A Tender Shoot From Mud.

As I look back into my younger years, I could I ever forget those midweek evenings when I groaned inwardly at the thought of going back out after a busy day's work. Especially during the late Autumn or throughout the Winter when everything outside my apartment window was shrouded in dark, misty gloom, or the air pitted with a light but consistent drizzle, or the air biting cold from a north wind. And so I leave behind the warm, smug and homely environment, wearing a thick raincoat and leather gloves for a twenty-minute cycle ride to our local Baptist church, to pray.

Bracknell Baptist Church of the 1970s.

Only a small proportion turned up at those midweek meetings, compared to the building being full on a typical Sunday morning. Yet I felt obliged to go, anyway. Whatever the motives were back then - if it was because I wanted to believe that I was "spiritual" or because the rest of the church would have thought that I was just a Sunday "hanger-on" rather than an active member, or simply because it was the right thing to do as a Christian - or even believing that God would have been displeased with me for not exhibiting proper commitment.

Yet, in some of these meetings, I felt my spirit lift to the heights of sheer ecstasy, the exuberant feeling of being so close to God. But there were other meetings when I felt just bored out of my wits and wishing that I was at home or somewhere else. Although I tend to blame myself during those "dead" meetings, whether there was unconfessed sin lurking within, or whether I have nothing to pray about - which was usually the case - as there was no known sick person or anyone struggling, either which would have encouraged intercessory prayer. 

Being such an immature Christian didn't stop or impede me from reading the Bible, and that included both the Old and New Testaments. Understanding the overall picture might have been difficult from time to time, but one particular feature which stood out with remarkable prominence in the Bible, other than Jesus Christ himself, was the city of Jerusalem. And so, early in 1976, I made plans for an independent trip to the Holy Land specifically to visit this fascinating city, after backpacking Italy and having already gained some experience in lone travel. As such, I became the talk of the town, both at church and at my workplace. But, despite how impressed I was with those magnificent ancient ruins of il Foro, il Colosseo di Roma, and I scavi di Pompei, nowhere in Italy could match the exuberance of walking through those medieval streets of Jerusalem Old City, the Mount of Olives, and physically tracing the very footsteps Jesus must have taken.

Back at the church, a new kind of meeting was developed by the leaders, the house-group, which replaced the old prayer meetings. I thought that was a brilliant idea, as this had something of a resemblance of the early church under the administration of the apostles, especially Paul, which met in private homes. Having visited the ruins of private homes in Pompeii, this gave me a good idea of the environment in which the early church met. On any Mediterranean Summer's day, the spacious atrium, with the impluvium in the middle, a pool positioned to capture rainwater to supply the household, could have been the perfect setting for such a meeting, maybe as many as thirty people, all sitting or even reclining in a circle surrounding the pool. On cooler days, any of the larger rooms surrounding the atrium would have been ideal.

Our house-groups were a smaller version of these ancient Roman and Greek meetings, as most established churches here in the UK have too many people for all to meet at any one house. Therefore our church was divided into several midweek house-groups scattered around Bracknell. Each member attended the group nearest to where he lived, as each group was identified by the name of the district in which it was located. For example, the group I attended was known as the Hanworth house-group.

Was the most important feature of any house-group the coffee and biscuits at the end of the meeting? Maybe it was for me. And I think here I'm serious! The American definition of fellowship - "Coffee and Doughnuts" - at last, began to percolate into English churches, perhaps having crossed the Atlantic Ocean by visiting churchgoers returning home. And I'm pretty sure that any psychologist or sociologist would agree, that the way into a person's heart is often through his stomach. A small group meeting at a much warmer, cosier and homely environment than the formal, cold, spacious church building, would far more likely to turn nodding acquaintances into strong friendships. Thus, the opening up of the heart and sharing any issues not shared in a formal church environment, along with two or three engaged in private prayer, are all likely to encourage strong brotherly unity.

Atrium of a house in Pompeii

Even after the end of the Sunday service, nothing can be more beneficial than to remain behind for a while to greet one another, whether it's by a handshake or even a hug, and to share in each other's welfare, and if one is experiencing any form of struggle or hardship, to encourage or even engage in private prayer and Bible exhortation. Such building up of the faith is needed when feeling under a threat of any kind can leave both the giver and the recipient in a better state of mind. And with a hug, especially, is not only beneficial to the spirit but also does wonders to both physical and mental health.

Should there be a risk that I'm portraying church life as so sugar-coated that the elders are infallible and everything has always been hunky-dory within the fellowship, I thought of sharing a time I spent at a certain house-group around the 1980s. The fact is, as we're all prone to err while living in a fallen world, no church is perfect, and I have never expected any church fellowship to be perfect, yet, by God's love, grace and tender mercy, he's aware of my frame, along with those of all other Christians, and indeed, I, for one, have found myself to be in a dire situation, but again, I have learned since then not to feel any grudge towards anyone who may be prone to err.  

