3x2 Witnesses In Darwin's Basilica.

The Basilica San Darwin is one location in the UK I have been familiar with since I was a boy. Equally majestic in its interior structure as St Paul's Cathedral, Southwark Cathedral, il Basilica San Pietro, Westminster Cathedral, or even Westminster Abbey, I ask you which of the six basilicas is the odd one out?

Why, it's il Basilica San Pietro, of course! It's at Vatican City in Rome. The other five are all in London.

Indeed, I can classify the Basilica San Darwin, aka the Museum of Natural History, as a religious building, as its imposing Central Gallery, now known as the Hintze Hall, resembling the interior of a cathedral, with stained glass windows at the far end that's characteristic of any large Christian church, and even surrounded by cloisters. On the landing above a flight of stairs stands a white statue of Charles Darwin sitting rather alone and dwarfed to miniaturisation by the immense structure built in his name.

Hintze Hall, Natural History Museum, Stock photo.

The exhibits dominating the Central Hall had changed at least twice since my first visit as a boy (at first with my parents and then with the class of our primary school.) Back then, if my memory hadn't fazed, I recall a circular platform in front of a dominating skeleton of a Diplodocus, on which stood two lifesize elephants on one side, and two rhinos on the other, also lifesize. Then, afterwards, these mammals were moved elsewhere, and the plaster-cast skeleton held dominance, symbolising the entire museum until 2017, when the skeleton was dismantled to begin a tour of the UK, to be replaced by the real bones of Hope, a young Blue Whale.

Talking of primary school children, I actually saw several lines, all young boys and girls under the age of ten in their school uniforms, walking along in pairs with their supervisors. I was quite surprised. I can recall being in a line myself at that same museum, about age ten, and the leading teacher instructed me to read aloud the words on a sign next to one of the exhibits. I responded with, Please Don't Touch. Then the supervisor told the rest of us to heed my instruction. At least, if this is of any comfort to me, I didn't wear a tie at primary, neither did the other children. I also found myself wondering how those kids really feel about having to wear such stiff uniforms whilst all the adults and teenagers around them wore what they liked and felt less rigid and more at ease. However, they all seemed to have been okay with it.

And so, the statue of Charles Robert Darwin sits enthroned in the Hintze Hall, gazing through its entire length to the doors leading out to Cromwell Road. This very man takes the credit for literally revolutionising our minds from accepting the authority of the Bible as a guidebook for daily living to atheistic secularism. Yet, according to a book written by Christian author and Creationist, Jerry Bergman,* Darwin's book, On the Origin of Species, he was accused of plagiarism by his writings being so similar to that of his contemporary, Alfred R. Wallace - not to mention his predecessors Jean Baptiste Lamarck, George Buffon, Robert Chambers, Patrick Matthew - to these authors giving little, if any credit when Darwin wrote On the Origin of Species.

Yet, here am I standing on the third-floor balcony, looking down into the gallery. The bones of Hope, the Blue Whale partly obscuring the comparatively small statue of Charles Darwin, to whom the museum is centred upon. I make my way to the mineral gallery, a collection of specific rocks, meteors, and ores, including a couple of rocks containing jasper.

I was very impressed with the striking beauty of this mineral in its original form. Despite that it was in shadow, the rock still shone in turquoise-blue candescence, as if illuminated from within like a light bulb. I tried to imagine how the stone would have looked had the rays of the sun had shone directly at it.

Jasper. Isn't this mineral mentioned in the Bible? Furthermore, isn't jasper one of the minerals with which the heavenly Jerusalem will be built, the radiance shining with the very glory of God? Jasper, topaz, emerald, gold, sapphire, and other minerals make up its construction. It's while looking down at the exhibits in front of me that I allow my mind to dwell on the afterlife. As the Scripture says, nobody had ever seen the glories that await all who loves God through faith in Jesus Christ. Yet, not only are such glories promised, according to Scripture, God's will is for all men everywhere to have faith in the Atonement made by Jesus Christ on the Cross, his Burial and Resurrection, and eventually have eternal access to this city.**

And the fate of the lost. According to the Bible, everyone who refused to believe in Jesus in this life will still be able to have a glance at this glorious, candescent city and see for themselves the rapturous joy in all its inhabitants. Their source of torment could well come from the eternal question spinning around their heads: Why didn't I believe when I had a whole lifetime of opportunity? Like this, they will no longer be able to blame God. Instead, they will have only themselves to blame.

Two rocks containing jasper, Natural History Museum.

It's amazing how just two rocks containing jasper can be so inspirational, and for the Christian, allow his imagination to run wild. Yet, their radiant beauty, even in its raw uncut state, inspires me. They had also added further confirmation why I have taken the decision to board a train to spend the day at the museum in the first place - to examine some marine fossils, especially one highlighted by one popular YouTuber, ex-Jehovah's Witness Harrison Cother, in his attempts to disprove the historicity of the Bible, especially around the Noachian Deluge.

