2020 - Another Year, A New Decade...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A crowded beach at Bournemouth, Summer 2020.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Psalm 133 AV.

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

Dr Andrew Milnthorpe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Father Christmas,

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

Love, 

Frank. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Paradox of Prayer.

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

My Fujitsu Laptop - on the blink?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alex O'Connor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MRI Body Scanning.

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

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

Have We Lost Our Mind?

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

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

The opening of the Mangrove, 1968.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cotton Slaves in American Deep South.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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