God's Love: In a Car or an Airliner?

God's great and wonderful love. But is that how you perceive God? Or is he that Old Man in the sky, sporting a beard and having a truculent temperament, constantly watching intently over your life and recording every sin you commit, whether in thought or deed, in a huge book? If so, would it be easier to make him out to be the Flying Spaghetti Monster, knowing such a concept to be way too ridiculous to even consider factual?

And maybe, to consider God to be a Flying Spaghetti Monster seems far less threatening than any idea of an entity so holy that he just cannot look upon sin. And the snag is, I'm fully aware of my own sinfulness and no matter how hard I try, attempting to snap out of it by self-effort remains a hopeless endeavour.

I recall Tim and I walking along a stretch of the West Coastal Path in Dorset, less than a year after I married Alex (and still unaware that she was a couple of weeks pregnant!) In front was a mud pool, left after a night of torrential rain. Without thinking, I leapt over the mud pool until I was on firm ground on the other side of it.

Did I have a phobia against mud pools? Do I still? Even at that moment, I had to think back before I was able to explain to Tim why I reacted in the way I did.

I recall watching a Western as a boy with Dad. On the small monochrome TV screen, I stared aghast at the villain as he stepped onto a patch of quicksand as he was chased by the hero. He immediately began to sink into the pasty ground, screaming and struggling as he disappeared entirely beneath the surface and apparently drowned. I then asked,

Papa, does quicksand really exist? To which he answered, Yes, it does, but failed to add, but not in this country.

Not long after this, our primary school class boarded a school bus to either Richmond Park or Wimbledon Common, as we did every Wednesday morning, except when it's raining. As we walked along, I stepped into a mud pool, and although I didn't sink into it, the suction by the combination of water and mud held my feet down and I was stuck. I was terrified and began to panic until one of the teachers helped me out. 

This adversity of mud pools remains deep in the subconscious well into adult life, and maybe not realise it's there until I happen to come across such a ground surface. I guess it was the same as my perception of God. Having grown up in a Catholic family, it was during the early teens when I had to learn the complicated process in trying to get to Heaven after death. There was no guarantee, no assurance, being constantly reminded of my sin, the need for repeated confession to the priest, the need for penance following confession, to regularly partake in the sacraments, mainly the Eucharist, and to learn by heart key prayers such as the Lord's Prayer and more important, the Act of Contrition and the Hail Mary. Get the words wrong and God won't like that. Furthermore, no matter how faithful I am, there is still Purgatory, a temporary Hell where the devotee has all remaining sins expunged before he can enter Heaven.  

Having the need to pray to Mary, the "Mother of God" adds further discredit to the character of Jesus Christ, giving the impression that he is constantly irate by our shortcomings and therefore the need of a Mediatrix to plead to him on my behalf. Such builds into the subconscious. Then as a final stroke, to die with one unconfessed mortal sin in my soul would mean an eternity spent in Hell, no matter how devoted to the Church I had been throughout life.

The end result? A slide into atheism which dominated the rest of my teenage years. And the attitude of my late Dad. He always wanted a daughter, one who would have grown up bright enough to attend University. Instead, he had a son whose intelligence fell short of the two rather bright brothers who lived two doors away. The son's perception of God is always reflected in his father's attitude. If Dad wasn't that pleased with me, neither was God either.

Therefore, it took a long time after conversion to undo what I have learned and to learn the truth of God's love. Yet the truth of God's love is well reflected by who I am and we are - made in the image of God.

For example, the sense of taste. Indeed, the science of the taste buds on the tongue, the nerve endings which determines the chemical composition of each food chewed and thus sent via nerves to the brain, such a demonstration that eating is meant to be a pleasure, a gift God delights to give. Maybe children living at the time of Christ may have received a fish or an egg as a gift from their fathers, the equivalent is a bar of chocolate or a bag of sweets today. I recall watching a classmate enjoying a bar of chocolate as enviable to the rest of us young children. 