At the Hanworth house-group, one issue which our group leader seemed to have enjoyed was to divide us into several small groups and send us into the streets, door-knocking, with the intent of presenting the Gospel to any occupants who answered the door. This door-to-door tactic is the same used by Jehovah's Witnesses, and what's so dispiriting was that often the householder just didn't want to be disturbed in the evening if, after a day's work, wanted to spend time with his family or to watch an important or entertaining programme on television. Therefore, the risk of the door slamming shut at our faces, or receiving some hostile response, was very high. At least I can say that the typical Jehovah's Witness recruit is thoroughly trained by a senior member before allowed out into the streets. 

Just to divert here, and that is, door-to-door "evangelism" is not taught in the New Testament, nor does the Bible endorse such a practice. Rather, it's a misinterpretation of Acts 2:46 and 5:42, where Christians met in different houses (and nothing to do with door-to-door). These people who met in these houses were already believers, and visitors, such as the apostles, were invited into each house to teach, exhort and encourage. That is a far cry from the stress-inducing knocking on stranger's doors whilst fully aware of the chance of a hostile response.

But despite such mistakes made by the leaders or elders, or the unnecessary stress imposed by misinterpretations of Scripture, meeting together had always been very important in the life of a Christian believer. So much so, that many throughout history had put their lives at risk. For example, London was under the affliction of the Great Plague between 1665 and 1666. This plague killed around 25% of the London population (as compared with the 0.2% of the population under this present coronavirus pandemic.) During that time, while infection gotten from rats was rapidly spreading, many churches remained open despite the dangers, and they were all filled with worshippers, who also gave moral and encouraging support to each other during the plague. 

So says an article by Christian Concern and posted by a friend on Facebook. By comparison, our greater knowledge of the pathogen, and how it's transmitted from person to person, has caused panic to spread across the land, ushering national lockdowns, including the closure of all churches. Therefore, missing church attendance, physical worship and fellowship, including body contact, is like living in mud. Indeed, I didn't agree with everything Christian Concern came up with, including a hint that salvation is gotten by works of bravery rather than by grace through faith in Jesus Christ, and a further hint, through another misinterpretation of Scripture (Revelation 21:8) that all cowards are most likely to be shut out of heaven, nevertheless, there were some good points brought up by the article, namely, that the churches of the past who remained open and welcomed worshippers during a severe plague - was a great credit to the Christian faith.

With the present situation of lockdowns, self-isolation, and no Christian daring to call or be welcomed at another Christian's home, no church meetings, no body-contact, the feeling of loneliness - especially among singles, even a telephone call is an extreme rarity, and so the Christian life resembles a patch of mud, an area where nothing grows, but instead, liable to suck in any foot which steps onto it, making any attempts to walk across as an energy-draining effort which saps all goodness from the leg muscles and thus impedes his journey to his destination.  

But modern technology has sowed a seed into the mud, and the seed took root and a green shoot of a tree springs up. This sapling represents Zoom, and I for one is thankful that it now exists. For not only through my laptop which I can tune in to our virtual services each Sunday, but to a certain extent, we can interact at a Zoom meeting straight after the service. Likewise, there is a Zoom prayer meeting held every weekday morning, and I join this meeting through the computer screen. At least, right now we're able to talk to each other and communicate, which makes a big difference.

But as the sapling is still surrounded by mud all around it, there is still none of this face-to-face intimacy of a physical meeting, but I guess I need to be thankful to God for allowing technology to flourish at the right time in history through man's brain which God has originally created.

Skiing During A Pandemic?

I believe that I am one of the vast majority of Daily Mail readers who felt a spasm of rage pass through when I read an article, earlier in the week, about a group of gap-year students attempting to fly out to Switzerland to enrol for a course to qualify as skiing instructors. There may have been up to thirty of them in all. But since Switzerland refused entry for these students, instead, they had to arrange alternative transport into France to stay at a French resort, due to the present pandemic.

A few of them tried Eurostar, but they were refused to travel. At least they saw some common sense and returned home. The others made their journey on French trains which were crowded with other people. Obviously no lockdown in France, apparently, and so reaching their destination at the French Alps, it was found that a number of them were tested positive for Coronavirus, and the entire group, 26 of them in all, had to go into quarantine. And that despite their protests that they were all tested negative before they departed from the UK.   

Even though Swiss borders are shut to all visitors, their skiing resorts were open with ski lifts in full operation. Hence the original destination for the students. But the French resorts were closed, including all the ski lifts remaining out of service. And so, they ended up holed up in a French hotel.

Much to the rage of the locals.

Then I scrolled through the page to the comments forum. And just as expected, a near-universal condemnation for daring to travel overseas for "a non-essential cause" while the rest of us are afraid even to leave our homes, should we be stopped and fined by the local "jam sandwich." Some of these comments, yes, more than one or two, remarked that the British are the most disliked by the indigenous of other countries due to their arrogance and imperialistic devil-may-care attitude. Then there were a few in the comments forum who defended the students, insisting that they were not on holiday but out to enrol on a college course.

Pull the other leg!