There were quite a number of both real fossils and plaster-casts of the originals. Therefore, in the Dinosaur gallery, where a model of a Tyrannosaur comes to life via computer tech, in a nearby cabinet there were two fossilised dinosaur eggs. There are examples of fossilised eggs found around the world. Unless eggs hatch, they tend to perish very quickly, often by predators making a meal of them. They simply don't naturally petrify. At least not at such a frequent rate as the fossil record seem to testify.

Walking a little further in the same gallery, I come across a plaster cast of a fossil skeleton Coelophysis. But what's so striking about this fossil was that within its ribcage were the skeletal remains of a small crocodile in the region where the lungs use to be, apparently still on its way to the stomach just below the lungs. Perhaps for the creature to die suddenly immediately after its last meal could have been merely coincidental. Perhaps the meal was poisonous, or it could have asphyxiated the reptile, or the crocodile, still alive, might have bitten through the stomach, killing its eater. Unlikely. The meal looked thoroughly crushed as if well chewed before swallowing. Then how and why did the Coelophysis die so suddenly? 

Coincidental such an incident might have been. Until, a little later on and in the Marine Fossil gallery, I came across what I call "the star fossil" - the very specimen highlighted by the YouTuber. It was very thoughtful for the Museum to display this particular fossil on the lowest tier, as there are others higher up on the wall which is more difficult to examine closely.

The fossil here is the skull of an Ichthyosaur. But this one still had a morsel of food between its jaws when it suddenly died. The morsel apparently was that of a smaller Ichthyosaur. Wondering whether cannibalism was common among this species, earlier that weekend, we watched a David Attenborough documentary on the Puma, and how often an adult male would consume a rival sire's cubs. And this is common among a wide variety of species - a lone male arrives and attacks a rival male's young, then mates with their mother to procreate its own offspring. Was this the case with the Ichthyosaur?

Such interesting thoughts and ideas. And as Darwin looks with a level of eternal seriousness into his own Hintze Hall towards the entrance doors, beyond those doors the world beats, the traffic moves through the street outside, regulated by traffic lights - red, amber, green. Pedestrians minding their own business. Some are in a hurry, so they stride at a fast pace to get to where they need to go. Others are far more casual, strolling along, chatting lightly, laughing at a joke, all taking advantage of the balmy Spring weather where there's hardly a cloud in the sky. The outside seating at cafes and coffee houses filled with happy-go-lucky people enjoying the good weather to the full, with not a moment's thought of the elderly gentleman sitting eternally inside the museum.

And yet it was mainly he who had influenced their thinking, accepting evolution as a scientific fact and relegating the Bible as legend and myth. Even a student says to his fellow student companion whilst sitting outside at a coffee table, reminding him that Charles Darwin is the central figure of the Natural history Museum. But his friend is one of the very few students who are fully aware that Darwin is not the real father of evolution, contrary to the thinking of the majority, but has plagiarised the writings of his contemporary, Alfred Wallace, who also believed in macro-evolution even before Darwin wrote his famous book. 

Who would have ever thought that while the statue of Charles Darwin attempts to dominate the interior - even if back then, Dippy the Diplodocus and at present, Hope, the Blue Whale now have the greater dominion. Yet, like in any religious building, visitors bow to honour the statue, believing how wonderfully clever and intelligent the man was when alive, Just as Jesus was, so some of them may think, in his day. 

Skull of Ichthyosaur with food in its jaws.

But this week, I have seen three sets of witnesses, two of each, to disprove the very man the museum is dedicated to. They were, 

1. The two rocks containing the precious mineral Jasper.

2. The two fossilised Dinosaur eggs.

3. The two fossil skeletons of preditors who died suddenly during or immediately after eating.

Maybe these three, especially the two fossils, don't sit well with Darwin's macro-evolutionary theories. Rather, they may indicate a sudden worldwide catastrophe, such as the Noachian Deluge. If so, then the day out was to verify the truthfulness of the Bible, and not to disprove it as Darwin intended. 

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*Jerry Bergman, The Dark Side of Charles Darwin, 2011, 2017, Master Books.

**Revelation, chapters 21-22.

Looking at the Bright Side of Life

Today, I look out the window to see a cloudless sky. This is very rare in the UK, I might add. Indeed, it's that time when winter gives way to spring, the days get longer, the nights shorter, the weather warmer, and crocuses and daffodils colour the landscape with their blooms. And oh yes, the beginning of Daylight Saving Time when the clocks go forward in the early hours of Sunday morning, that somewhat crazy phenomenon when you wake up each morning as if from a hangover for days to come.