Yea, I know, like with any child, food has to look appealing before it can be enjoyed. The fat of meat looked very unappealing, so I never touched it. Could this be a subconscious warning that meat fat is bad for me? Or anything with a bad or bitter taste is spat out? A warning against poisoning? Part of self-preservation? However, unlike many other kids, I always loved Brussel sprouts but cringed at the sight of garlic and onions. Yet a plate of spaghetti bolognese? Hmm! Anytime! Such proof that our Heavenly Father delights in giving us good things.

The universally of God's love makes me ask whether enemies of God, especially in the Old Testament, such as Goliath, the Philistine giant who challenged and defied the armies of Israel, when off-duty, sat and enjoyed a good feast with his family or friends. And all the evil kings who wanted to destroy Israel, such as Sihon king of the Amorites, Eglon king of Moab, Og king of Bashan to name just three, and all their troops numbering multiple thousands. Why is it so difficult for me to believe that during their lifetimes God gave all of them good things, food to delight their taste buds and to nourish their bodies and drink, whether water or even sweet wine to satisfy their thirst. And thinking of Ahab king of Israel and his wife Jezebel, the evil queen who worshipped Baal and wanted Elijah killed. Yet how she must have tenderly breastfed her newborn daughter Athaliah and ensured that she was well taken care of by her servants. Not to mention a life of royal feasts enjoyed by the couple.

As a Christian, I still find how God's love for the unbelieving world can be so plausible, yet he sends rain to both the just and to the unjust, the good and bad alike. And the breath of life, including the involuntary heartbeat and digestion, the immune system, the genome in the nucleus of each cell, the intricate machines made of molecules producing protein each on the microscopic scale. The DNA, the RNA, the nucleotides, the double helix and all other components which make the cell function properly, would have kept the likes of Goliath, Og, Sihon, Eglon, Ahab and Jezebel alive and healthy, as well as Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David, and Isaiah alive and well. God's love is universal.

And the beauty of our planet, which according to the Bible, is meant to bring the human heart to the reality of God's creation. True enough, in a fallen world, much of the intricate beauty which existed before the Fall, even up to the Flood, is lost, but God did not leave our planet resembling Hell either.  

Certain descendants of Ham, the son of Noah, were, for example, the first to arrive into the North American Continent long before any white settlers arrived. I wonder how they thought when they discovered the vast, awesome chasm of the Grand Canyon, also the thundering Niagara Falls, along with other dynamic beauty such as what is now the Yosemite National Park within the majestic glory of the Rockies, the Kings Canyon National Park, perhaps the intimidating geyser at the Yellowstone National Park, and other stunning locations. Did they gasp in wonderment, giving glory to the God who made all these?

God's love for all of us - the saved and for the unsaved - is universal, and perhaps much deeper and stronger love than I or anyone else would expect. It's the reality of this love which I still need to grasp, instead of pondering whether he loves me at all. I wonder how I could be so blind at times. The very breath of life passing through my nostrils is sustained by God. Yet there are times when I worry about sin in my life without the full realisation that all my sins have already been paid for by Jesus Christ when he died on the cross. 

And I read about the life a Christian should live. Devotionals without number have been written over the years, and even formulas have been thought up to aid with our walk with God. One formula I have never forgotten was dreamt up by Bill Hybels of Willow Creek Church in Chicago, which consist of ACTS, which is an acronym for Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplements. It's a catchy formula which was published in one of his devotionals, but unfortunately, very little of it is heard or read about at present, a phenomenon which allowed me to question its validity. And I'll be honest with myself, to pray within such an inflexible structure hasn't proven successful or enduring. But with some flexibility, it could still be a good source of prayer guidance.

This is a time in my life when I had to endure two weeks of self-isolation after being told that my beloved wife was tested positive for Coronavirus. I felt devastated, with my faith in God stretched to the limit. Why us? As still a minority of the entire UK population affected, why us?

That's when the reality of God's love kicks into reality. Eternal Security - Once Saved Always Saved. Such a truth is vital for our situation!

Are you driving a car or soaring into the sky in an aeroplane?