Just as a police drone flies over a natural beauty spot to book and fine any lonely dog-walker strolling on a remote and deserted trail, or penalise a couple sitting on a park bench, a group of students had the audacity to book for a course on becoming skiing instructors. Indeed, little wonder that many of us, including myself, have steam coming out of our ears like a double-spout kettle on full boil. But why? What is it about a group of 18-20-year-olds flying out to have a bit of skiing fun? What if the group in question were, instead, some volunteers flying out to the poorer regions of Africa to help in feeding and providing medical care to those living in dire poverty? Or even some senior citizens on a coach trip to visit the Palazzo de Madame in Turin? With everyone masked and the group fully-contained, I doubt whether any of us would make much a fuss. If anything, and perhaps with a few exceptions, the comment forum would tend to lean on the expression, best of luck to them.

I try to analyse my own motives. Is it down to jealousy? I'm not sure about that since I have never skied in my life and I have no interest in starting. Could it be due to their apparent selfish attitude and with little or no regard to the welfare of the locals? This seems more to the point. Although among the vast majority of protesters having a variety of mixed emotions, I tend to believe that it's down to their smug and inconsiderate attitude. Anyone who knows me well may even accuse me of hypocrisy, blaming others for doing something I love doing myself. As I reminisce on those glory days of international travel - Israel and particularly Jerusalem, USA, Canada, Europe, Australia, Singapore - at least it was all done in innocence. There was no pandemic going around during those glory days.

Nor any idea of the 9/11 destruction of the World Trade Center would have ever crossed my mind either. In 1978, I actually stood on the rooftop of one of those twin towers. And with regret, I missed out on a second visit to those giant cigarette-lighters during my visit to New York in 1998, a year before I married Alex. Instead, it was the viewing platform of the Empire State building where I stood, looking across Manhatten at the distant twin towers of the World Trade Center. Who would ever have thought that exactly twenty years later in 2018, our beloved Tory MP, an Etonian and quintessential Englishman, Jacob Rees-Mogg, would stand at exactly the same spot as I did, except that he was clothed in a suit and tie on a hot day? And besides, his view of the same skyline would have been remarkably different from my day.

Jacob Rees-Mogg with his family in New York, 2018.

Even after we've married, Alex and I enjoyed trips to Israel, Rhodes, Kos, Sicily, Malta and Lanzarote. My original plan was to take her to see the magnificent Grand Canyon, but as she began to show symptoms of a neurological disorder, such an idea was permanently shelved. Furthermore, having watched YouTube videos of this awesome wonder, Alex admitted that standing near the edge would have given her the creeps. She suffers from acrophobia, thus taken her there may not have been a good idea after all.

Therefore, I can cope with shelving travel altogether due to the pandemic. But even as recently as Spring 2019, a booked trip to Brussels on the Eurostar had to be cancelled because of her ongoing treatment for breast cancer. Although a refund was successfully reclaimed from the fees paid for the hotel booking, the fares paid for Eurostar was forever lost, as was the fees for a trip to Crete was partially lost in 2013 after her neurological ailment took a turn for the worse. But why worry about lost money? It was soon replenished anyway through the State pension. To me, my beloved's health means much more than travel or wealth, something which, I admit, took a long time to learn, that the life God has given us is worth much, much more than any form of wealth.

Given all these, I can understand the students' desire for a bit of skiing experience, even if it's under the guise of studying. And I can feel the bitter frustration felt among them when a pandemic happens to take hold at just the wrong moment, especially after years of planning, and quite likely the loss of any expenses covered by the Bank of Mum & Dad. Possibly, it's their feeling of entitlement which stirs the ire, despite the spread of the virus and the anxiety stirred among the locals, they must feel the obligation to go, anyway.

All this gives me the impression that the typical undergraduate is becoming more unpopular as the years goes by. I recall the times of my younger years when such future leaders, scientists, doctors, philosophers, etc, were held with reverential respect by the majority of the population who had never achieved such high levels of education, myself included. My late father certainly made sure I was taught to respect them as I grew up. And this was endorsed by my former school PE master when a pupil without his kit produced a doctor's note. That piece of paper spared him from the corporal punishment administered to everyone who forgets to bring his gear for the lesson. Such was school life in the mid-sixties.

As for those students now holed up at a French hotel, it's so easy to feel unsympathetic, angry even, at their apparent lack of consideration for their families, the community they reside at, along with the French locals, and even among each other. Skiing, for heaven's sake, during a pandemic! And knowing that it was mostly skiers who were largely responsible for bringing the virus into Britain from the heavily-infected northern regions of Italy around February last year, thus leading to the first of the lockdowns with all the disruptions to normal living involved and an accompanying rise in coronavirus deaths.

Taking all this into account, what would I, for one, gain in feeling irate? Nothing! Rather, harbouring such feelings would only cause my own health to deteriorate. It's another case of not what I eat but what eats me. Time and time again it's proven that feeling constantly angry or bitter will lead to an early grave.

Maybe, that was what Paul had in mind when he advised the church in Ephesus to be angry but not sin, and not to let the sun go down on their anger (Ephesians 4:26.) Not only the apostle had their spiritual welfare in his heart but their physical health as well. Yet, here looks to be a contradiction. First, in v.26, he says, be angry but do not sin. Then straight afterwards, in v. 31, he says, Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger. It's okay to be angry at injustice, such as a man bullying a child or robbing from a defenceless pensioner. Jesus himself showed his anger when he saw his Father's Temple in Jerusalem turned into "a den of thieves." Here He makes a whip of cords and with it, drives out the merchants, their stock and their money. But after justice has been met, His anger dies off. Jesus did not allow the sun to go down on His anger.