Spring blooms - Daffodils and Crocuses.

For us, the thoughts of the seaside or boarding the Eurostar comes to mind. Or had I remained single, perhaps another prospect of a long-haul flight. On the other hand, the library of photo albums that would have accumulated over the past two decades would have required enough shelving in a public library for storage!

Maybe that's was it? By the end of the twentieth century, I was wondering whether the sense of adventure gotten from intercontinental backpacking was beginning to wane, especially to the States, after five separate visits already. Who knows. However, at the start of the new millennium, my original plan was to fly from London to Cape Town, backpack to Johannesburg, then fly to Perth, Western Australia, then surface travel to Sydney before taking off again to California. In other words, another Round-the-World trip like the one accomplished in 1997. Back then, such an endeavour was financially possible, thanks to British Airways signing special deals with other airlines, such as the Australian Qantas, originally meant to repatriate Aussies temporary residing in the UK and wishing to return. Instead, in 1999, I courted and married Alex, thus putting an end to all long-haul travel.

Then again, what if...

What if I held a driving licence, valid around the world? Despite the paperwork involved - insurance, collision-waiver fees, taxes, etc, hiring a car would have opened vast areas of the USA not reached by public transport, especially west of the Mississippi River. Canyonlands in Utah is one example, where trails pass through narrow slot-canyons, barely wider than my shoulders, with high vertical cliffs of patterned sandstone towering high on each side of me. Or the fantastic majesty of Half-Dome Mountain dominating Yosemite National Park, a mass of granite challenging any hiker to climb to its summit. Or the strikingly beautiful Crater Lake in southern Oregon. At the visitor's Centre, I would have gasped at how fire, heat, and lava from the bowels of the Earth could have created such a huge caldera lake, further enhanced by the presence of a small volcanic cone rising from the surface as an island located near the edge.

Then considering the sandstone pinnacles of Bryce Canyon, also in Utah, it's worth pondering how someone like me without a driving licence can miss out on nature's rugged beauty. Getting tired of visiting America? With a car, I would have never been tired! There were so many places worth visiting.

Hence the frustration of using the Greyhound Bus, even with a month-long pass ticket, or the Greyhound Ameripass, as it was called then. The busses linked cities, not natural wonders, although I was fortunate to make use of public services to get to Grand Canyon South Rim in both 1978 and 1995 respectively. 

Indeed, despite missing out on these dramatic attractions due to my inability to drive, yet, I have much to be thankful for. When I was young and pushing a broom across the floor of a family-owned factory workshop, I had never dreamed that not many years later I would gasp at the thundering cascade of Niagara Falls, or look down into Grand Canyon, let alone the need to hike down to view the Colorado River from close up, along with the numerous buttes that make up the rugged skyline from below - that contrasts vividly to the straight line of the North Rim as seen from the Village. Or when I walked through the rainforest of the Blue Mountains National Park near Sydney and looked up at the waterfalls cascading down those high cliffs. 

And turning to aquatics, those highly treasured moments when I hovered just above the corals of the Great Barrier Reef and over the corals of the Red Sea just south of Eilat. Two very different kinds of coral with their variation of species. Last but certainly not least, to stand on the summit of the Mount of Olives, looking west across the panoramic view of Jerusalem, the City of the Great King, and a view not unfamiliar with Jesus and his disciples.

It's during these present times that evaluating what you've achieved can be very helpful both spiritual and psychological. Whether it to do with leisure travel as was with me or having a high level of education, the ability to hold down a respectable career, to be successful in the business world, or to excel in a sport, whether as a team member as in football or cricket, or solo as a track-and-field athlete, or achieving a marvel such as swimming across the Channel or writing a novel or set of novels that fill the shelves of a well-known bookshop chain, such as Waterstones.

Or to pursue hobbies such as photography, as in my case, closely linked with travel. The inner glow felt within by having achieved something, whatever it might be, to fulfil your dreams are all good therapies to combat the challenges of life, such as the war in Ukraine and the threat of the rise in the cost of living. 

Corals at the Red Sea, Eilat, taken Oct 2000.

I guess it's so easy to allow rage to simmer within over the evils of the Russian President, how through his selfish ambition to annexe this small, independent State back into the former Soviet Union has caused widespread misery to millions, even fear and death among Russian soldiers ordered to fight and take the land, after minimal training for many young conscripts. Yet, it can be so easy to refer to Vladimir Putin as the son of the Devil, evil, wicked, and yet find it nigh impossible to see him as also loved by God, who is sustaining every breath he takes, every heartbeat, every morsel of food digested, and the efficiency of his immune system. During our Zoom prayer meetings, requests were sent heavenwards for God to appear in a supernatural way to Putin, very much in the same way when God appeared to Isaiah the Jewish prophet:-

Isaiah then cried out, 

Woe is me! For I'm undone, a man of unclean lips who dwell among a people of unclean lips. Yet I have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts. Isaiah 6:5.