Christians who think that a believer can lose his salvation if he doesn't hold faithful is driving the car. In theological circles, such Christians are known as Arminians, where salvation can be retained or lost by the choice of lifestyle the believer makes. To them, each believer must himself overcome the world if he's going to be saved. It's rather like driving a car - making sure that he is on the right road, following the direction signs, negotiating carefully to avoid a collision, stopping at red lights and waiting for the green signal. And the law is constantly upon him. One breach of the law and he gets a ticket, a Court order. Or if he ends up in an accident, it's not to his original destination he'll end up, but at a hospital, even a mortuary. In such a scenario, what the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ had accomplished is that where before he couldn't get anywhere at all, he now receives a car by grace - but it's up to him to negotiate his way to Heaven by remaining faithful and overcoming the pitfalls he will face.

I once heard that up to every believing Christian who ends up committed to an institution or psychiatric hospital, up to 88% are Arminians. Indeed, to live under such responsibility must be quite burdensome, especially if one is struggling with a specific sin. Yet there are many leaders, evangelists and preachers who are alumni from top theological colleges who teach all this.

Then there are those like myself, perhaps known as moderate Calvinists, who believe that once saved always saved, that because he is born from above through faith in Christ and as such, a new creation and adopted into God's family as a co-heir with Christ, he cannot lose his salvation. That is, his free gift of salvation is eternal, with Jesus doing all the overcoming himself, having taken all our sins upon Himself on the cross, and afterwards by His resurrection, overcame death for us all.

That is likened with soaring into the sky in an aeroplane. The passenger enjoys the flight with absolutely nothing to do to aid in the flight, as the pilot does all the work. Instead, the passenger can look out of the window and watch the wispy clouds above him and the contours of the coast far below, where the land meets the sea. Or gaze at the cumulus clouds below, glowing bright white beneath him, knowing that rain is falling onto the earth below. Just as the pilot does all the work, so likewise, the believer gives all the credit and praise to God through faith in Jesus Christ.

We flew over the Kent coast on our way to Kos, Greece, 2011.

These are very difficult times, moments of hopelessness and despair. But to trust in the Living God whose love for us has put Jesus Christ onto the cross to redeem us, can be a wonderful tonic when going through such troublesome times.

An Academic And Dumbo...

In one of Disney's classics, Dumbo, we have one of the characters reciting something akin to this:

I have seen a dragonfly, I have seen a horsefly, aye, I have even seen a housefly, but I have never seen an elephant fly!

Spot the odd one out.

Yes, you have quite likely got it right. The housefly of course! Dragons quite likely existed in real life in the past. After all, the Chinese take it so seriously in their New Year celebrations. And St George slaying the dragon, a patron saint of England, is he not? Or was he born at Cappadocia in Turkey around the third century AD and lived all his life around that vicinity? And a beast also identified as a dragon by the apostle John in the Bible.

Then there is Pegasus, a winged horse on which an ancient Greek hero Bellerophon tamed and rode upon to slay some weird creature, the Chimera. I have a hunch that the shoulder muscles of a typical horse are not adapted to carry a pair of wings. Moreover, to get such a large animal off the ground, wouldn't it need a large hydrogen sac under its spine? Then with the gas generated by bacteria living inside it, together with a skeleton built of light, hollow bones, like that of any bird? Surely, it was this bacteria-generated hydrogen in a large sac and a light-structured skeleton which enables the dragon to fly. As for the elephant, hmm, it's lucky enough just to momentary stand on its hind legs.

Oh, how I love to apply real-life science to popular myths! Who knows, it might prove that winged horses were a reality in the past, and perhaps there might even have been a pair in Noah's ark!

Dumbo was different though. He managed to train his huge ears, characteristic of the African Elephant species, to make them aerodynamic enough to fulfil the imaginations of young children. And also successful enough to enable Disney's theme parks in both California's Santa Ana and Florida's Orlando, into very profitable businesses aimed in entertaining the family. As far as I remember, Disneyland in California did feature a Dumbo ride. However, I left Dumbo for the kids and went for the much gutsier Space Mountain indoor roller-coaster, indeed, making this fast ride the climax of the 1977 and 1978 visits.