Could this be the same way I have felt about those students? Having gone into quarantine instead of the ski slope, have they learned their lesson not to travel during a pandemic?

And how would I react if I saw and spoken to one of those students? Upbraid him? Not at all. Rather, I would prefer to invite him into a Starbucks or Costa Coffee and treat him. Over a cappuccino, I would ask him what his motivation was to travel overseas to a Swiss ski slope during a pandemic, when everyone else living here has to endure all the restrictions a lockdown imposes, with the threat of a penalty dished out to anyone sitting at a park bench, travelling outside our local area, or going out with a small group.

Like that, I would get him to talk. And if he can see that there is no ill-feeling lurking within, nor any feelings of bitterness or that of judging, then he is more likely open up. With the likelihood of respecting each other's opinions, a friendship forms, and could even open up an opportunity to share the testimony of my faith in Jesus Christ. Anger is overcome by love! And mercy smiles at the judgement.

Coping With Anger as an Aspie...

I felt apprehensive when I sat at a psychologist's office in Brookwood, Surrey. Then my sense of unease intensified as she announced that I'm about to undergo a mental arithmetic test.

"Oh, dear!" I protested. "I'm terrible at maths. What has this to do with parenting?"

"This assessment involves your IQ. It's all part of the process," the rather pretty young woman answered.

Actually, I was more surprised than she was when I got one sum after another correct without any visible calculation, whether it be with a calculator, on paper, or counting on my fingers. As each sum got progressively more difficult, it eventually came to the point when I couldn't answer any more, but at least that was way up on the scale. There were other questions too, such as what was Albert Einstein famous for? To which I replied that he was the first to work out the science of Relativity.

She was impressed - and honest too. She admitted that she was unaware of the answer until she checked my reply with the answer on her score sheet. Then another question: Name the Seven Continents.

"Er... Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, North America, South America, er...er..."

"Yes, yes," she egged.

"Oh yes, Antarctica."

And so the questions came pouring forth. Many, such as the seven continents, could - or should - be answered easily by any schoolboy, let alone by a man in his fifties. But this might come as a surprise as we watched The Apprentice, just a few years ago. Here was a group of young professionals, each one vying to be Alan Sugar's partner with a £250,000 business investment awarded to the winning candidate. As the team sat around a table to discuss their business strategies, it became obvious neither was able to differentiate between the continent of Africa from India. Therefore, I had nothing to be ashamed of when I was assessed back in the Summer of 2005.

Indeed, as I stood on the platform of Brookwood Station, in shirtsleeves and dripping wet from the rain after walking through the famous cemetery, my spirits were high, having been told after the assessment that I had above-average intelligence. Maybe this was why I was able to beat a financial advisor and his wife at a game of Scrabble a couple of years earlier and also won by quite a considerable margin against another middle-class family at a general knowledge game which was not unlike Trivial Pursuit. But a shock was yet to come.

The final result of the assessment came back. I was diagnosed with Aspie.

Back in 2005, I knew just one other person who has Asperger's Syndrome. He was and still is a good friend, a tad younger than me and unmarried to this day. But if the psychologist was able to assess me as above average intelligence, she would have diagnosed him with super-intelligence, especially at maths. I have always known him as an ideal candidate for membership with Mensa. At present, I'm also good friends with another Aspie, who holds a PhD in Genetics. This seems to testify that being on the Spectrum (as it's now referred) goes hand-in-hand with having a higher IQ.

The symptoms of Asperger's includes the inability to contribute to group socials, generally in a pub or restaurant. It was one of the mysteries I wasn't able to fathom out when I sat with a group of friends in the pub following a session at the Reading Life Saving Club back in the seventies and again in the eighties - unless I found myself talking to just one other person in the group. One-to-one I'm quite good at, and the subject under discussion is of interest to both of us. Strangely enough, even on a subject which I have no interest in, such as football, I still can have a decent conversation with one other person - but would suffer a speech paralysis if football is talked about in a group discussion.

Another symptom which I was diagnosed with which led to my final conclusion, is that I tend to be pedantic. That means that I can be very fussy with accuracy. For example, if someone writes, Your good at maths, a pedantic person is less likely to resist from writing the correction underneath: You're good at maths. A pedantic person is more likely to get annoyed when reading text, and come across errors such as their, there, or they're used in the wrong context. But to be pedantic can also be a good thing when it comes to writing blogs or comments to be read by others. I, for one, always proof-read my work to correct any errors that might have slipped through the net. Simply, I can't stand others seeing my mistakes!

The third symptom of Asperger's Syndrome is a lack of empathy. This is the inability to understand how the other person would think or feel. The psychologist came up with the conclusion that I lack empathy. One possible example is for Jack to berate John because John always looks sad and forlorn, and is dampening the atmosphere of his immediate environment. Hence, Jack passes judgement without any consideration that John's mother had just died of a prolonged cancer ailment.

