  To add to this, how is it that, if Evolution was true, then every living organism, including mankind, is unable to absorb and digest everything eaten? If we as humans are right at the very pinnacle of organic evolution, surely, after as much as half a billion years for a cell to evolve into a human, that one shortcoming remains persistent - the body cannot absorb everything it takes in and therefore has waste to dispose of, and such action among humans results in a sense of disgust, embarrassment (hence the need for privacy) and repulsiveness. Thus the need for the Old City of Jerusalem to get its act together to attract tourists from the West.

Yes, I find extraordinary that Evolution has perfected (or nearly perfected) the human eyesight and the extreme complexity of the immune system, even the intricate, vast complexity of the genome, yet fail to perfect the workings of the alimentary canal.

Or there is the alternative revelation from the book of Genesis, the first book of the Bible. Here it says that in the beginning, God created everything which, including every lifeform, as very good. And that includes our first parents.

It was immediately after the Fall when God spoke to Eve, telling her that he will greatly increase the pain in childbearing, and in pain, she will produce children. (Genesis 3:16.)

This seems to indicate a great change in Eve's anatomical structure when the Edenic Curse was initiated. And that's only the very tip of an immense iceberg. According to the apostle Paul, since the initial Edenic Curse, the whole of Creation has been groaning, it is now still groaning since it was unwillingly subject to the bondage of corruption as it waits for the redemption of God's people. (Romans 8:18-23.)

The whole Creation enslaved to corruption. That is certainly not good at all. That was why before the anatomical change in Eve, I sincerely believe that the alimentary canal might have terminated at the ileum, near to where the appendix is located. That is, Creation was at first so good that disposal of digestive waste was not initially part of the agenda, for the body was able to digest and absorb all of the nutrients fed to it. And that applied to all the animals as well (even if many Christians may disagree with me at this point.) With entropy now at work in all things, order deteriorating into disorder, the whole of Creation is now waiting for the redemption of all the saints.

Shelves totally empty of loo-rolls by mid-morning...

That natural feeling of disgust, shame and even embarrassment over defecation seems to prove the verity of the Bible. The presence of such an infectious virus is proof of the reality of the Edenic Curse. The effects of the Fall and its resultant Curse is felt among ordinary folk, consumed by anxiety, going out to panic-buy loo rolls, of all products, under a potential threat of a couple of weeks of self-imposed quarantine. None of any of this can be called "very good" in the same way God called it.

One has a choice: To believe in the shortcoming of organic evolution despite having half a billion years to get it right.

Or to believe in the revelation of God's Word, which says that his creation was at first very good. That is until the entrance of sin and death into the world, followed by the Edenic Curse which has enslaved the whole of creation unwillingly to sorrow and decay.

After all, there were no loo rolls in the Garden of Eden. 

Small Town? Not for God, It Isn't

One of the joys in life I can be so thankful for was independent travel. This included Italy, Israel, Canada, United States, Singapore and Australia. And of course, within the United Kingdom itself. And somewhere between a bustling city such as Rome or New York and a Natural World Wonder -such as the Grand Canyon or the Great Barrier Reef, is the small town which is often untouristic. 

The small towns I have called at were often by the coastline, such as Herne Bay in New South Wales, or Monterosso al Mare, in the Cinque Terre area of the Ligurian coastline of Italy. Back in 1981, whilst stopping at a hotel in Viareggio, I was strolling along the beach when this local, an elderly fisherman, suggested visiting Cinque Terre, one area I have never heard of. I can get there by train, so he said, by changing at La Spezia for a local train to Monterosso. He was right. Had I remained on board the train from Viareggio, it would have hurtled through Monterosso Station whilst on its way to Genova.

Back in 1981, Monterosso was unknown to tourists. It was a rugged small town perched on the cliffs of the Cinque Terre coastline, itself the chief over four more, even smaller villages perched among the rugged cliffs, hence the name Cinque Terre. But at Monterosso itself, this was pristine Italy without any shops selling tourist tat or trinkets, postcards or whatsoever. As far as I can remember, there was not even a currency exchange (back then the Italian currency was the Lira.) And speaking English? Not a soul in Monterosso would understand the language. However, the town looked old, almost to the point of crumbling, yet was striking, mainly due to its setting. Unfortunately, Cinque Terre had lately become a popular tourist spot, as it is now.

Monterosso al Mare, Italy. Visited August 1981. 

What a contrast Monterosso was to the modern settlement of Herne Bay on the Australian Pacific coast, where I stopped for two or three days in 1997. This small town was rather drab, unexciting. This cluster of low buildings consisting mainly of residences and a shopping mall, along with plenty of hotels and backpackers hostels, and the town swarmed with mostly young tourists. So why this otherwise unexciting place so contrasting with Monterosso in 1981? Simple. Herne Bay is the gateway to Fraser Island, the world's largest natural sandbank and the home of the world's cleanest body of freshwater, Lake McKenzie, the venue where the BBC documentary Living with Dinosaurs was filmed. The constant flow of tourists in Herne Bay was only interested in visiting Fraser Island.

One small town which struck me in 1978 was Amarillo, Texas. The Greyhound Bus stopped here and I alighted, hoping to find a hotel to spend the night. It was late morning, the sun blazing down, yet the streets were deserted as if it was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. What sort of place had I arrived at? As I walked along the streets empty of all pedestrians, passing shops which were closed and nothing of interest to be seen in the vicinity, I decided to abandon any attempt to find accommodation, to board the evening Greyhound Bus departing westwards, towards Flagstaff for the Grand Canyon. This Texan town was a grid of low buildings lining the streets, with just one fairly tallish office block sticking out like a sore thumb. Yet this very town became famous by Tony Christie's 1972 hit, (Is this the way to) Amarillo.