As for the housefly, with the house being inanimate making it the odd one out...well, I'll leave that to your imagination. Except that through man's ingenuity, the flying house does now exist! Only it's owned or used privately by royalty or the mega-rich. Passenger aeroplanes have known to be bought and had its interior renovated to function as a self-contained suite, and the owner or the hiring passenger can live in it as comfortably whilst at 35,000 feet, or 10,670 metres high in the air.

The Greek hero Bellerophon astride his winged mount soaring into the air would be of special interest to TV presenter and author Prof Michael Scott. This is one fellow I happen to admire. This Warwick University Professor of Classics and Ancient History holds a PhD, an M.Phil and a BA, along with twelve academic awards, including the National Teaching Fellowship which is the highest award any academic can get. He wrote seven books and made contributions into four encyclopedias. He wrote several reviews including into national newspapers, along with 22 academic papers and thirteen different articles. He also delivered 17 lectures and 12 tutorials.

Wow! What a Big Shot he is. Yet what was it which brought out my admiration of him? Basically, his down-to-earth personality which excludes snobbery. Being "stuck up" - this "them-and-us" characteristic of such educated people was absent, making him instantly likeable. This is endorsed by the casual dress he always wore when presenting his documentaries on television, such as one programme shown only last night which was shot in Cairo. Never seen in a suit and tie, but instead appears with his shirt unbuttoned, and thus identifying himself as one with the rest of us.

And earlier this year, just before the Coronavirus breakout, not only I had the privilege to attend one of his lectures at the University of London on the ancient Roman city of Herculaneum, but also to ask him personally a question on what has become of the upturned hull of a boat that was found there.

He was stumped. He couldn't answer my question. And for such a learned man such as he, I was quite mystified. Fortunately, an archaeologist was nearby who also heard my question and answered it for me. For the record, the Roman boat was carefully excavated and is now housed in a museum nearby.

Prof Michael Scott.

Maybe I have betrayed my own ignorance in that room, rather than that of the professor. I was unaware of the probability that Ancient Greek Classics is a different subject altogether from Archaeology. And I asked a question touching on archaeology rather than classics, even if the lecture was about what was excavated rather than fighting among ancient Greek gods.

But I have found that believing in the fable of Bellerophon astride Pegasus is very different from believing in the historicity of Divine Creation. The latter is very relevant to day-to-day living. And daily dependency on God.

A few years ago, one of our church members, himself an academic and author, in a sermon touching on the first chapter of Genesis, he levelled its historicity to an ancient Babylonian fable, the Enuma Elish, telling on how the Universe, our earth and all life was created by a pantheon of warring deities, where jealousy and murder were involved. With himself being an academic, I wouldn't be at all surprised that many of his listeners had fallen into the trap, being a learned scholar, therefore his word being taken and believed on as authentic.

Here I believe that differentiating between the historicity of the Bible from ancient Babylonian, Greek and Roman fables to be vitally important for the credibility of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And faith in the Gospel can be stretched to the limit when earlier in the week, my beloved felt woozy, dizzy and experienced a headache. So she phoned a non-emergency medical call centre. After describing her recent breast cancer history, a clinician phoned back with a suggestion that either she has an infection in her middle ear, or terrifying enough, her cancer had moved to her brain, and as such, an ambulance will be sent to take her to the hospital.

Once there, I received a phone call with the news that she will be due for an X-ray on the next day and therefore will be kept in overnight. She has a mobile phone that is mistakenly set not to receive calls, but with it, she can only make calls. And so I was alone at home, unable to get to her nor to the hospital staff either. I was totally under the mercy of providence.

The next morning the phone rang. It was Alex, and I was prepared to hear the news of her discharge. But instead, she says that she was tested positive with Coronavirus, and will be transferred to the ward for patients with Covid-19. I was stunned with shock! Whenever imagination runs wild, this was one occasion.