By telling me these things, the psychologist had done me a great favour. Since I became aware of these shortcomings, with the help of God through the Holy Spirit, I can change direction when faced with a choice of action. For example, if a friend was to approach me and say, I have less Christmas cards than I had last year. I would stop short of saying: You mean you had fewer cards than last year, which might have caused offence, but instead, sympathise by replying: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Did you receive my card? Which he's more likely to answer, Yes, I did. Thanks, Frank.

Psychologists may say that there is no cure for Asperger's Syndrome and having no physical abnormality associated with it, thus making any medical treatment impossible, but by believing that the crucified Jesus of Nazareth is the risen Christ and asking to be filled with the Holy Spirit, the effects of Aspie can come under greater control. The above Christmas card incident is a good example. By showing sympathy rather than to correct his grammar, I have achieved several things:

Firstly, by avoiding to correct his grammar, I have avoided the possibility of alienating him by being pedantic. Secondly, I have tuned into his feelings, hence showing empathy. Thirdly, I have taken his mind off the negative to focus on the positive, that is, to remember the card I sent to him and allowing him to thank me. Fourthly, not only is our friendship cemented but he also walks away happier than he was before.

With me having Asperger's, as diagnosed by the psychologist back in 2005, I believe that regular reading of the Bible and walking in the guidance of the Holy Spirit would go a long way towards building friendships. But being human, I'm still prone to err, and perhaps one example of this was when I shared a poster on Facebook. As someone displayed on his tee-shirt during and after the Spring Harvest Bible festival: GINFWMY - such lettering should arouse curiosity, indeed, I do ask to be patient, God is not finished with me yet. Thus feelings of anger can still arouse even by the most trivial issue, such as a poster I have shared on Facebook earlier in the week.

It was about Jabob Rees-Mogg cracking a joke that our fish will be happier now that they are in British waters, at last, free from the clutches of the European Union. As I read the statement, I felt a wave of anger pass through me and reposted the item with the statement, Bloody idiot! The fish will be happier with no fishing boats and crew around. Etonian pillock!

At first, I felt a sense of satisfaction after posting such a statement. Unless this politician had spoken to the fish and received the above response, I doubt that any fish would be happy to be caught in a trawler's net and be hauled out of the water to die and end up on the dinner plate. Then I thought, could he had meant that the fish will be happier simply by swimming under British waters? Who knows?

Jacob Rees-Mogg.

The poster was ignored by everyone who saw it. Not a single like or comment, or even an emoji (and I think there is a thumbs up and a thumbs down emoji within the large range available on Facebook) either for or against the statement. Coming to think of it, I think that what I had actually done was to allow my Aspie to rear it's head once again. 

The same article also appeared on the Daily Mail website. I then read the very long comment forum which trailed the article. Nearly everyone believed that Rees-Mogg acted foolishly, even citing the fish's preference very much the same way I did. But what seems to be my own personal anger, along with the dislike of him by the huge majority of commenters, was down to not just what he said, but his words were merely a reflection of his attitude.

Rees-Mogg's has always carried that arrogant I'm-above-the-rest-of-you-plebs attitude, who believes that England, being God's special country, is way too superior to be part of the EU. And so, always in a suit and tie, he turns up his nose and looking down, utter the words, we've won, you lost, get over it!

To be honest, I still find this very difficult to handle. Perhaps the kind of encouragement I need to to take my mind off politics and Brexit altogether and focus my mind on Jesus, to seek his kingdom and pursue righteousness. 

If only I could have sent him a Christmas card this year. Perhaps I would have made friends with him.  

A Promise Of Reassurance...

Mmm, let's see. Here in the UK, we have entered a third national lockdown. This new variant of the virus, which originated in the Kent region of Southern England, has spread rapidly across the country, giving us all the frights and dashing hopes of a recovery. It has now become illegal even to leave our homes without a proper reason, although the normal commute to work is allowed, providing that working from home is impossible. 

Covid-19 virus.

Thus, I assume that all the train, bus and taxi drivers, builders, plumbers, electricians, dustmen, landscapers, and other essential members of the workforce have to leave their homes for their shifts, but for the average pen-pusher, remaining in pyjamas and tapping away at a laptop whilst sitting up in bed, thus allowing his business suit and tie gather dust and attract moths as they hang neglected in the wardrobe. And such a cosy lifestyle is not only strongly recommended by our Government, but such a way of living could also be here permanently. Indeed, as if no man could change our national culture so rapidly as a tiny virus can.

And so, news comes in of a Scottish housewife letting a disabled relative into her house. But unfortunately, a curtain-twitcher phones the police and they arrive, two or three of them, and barge into the house to demand what's going on and threatening them with fines. Meanwhile, two young women take a stroll at a park surrounding a reservoir, each holding a paper cup of coffee. The police approach them and fines both of them for driving five miles out of their hometown of Leicester and accusing them of having a picnic.

Meanwhile, at a small village somewhere in England, a snitch gets a pub owner into trouble with the police for letting someone in, and threaten to close the pub down permanently. Another pub elsewhere had its car park full of parked vehicles. Another curtain-twitcher phones the police, and they arrive. In this case, the landlord was let off after explaining that the parked cars were an overflow from a nearby car-hire firm whose business has gone quiet since the start of the lockdown.