And as such, I now mention a Canadian town of Red Deer, Alberta. I have never been there, but in 1977, I wasn't too far away. One of my stops was at Calgary, directly to the south, as I travelled from Vancouver to Winnipeg, then on towards Toronto, where I was due to board a flight home.

It's thanks to advanced technology that I can now get a good view of Red Deer on the laptop, thanks to Google Maps. And what I could see of it, it was just a colder version of Amarillo. A grid of low buildings with a superstore here and there, surrounded by car parks. The image revealed that there were many cars parked around these plazas, thus showing some signs of life. But like with Amarillo, the streets were deserted of pedestrians. Even downtown Red Deer, of which 49th Avenue passes through, its scenery couldn't have been more of a ghost town than some abandoned midwest thoroughfare.

Areal View of Downtown Red Deer, Canada.

Therefore it might have been a degree of regret that I had never called there in 1977. What would I have seen? A different town to the present layout? At least the Greyhound Bus Station, midway on the route between Calgary and Edmonton, would have been close to the centre. I could imagine stepping out of the bus station building to see a moderately-priced hotel just a little way up the road. I walk in directly and ask whether there is a room. The Receptionist then hands me the key, that piece of metal of immense importance, and I settle in, dumping the luggage and slumping on the bed, drift off...

Oh, the benefit of Off-the-Street bed-hunting!*

Wind forward 43 years and what would I find? Well for starters, the Greyhound Bus station is merely an outdoor bus stop which had moved to 65th Avenue with 67th Street, way north of the Red Deer River which winds through the settlement, a little out of the town centre, which is itself south of the river. A crushingly dismal spot to alight if it's raining, to say the least! Immediately next to the stop on the Calgary-Edmonton route, I would be faced by the imposing doors of the Radisson Hotel, an expensive-looking pile too far out of the way from any point of interest. But if I had plenty of money to spare and decided that I was in no mood to bed-hunt elsewhere, I would then enter, only to receive an apology from the Receptionist with an explanation that an electronic pre-booked reservation is required. Unless I have a smartphone, I'll be buggered!

Let's assume I did have a smartphone. I'll probably sit in the Radisson Hotel lobby (if they let me) and with the phone, I would have to scan the list of alternate accommodation. One comes up, the Super 8 Hotel on 49th Ave and 43rd Street. A lot cheaper. And near to what appears close to some parklands. And not that far from the city centre. I contact them on the phone, asking whether there is a room spare for one person. Yes, there is, and a down payment is required. After a fairly long walk, tired and in need of a rest, and using a credit-card-like piece of plastic given to me at Reception, inappropriately called a "key" - I finally enter my room and slump on the bed, relieved. Oh, for the return of Off-the-Street hotel room requests! Why must technology make life so much more difficult?

But why have I given so much space to Red Deer? It's a small town within the Canadian prairie, just east of the Rockies mountain range. A drive of about 150 miles via Calgary would take you into Banff National Park, a beauty spot certainly worth visiting. But Red Deer itself?

It's because God is there, and there is good evidence that he is about to do work there shortly. He has called one of my friends, Dave Betts and his wife from Ascot Life Church, to settle at Red Deer and to become helpers at a small fellowship, Trinity Church on 53rd Street, and somehow help it grow in both numbers and spiritual maturity. An alliance between Ascot Life and Trinity churches will be established, and I personally feel privileged to be part of it, in full support.

Dave tells me through his blogs that there is a high proportion of drug users in Red Deer, making it a dangerous city. But could God work in such an environment? I'm convinced that he can and he will. If anything goes, this seems to be in line with God's character.

Red Deer reminds me of what the prophet Micah wrote about Bethlehem, acknowledged by God himself as a small and insufficient city in the Judean desert:

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will rule over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times.
Micah 5:2.

Here, talking about the birth of the Messiah, often known as the Christmas story, with Bethlehem chosen above Jerusalem or any other larger city in Israel to be the Messiah's birthplace. Bethlehem had already held a prophetic significance by being the birthplace and childhood city of King David, whose throne Jesus Christ will one day occupy in Jerusalem. If it can be said that a tender green shoot grew out of the parched ground in Bethlehem, to grow into a mighty tree which will nourish the whole earth, then why is the idea of a revival so surprising when arising from an insignificant Canadian town such as Red Deer?

Ancient Bethlehem might have looked like this...

This ties in well with Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, that God uses the foolish things in the world to confound the wise, to use the things which are not to bring to nought the things that are (1 Corinthians 1:26-29.)

Then there is the case of Jesse's eight sons, recorded in 1 Samuel 16:1-13. Samuel was certainly impressed with the firstborn, Eliab, with his height and good looks, with a proud heart and filled with self-confidence, something to boast about. But not before God. Six more brothers stood in front of Samuel, and all were rejected. Instead, God told Samuel to choose the last one, so insignificant compared to the rest, that his father did not even bother to call him from his shepherding duty until Samuel ordered him to do so.

I see a definite similarity between Dave Betts and the Apostle Paul when it comes to being well-educated. Both have good schooling. But here Paul writes:

But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ. Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I had suffered the loss of all things, and to count them but dung, that I may win Christ...
Philippians 3:7-8 AV. 

Paul had good schooling, a Pharisee, and a son of a Pharisee, yet he refers it all as dung, compared with the excellent knowledge of Christ. That is why Dave should take the same attitude towards his own schooling as the apostle did. The moment he starts thinking well about his background and pride creeps in, then the battle is lost. As for me who failed at school so long ago, I don't have much to lose. But I too wish for the excellence in the knowledge of Christ Jesus, as the apostle did, and I encourage my good friend and spiritual son of mine, Dave Betts, to do the same.

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*For more about Off-the-Street hotel experiences, go to one of my archives: Enjoyment-Disaster-Reminiscences by clicking here.