Visions of my beloved entered my mind, Visions of her in an isolation unit with a ventilator down her throat, that dreadful phone call from the hospital bearing the news that she had passed away. I look around as I sat alone in our living room. Widowhood? No, I was not at all prepared for widowhood, and no one, no one, could ever replace her! Everything reminds me of her: all the little ornaments I bought for her throughout our marriage, the photographs of her and us on holiday, everything else which are specifically hers, all these are around me.

Have you ever felt that you want to cry and shed bucketloads of tears, but somehow can't? Indeed, that was how I was feeling - a twisted cord of emotions, yet the Endocrine system of glands responsible to get me to actually cry remains stubbornly inactive.

I contacted all five of our Elders by email to set up a prayer network within our church for Alex. Prayer. Prayer based on faith in Jesus Christ - his death by crucifixion, his burial and his resurrection after three days. And belief in Divine Creation as historical being so vital for the veracity of the Gospel and the power of prayer which arises from it.

It was a terrible day. Caught in an emotional vortex, I also suffered loss of appetite. It was in the afternoon when the phone rang again. Expecting the worst, Alex informed me that preparations for discharge were made. I felt a flush of relief, then a feeling of frustration when it was said that before she can go home, she is to have her X-ray done on the advice of the clinician. But being busy, as she had to get behind a queue of patients before her turn came up. This, along with a delay in transport home, it was into the night before she finally arrived home, more than 24 hours after her departure to the hospital.

Can a house fly? Nowadays it can. Inside a modified airliner.

Now we are both at home together. She's on self-isolation for one week, I'm on for two weeks. In the days to come, we both need to watch for any deterioration of health in either of us. The dread of the ventilator or even widowhood hangs above us like a dark cloud.

But there is one very important thing we both must understand during these difficult times. God is in full control. He knows what's in our hearts, how we think and feel our fears, sorrows, and anticipations. God is fully in control, and as I said to Alex, our God is not too small after all, neither can anything happen behind his back.

Right now, neither of us are displaying any symptoms. But neither are we sitting on our laurels. We are hoping that these next couple of weeks will pass without any incident.

But having faith in God is absolutely vital. And that included accepting the record of Genesis as historical. As for lowering the Bible to the level of myth, there is no edification in reading or listening to the stories found in the Enuma Elish. As a matter of historical fact, I think that Dumbo with his aerodynamic ears is far more edifying than any stuff found in those Babylonian myths.

A Day-to-Day View of a Slave.

A Brexit-voting friend had recently said to me that he doesn't read my blogs if they have a political slant which, in my opinion, he misses out. Besides what's been going on this week, much has to be said between some shockingly unusual events and my own walk with God.

And to keep Jesus Christ within the central theme remains my priority. Therefore, I take a neutral stance when it comes to the Black Lives Matter protests which are going on in towns around this country at present. Indeed, although I do have a level of sympathy towards them, that does not mean I condone the demolishing of statues and national monuments of bygone men who used slavery or imperialism for laying the foundations for our present British society.

Brought down by BLM protesters, the statue of Ed Colston

Having read several novels about slavery in the Caribbean and the Deep South, I can build a picture of what life was really like for a "servant for life" daily, with the realisation that such a way of living is not so openly realised or taught in current media. Therefore in this blog, I'm writing as a journalist as if stepping back in time.

First, the Negro was seen as sub-human by the white trader and owner, who also sees him as his own personal property. The traders believed that slavery was the will of God, and was part of the fulfilment of the curse Noah made on his son Ham, the alleged father of all Negroes, so they thought, with his insistence that all the sons of Ham were to be servants for life. They based that curse found in Genesis 9:18-27. If only the Caucasian should have read the Bible a little more carefully than they did with a biased mind, they would have seen that it was Ham's firstborn son Canaan who was cursed, and not Ham himself, nor any of his other sons. Some modern scholars believe that it was Canaan who molested his grandfather's nakedness whilst his father Ham looked on, perhaps thinking it was funny.