And so, the rate of infection rises rapidly, this time way surpassing the April peak of last year. With the infection-rate graph shown each evening on our TVs pointing directly skywards, also both the hospital admission-rate graph and the mortality graph each showing a steeper uphill climb, the nation wonders how much longer all this will go on, how many more will die, is there any light at the end of the tunnel? Thus, any sense of optimism is held under strict scrutiny - if it hadn't dried up already. Even the prospect of a vaccine of three different brands seems to raise very little hope for optimism, except in the media, something quite different from the optimistic view of a golden future for our sovereign independent nation, a view held by Brexiteers.

And talking about Brexit, it was just over four years ago from this time of writing, after the Vote Leavers had won the 2016 Referendum and which was also coinciding with Donald Trump's election campaign across the Pond, when I found myself sitting in a pub with a couple of Christians, along with other Christian friends elsewhere. One issue I have found to be quite striking was that my Christian friends who voted Leave also favoured Republican Donald Trump to take over the Presidency from Barack Obama, rather than his rival Hilary Clinton.

The reason for this was easy to understand. Clinton supported elective abortions, Trump did not. Also, the latter was a very wealthy and successful businessman who, like our own Lord Alan Sugar, held his own US version of The Apprentice, or The Apprentice USA, therefore already well-known nationally. Thus, according to what I might have believed at the time, Trump was the icon of Make America Great Again, that is, under a free market, private profit, and although the American Constitution includes freedom of religion, yet Trump's manifesto would be under the banner of Christianity, as he claims to be a Christian himself. However, I was convinced at the time that his popularity among Christians, both here in the UK and in the States, was due to his stance against elective abortions.

But I was personally queasy about having Trump as their President. Nevertheless, I remained strictly neutral to hold the peace, even when my Christian friends supported him and he also seems well supported by Brexiteers.

And big-name Christian "prophets" - most of them had already died - such as Kenneth and Gloria Copeland, Steve Hill, John Wimber, Oral Roberts, Kenneth Hagin, John Dawson, Benny Hinn, Paul Crouch, Yonggi Cho, Pastor John Kilpatrick (of Brownsville Assemblies of God, Pensacola) and other leaders of big churches, all, I assume, would have supported Donald Trump had they lived to this day. These leaders had several things in common, one being the Prosperity Gospel, a heresy that a Christian's level of spiritual health is defined by his wealth. Also, some of these leaders, or televangelists, offered personal prayers and promises of blessings for a fee. Thus, had you sent a fee and a prayer request to some of these leaders, you would have gotten a computer-generated letter back with your name on it, with the assurance that you are prayed for and your blessing is guaranteed.

But with so many request forms pouring in, it would be impossible for any single individual to be prayed for, yet the money poured in. One striking example was with the case of a man who sent a request with a considerable large fee to the Oral Roberts Foundation for his wife to be healed of cancer. After receiving an answer that prayers for her healing were already underway, his wife later died. A year later, another letter arrived from Oral Roberts, assuring the widower that after an intimate talk with God, God Himself reassured Roberts that the man's wife will make a physical recovery. Without a doubt, the widower was devastated! He then exposed the money-making scam lurking behind people such as Oral Roberts.

Donald Trump.

It was during that time in the nineties that teaching was going around many churches stemming from John Dawson's book, Taking our Cities for God: How to Break Spiritual Strongholds. Backed by C. Peter Wagner of Fuller Theological Seminary, and Pastor Jack Hayford along with others, prayers began to be offered to break the demonic strongholds over cities such as Detroit, Los Angeles and Miami, among others, including Calcutta, India. For one example, take Miami. On November 10 1989, Larry Lea, backed by 430 pastors and as many as 10,000 Christians, declared the demonic strongholds of Miami to be broken and its people released from such dominion. Particularly with the Strongman of Greed, which according to his own testimony, Lea had received a revelation from God that this stronghold will soon be broken and the wealth of Miami will go to the churches and individual Christians will be blessed with the released wealth.

That was more than thirty years ago, and so far the Stronghold of Greed is still in full power over Miami and as far as I know, the churches hadn't prospered in wealth to a higher level. Further instances of cities supposedly released from demonic strongholds proved to be equally fallacious, as moral decay continues to grow worse and worse during the ensuing decades.*

And here is the climax, thanks to a video made of Kenneth and Gloria Copeland which appeared recently on Facebook. During the 2020 US election campaign, Copeland stood up and declared that God Himself has said to him that Donald Trump will win the next election for a second term of office. But when Joe Biden received the greater number of votes, it was afterwards when Copeland shouted to his audience that the election result was fraudulent and the evil, Satanic forces must be broken in the name of Jesus! He then made a mockery of Joe Biden, which was followed by laughter so heinous that I almost felt my hair stand on end.

Is all this Biblical Christianity? Coming to think of it, what with Trump supporters raiding the Capitol Building and upturning its contents and involving the death of a police officer plus five other people, I can't help gasping when the rioters acted in the name of God and the glory of America! These were the very same people who would discriminate against Muslims, the reintroduction of black slavery if that was possible, and the deportation of other ethnic minorities along with Socialists, "for the glory of a white and prosperous America." And the ringleader was none other than Jack Kidd, an alma mater of Harrow Public School, thus a well-educated Brit and a descendant of an aristocratic family line, otherwise, during normal day-to-day living, an icon of respectability.  