Two issues here. The first is the fanciful idea that Noah had a white son, a yellow son and a black son, a notion not scientifically endorsed. History shows that the Canaanites were white people who settled in Canaan, which shoreline bordered the eastern end of the Mediterranean Sea, and will later be inhabited by Israel. Secondly, if Canaan was the son of Ham, the son of Noah, a descendent of Adam, then he and all his descendants must have been just as equally human too. This rebukes any notions that Negroes were sub-human.

With such erroneous belief that this was God's will, the slave ship carried anywhere between 250 to 600 slaves, all packed tightly to each other in rows. One of the issues which seem to be overlooked is that each was chained in place and unable to move. Not only was that the ideal environment for possible leg cramp, but with no latrines, urine and defecation on the ship's deck was a daily issue, causing the air to reek with faeces, urine and sweat. The deaths of many onboard might have been caused by this lack of sanitation. Thus, depending on the captain's discretion, each morning, after being served porridge oats for breakfast, all the slaves were put to work in thorough cleaning of the decks. A common ailment at sea, scurvy, was wrongly thought to be caused by this lack of hygiene.

After arrival at their destination, each slave was auctioned off, ending up at a plantation which grew either tobacco or sugar and in the States, cotton. Most of them were field workers, and with sugar, in particular, their lives were shortened by the sheer hard work involved. 

The rank and status among slaves were based on the job, skin colour and social position. Where the job was concerned, at the bottom were the fieldworkers, those engaged in the ploughing, sowing, and harvesting of the crop. Then there were the skilled craftsmen, usually slave-born. These may include masons, carpenters, tanners, and barn keepers. Usually its the barn keeper who keeps an array of leather whips used for punishment, from the small whip for women and children, to the big whip for the men. Next are the kitchen servants, and above them, the team of house servants, the latter making sure that there was a difference in status between kitchen and house, with the butler being the head servant of the house, along with the body servant, the one who daily bathes and dresses his white master.

When it comes to mating, the white master often has the self-imposed duty to deflower every virgin on his plantation who comes of age before mating her up with a male slave. Most young black females anticipate this and look forward to the honour. White men sleeping with women of colour was quite normal. If a white visitor arrives at a plantation who is of some standing, then he is offered a "bed wench" for a companion and a coal fire lit for the night. By contrast, visitors considered to be "white trash" such as itinerant slave traders, usually slept alone in a cold spare bedroom.

An original planter's home in Alabama, dating from slave days

This interbreeding has resulted in colour status in the slave hierarchy. From the pure Negro at the bottom, there are several distinct colour ranks according to the percentage of white blood inherited from the parents. Next up from being a pure Negro was the Griffe, with just a quarter of white blood, the grandfather being white. Above this was the Mulatto, from a white father and black mother. Then the Quadroon, an offspring between a white father and a Mulatto mother. Next up was the Octoroon, from a white father and a Quadroon mother. Finally the Mustee, usually with an Octoroon mother.

The distinction between a Mustee and a fully white man is so slight, that some of the Mustees managed to escape from the plantation to spend the rest of their lives masquerading as white, even to the point of attending auctions to buy and sell other slaves. But nevertheless, always living in fear of the master's hand landing on his shoulder from behind. If caught, he would have been brought back, fully shackled, to the plantation to face the whip, and then quite likely sold.

The whip was the standard form of punishment. Women and children felt the whip across their backs and buttocks as well as the men. Many masters were quite tolerant and only applied the whip for more serious offences. Others were churlish enough to have his slaves flogged for just forgetting to address him as "Master Sir." Yet in most, if not all cases, it's the muscular barn keeper who actually does the flogging, under his master's supervision and keeping count. Sometimes the punishment is delayed until the owner invites a group of friends, fellow planters, and then has the slave whipped to entertain his guests, with each relishing the screams of the victim.

The most serious of all offences were for a slave to sleep with a white woman. Sometimes the lady of the house seduces her servant whilst the master is away. If caught, either together in bed or by the birth of the offspring, the Negro father was always executed. This could be in several ways: Whipped to death, hanged, burned alive in fire or even boiled alive. Usually, the white female dies too by poisoning, but she could also be shot or sent away into exile. And here is an odd issue. If a dark-skinned man slept with a female Mustee or an Octoroon, that is fine, providing her master approves. Such a resulting offspring can command a very high price. But even the absence of the tiniest drop of Negro blood in the female would condemn her lover's fate with a death sentence.