With such prophets making fools of themselves, hence the detailed discussion above, could I look an atheist in the eye and boldly declare my allegiance to Jesus Christ? And would I stand up and declare with certainty a recent six-day Creation is a fact of history? And especially when the majority of my Christian friends who support Brexit also uphold Theistic Evolution?

And so the pandemic worsens, infections and hospitalisations increase, more people die of the virus, the vaccine faces a mountain of red-tape bureaucracy, a president is defeated and false prophets appear like woodworm out of old furniture - Help, stop the world, I want to get off!

But I doubt very much that a really major catastrophe will hit this country, Europe, and the rest of the world.

And that is simply the true saint is the salt of the earth. And even in these distressing times, there are still plenty of us around. And the Scripture I can give is the fascinating intercessory prayer made to God by Abraham, concerning the fate of Sodom - Genesis 18:16-33.

Here God says that if there are as little as ten righteous men in the city, God would spare the whole city for their sakes. A righteous man, according to God, is one whose faith in Him has resulted in God's own righteousness credited to him. It's this faith in God whose righteousness is imputed into his account whom the Almighty is referring to, and there was one standing there, Abraham, according to Genesis 15:6, and Lot, according to 2 Peter 2:6-10. With just one righteous person living in Sodom, it was deemed wiser to remove and relocate him rather than spare the whole city.

Ken Copeland laughing at Joe Biden, 2020.

If you and I are true believers, then we are the ones who, without the need for conscious effort, are keeping evil at bay and preventing the virus from killing everybody. Indeed, the Church is the salt of the Earth, despite being made up of imperfect people. The Church, the Bride of Christ, made up of different body parts placed at the right position in the body to make the Temple of the Holy Spirit. Indeed, the virus can hit any one of us - Alex my wife was tested positive during the Spring of last year, and she is in the high-risk category due to having cancer.

Another proof that the pandemic will not wipe us out entirely, and that is God's covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. This covenant ensures that they would inherit a particular area of land which will be theirs forever. And no stronger proof of the validity of the covenant is found than in Jeremiah 31:31-36 where God challenges anyone to break the covenant between night and day so that one no longer follows the other, or to measure the Universe and perhaps count all the stars within, or explore the very core of the earth - if any of these impossible tasks can be carried out - then God will break His covenant with Israel for what they have done.

Therefore, there are three active witnesses to reassure us that the pandemic - or any other disaster or natural catastrophe - will not wipe out the whole of mankind. They are the Bible, the Church, and Israel. And these three agree with each other. That is reassuring.

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*From the late Dave Hunt, Occult Invasion, 1998, Harvest House Publishers.

A Wild Fling of Imagination...

A typical weekday evening. You arrive home from work, tired, and the wife brings in a mug of soothing coffee as you sink into the comfortable sofa, facing the television which is already tuned in for the day's news bulletin. Just as with us when the news is about to start. We always watch the news on the BBC, as neither of us cares about advert breaks in the middle of the broadcast. Then after the main bulletin ends, the regional news begins.

And it was during one of these regional broadcasts, during the airing of a live report when all of a sudden the report was interrupted and the anchorwoman, Sally Taylor, appeared on the screen for between five and ten seconds without her knowing about it. She was looking away from the camera and gazing seriously at something which seemed to have caught her attention. Could it have been a bug crawling up the wall or a nearby piece of furniture or equipment? Or a spider, remaining stationary at that spot throughout the whole duration of the programme, maybe even for the whole evening? Or perhaps finding a spelling error in her notes?

It was that kind of unintentional whoopsie which adds that little more enhancement to life, the ability to smile when all around there is no reason to smile, as each gloomy item is delivered one after another from the newsdesk. But this unintentional error made by the screen controller has set my imagination racing as I ask, "What goes on at the newsdesk during a report, especially a long one delivered by a major foreign correspondent?"

Back in the eighties and nineties, it was normal for two anchormen to sit behind the newsdesk before the BBC decided to slim down on its budget. It was the perfect set-up for my imagination to run riot. Say, for example, that the headline is about a significant Middle East incident which is threatening the already fragile peace agreement at that part of the world. And so we watch the reporter standing in the cold, speaking into the camera, when all of a sudden, we're back at the newsdesk. And as the foreign correspondent drones away at his report, the two anchormen are caught larking about, totally oblivious of being on-air. Here I can imagine the late Peter Sissons, back then a smartly-dressed anchorman in his fifties, blowing chewing gum bubbles or laughing raucously at his companion blowing up a balloon which suddenly pops, throwing the smartly-dressed colleague back startled, and upsetting the glass of water all over his own trouser leg, much to Sisson's delight.

But immediately afterwards I see no more of the tomfoolery, for the controller, realising his mistake and with much embarrassment and in fear of losing his job, instantly switches back to the report. After the report concludes, who would ever guess, by the serious look on Sisson's face as he begins to deliver the next news item, bits of thin rubber are scattered across the studio and a huge wet patch remains hidden under the desk?