Negro fighting was another pastime favoured by white owners. In the country or small-town inn, two rival owners bring their fighters to the arena and bets are laid during a round of drinks, with each bet averaging $200, give or take. That is approximately $5,180 in today's money. Often, these fights were gory and the loser often dies, leaving the owner $200 out of pocket and the loss of a slave that might have fetched $1,000 at auction. That is around $22,000 in today's money (or £17,865.)

In the city, fighters can have the opportunity to hone their skills in boxing, sometimes taught by English sailors or settlers. These slaves enjoy such pugilistic activity and revel in the glory a victory can generate among the betting crowd of spectators. Fighting can take place in the back yard of a brothel or other public venues. Here, bets up to a thousand dollars apiece are placed in the house owner's lap, a total sum which can add up to multiple thousands of dollars. Since boxing is well known, city fights were usually less gory and the loser has a better chance of survival.

Perhaps not always for the better. Sometimes a slave from a nearby plantation was due for a whipping. Instead, the master brings him to the arena with a promise that if he wins, all other punishment will be forfeited. But if he loses...

Hence, the slave is literally fighting for his life.

During the fight, a blow to the scrotum completely immobilises the fighter, causing him to cringe and wail as he lies on the ground. With the winner declared and bets paid out, the owner of the loser, bereft of a thousand dollars, no longer sees any value in his human property. He leads the slave to the bank of the river, still cringing and terrified, and forcing him to stand up as straight as possible. Then the owner takes out his gun and shoots, watching his dying slave fall into the river and float away in the current. And not a judge in the whole land would convict the owner.

Then there is the plague, which comes every year, taking the lives of both slave and free. The medics of the day were so primitive in their diagnostic thinking, they had no idea where the plague came from, let alone its nature. Then one year they had an idea. If enough noise would be generated, this could have a positive effect on the plague. So church bells rang, cannons fired, all sorts of melodrama were created in the city to create the loudest noise but to no effect. Those pesky mosquito bites remained ongoing, passing the malaria bug into the human bloodstream unhindered. How was it that everyone who stayed indoors and slept inside a mosquito net always survived, yet nobody noticed?

Historic New Orleans where 19th Century slavery thrived.

This was a brief window into the life and culture of slavery on which many in Britain became rich, and contributed towards English society. These traders whose statues now stand and are threatened by the BLM protestors to be destroyed. 

Yet all these slave owners and traders actually believed that slavery was God's will. And thus, many had a clear conscience, finding no reason why they shouldn't enter a sweet afterlife after their deaths, except that they preferred to call their slaves "Servants for Life" - as if the word "slave" was somewhat bothersome, a smear on the conscience.

I, as a Christian, believe that such a way of life some 200 years ago was very wrong, evil. But they did not think so. Instead, they actually believed that they were in God's will. Even the owner's own son and heir were taught to pray. And the boy prays by his bedside for that particular servant should receive his whipping promptly, while that other servant in bed recovers quickly from his illness. If mankind is still around after the next 200 years, what would they think of us? Maybe they would think that our willing endorsement of abortion is bad, and therefore judge our present-day culture as evil. Or their beliefs that our capitalistic system was also the spawning ground for theft and fraud, with many becoming rich by dishonest profiteering and gain. And that would include present-day slavery, the ill-treatment of refugees.

I do believe that some who lived in the early 19th century are now in Heaven with the Lord. And that includes former slave owners. But they didn't get there because through slavery they were in the will of God. They are there through faith in Jesus Christ alone, his death by crucifixion, his burial and his Resurrection from the dead. And God grants eternal life to all who truly believe, from whichever era he lived, and whether he was a slave or free.

Eight Men, Four Women and a Baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Present-day Ascot Life Church, member since 1990.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is because the former ballroom is now a theatre.