But it would have been too late. Poor Alex, sitting there and wondering what was so funny as she watches me literally rolling on the floor in uncontrollable laughter. But along with the amusing thought, would have been my curiosity on how the rest of the nation would have reacted. But going by experience, the nation watching would have been divided into two main groups: the men, rolling in uncontrolled laughter, and their wives and girlfriends looking with astonishment and wondering when their opposite gender will ever learn to grow up. Surely, anyone angry or upset with such a scenario must be of a small minority.

But it's just this, the boy in the man, something I wrote about before.* A very healthy psychological trait which, I believe, distracts from the stresses and disappointments life can throw at us, the doom-and-gloom spouted at us evening after evening, accompanied with ever-climbing graphs and continual lockdowns. With the gyms, swimming pools and spa suites closed, along with theatres, cinemas, pubs, bars, coffee houses, cafes and restaurants all closed, along with non-essential shops, indeed, I need some fun distraction to get my mind off the reality - that I can go into a garden centre to buy a gnome but unable to replace my worn shoes or a much-needed shirt should the time come.

And as such, I can take a real-life experience of the South Today broadcasting error and use my imagination to create a scenario set on a breach of a private moment. But such must be genuine, a bad mistake made unintentionally by the screen controller and followed by apologies from the BBC and not a deliberate put-on as characterised by any comedy show.

I can buy this little fellow but not a pair of shoes.

And all these sorrows caused by the pandemic with the new variant of the virus, couldn't have come at the worse time of the year - the Christmas season - that time of year when my beloved suffers a low mood, and often I do too, the setting in of Seasonal Affected Disorder, or SAD, an affliction I have been suffering for many years already. In addition to all this, on New Year's Day, Facebook was covered by posters submitted by Brexiteers rejoicing in their victory against those like me who would have preferred to have remained in the EU. And so they jump in victory as if England had just won the World Cup.

And so I can thank God in a sense that we're under strict lockdowns - or else I would have witnessed street parties held by Brexiteers, with St George flags and Union Jacks, mixing in the crowd to watch the fireworks display across the river. And their mantra: We've won. You've lost. So get over it! - and such chanted even by professed Christians and church-goers too, as they celebrate with the wicked, making this whole palaver into one mighty miracle that I hadn't ditched the faith and embraced atheism, as it looks to me, the latter doesn't seem to be going around chanting such slogans while they're denouncing the Bible to embrace Darwinism.

And such high hopes of a vaccine against this dreadful virus is diluted by news of supply shortages and tangles of red tape and bureaucracy. And so I now read that the most vulnerable of patients who had already received their first dose of the vaccine and were promised the second dose just three weeks later are now told that they must wait up to three months before they get the second jab. And I feel like tearing my hair out as I read that the making of the same vaccine in India was so efficient that their roll-out should proceed with ease. And that is a country with one of the highest population density in the world.

Thus, I can easily imagine a team of men wearing a suit and tie getting their sums disastrously wrong, and forcing our Government to change their minds over this vaccine roll-out. And the man in a suit - the archetypical Englishman whose high education, business success and resulting wealth and high social status make him the ideal icon for Brexiteers to aspire on a national level out of sheer pride, self-effort and determination. And so anyone who wished to have remained as an EU member is looked down upon with that awful, arrogant and patronising spirit which has no truck with the love, mercy and the grace of God, yet still embraced by some Christians.

Indeed, one offset is that we have left the EU with a last-minute deal which, I hope, will temper the potential dockside congestion caused by the new tariffs and paperwork which is now required for exporting and importing goods to and from the EU. And so the world turns, life must go on. As for me, any moaning done over Brexit must stop, indeed, by moaning, I cannot add a single cubit to my life, I must die exactly when appointed by God. Instead, I can pray that both Alex and I will be protected from infection.

And we can do more. That is the taking of a combined Vitamins C and D3 supplement which also include zinc, selenium and copper. Several respectable doctors on the Internet advocate the taking of Vitamin D3 as an additional supplement which they say is beneficial in keeping infection in check (but not as a cure) for all who live in the colder latitudes during the winter months. Although there may be others who disagree, personally, I feel that nothing is lost by taking them.

And so we stand and smile at the world, our faith firmly rooted in Christ, the Rock of our salvation. Okay, so it's mentally and emotionally healthy to allow the imagination to run riot, so to speak, of the incredible stupidity of formally-dressed newscasters making complete idiots of themselves when they thought nobody was watching them. Yet I know full well that this is just fantasy, with as much realism as watching Superman on the Big Screen. I enjoyed watching Superman on the Big Screen back in 1977 or 1978, but that does not mean scanning the sky every five minutes afterwards, but the movie did inspire a trip to the USA a short time later.

But as Alex and I have already agreed, it's not about the boy-in-the-man, nor Brexit or the pandemic. The whole idea of our existence is about being reconciled to God through faith in Jesus Christ. And so, despite our present circumstances, by God's grace and tender mercy, we will march on, not allowing anything to put us down but to turn to God for help and reassurance whenever we need to.

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*For my original blog about the boy-in-the-man, click here.