Isaiah already knew God before that particular moment, but the experience gave him that extra power to minister to the Israelites and to be forever changed. Using this Scripture verse as a yardstick, some of us prayed for Vladimir Putin to have a similar revelation of God, be converted, and the war coming to a rapid end.

I couldn't help but feel ill-at-ease. For Putin to become a trophy of grace whilst many die in his war without having faith in Christ seems to be the nadir of unfairness! However, no matter how uncomfortable it feels to know that God still loves him, yet, that's still true, for when Christ died on the cross, he atoned for him as much as to the most devoted Christian.

And then, news of the coming inflation, the rise in energy bills, higher taxes and National Insurance, no doubt would cause some, perhaps many, to shiver in his shoes and wonder how one will survive financially after the threefold crisis of the pandemic, the war in Ukraine, and runaway inflation still to come. But according to one journalist, many were around to remember the 1970s with industrial strikes every five minutes, the Winter of Discontent, power cuts, cancelled trains, disrupted flights, and the three-day working week. Yet, we got by.*

Not that I ever remember working a three-day week. During that era, I was working in a precision engineering firm making ball-bearing races (the two rings which in between the bearings rolled.) I fully remember the two diesel-powered generators installed to power the entire factory with all its machines and office equipment. As such, we all worked our full five-day shifts.

But whichever way things are likely to turn, especially on the financial side, I can thank God that we here in the UK are not involved in any war. My heart goes out when I see images and hear about how so many Ukrainians are fleeing from their homes to cross the international borders as refugees. And the courage and determination for all men between the ages of 18 and 60 to remain behind to fight the Russian forces. Indeed, they have already earned the respect of the rest of the world, especially from the west.

I find something so good in humanity, especially when based upon Christian principles. Countries of the European Union are showing wonderful hospitality to these Ukrainian refugees. Especially Poland, a member of the EU since May 1st, 2004 and a Schengen Area member, took in the greater majority of refugees. This seems to be in keeping with what Jesus himself once said, Come to me all who labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest - Matthew 11:28.

And this couldn't be more appropriate. What greater burdens are there and what heavier laden than being a victim of war? Here in the UK, refugees are offered hospitality from ordinary citizens. Unfortunately, Brexit-voting Britain is the only country in Europe insisting on an entry visa, and a layer of bureaucracy makes everything more difficult for a household to take in a refugee. To me, this seems insane! During the referendum and for some time afterwards, the EU was seen by some educated Christians as a precursor for the coming Antichrist, and the EU consisted of his kingdom to rule the rest of the world.

The level of hospitality shown to the Ukrainian refugees proves this Antichrist theory as unmitigated rubbish! If anything, as already mentioned, the EU is acting more Christlike than bureaucratic Britain! Therefore, rather than preaching from an ivory tower, is there anything positive we (as a couple) can do? I wonder whether we would qualify to take in a refugee by the bureaucrats, even if we have a spare bedroom in which we have accommodated overnight guests without any hitches. For one, my wife is keen to take in a refugee. However, it's left for each householder to select and sponsor a refugee. The snag with that, in my view, is that the better looking young and intelligent-looking type would be selected in preference to the not-so-admirable-looking crowd.

Thus my prayer for financial security, especially after next month, the start of the new financial year when all essentials will go up in price. Such prayers are not merely to avoid poverty. Rather, my prayer is, Bless me, O God, so that I can bless others.

Many Christians pray for God to help the poor. But I feel God is saying, You do it. You bless the poor. And so, I thank God that there are good and reliable charities who transfer my donation to those in genuine need without too much deducted for admin costs. Christian-based charities such as Tear Fund, Compassion, Salvation Army, Red Cross, and Shelter are a few of many charities I can donate. But that comes from financial security, allowing me to give freely in love and without the fear or concern for our own welfare.

The spirit of generosity is a gift of God, even to an unbeliever. Indeed, I may indulge in great travel memories, and yes, those memories are uplifting to the spirit, and I enjoy writing about these experiences on this page (as you might have already guessed!) But, I think the greater source of personal wellbeing is generosity to those less fortunate. And that includes war refugees. Thus, instead of wallowing in misery over the fate of those less well off than us, I can look on the bright side of life and give generously towards those in real need.

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*Richard Littlejohn, The Daily Mail Online, March 17th, 2022.

All Is Well With My Soul. Are you?

A typical weekend. Whilst Alex has her early afternoon rest, her face screws up, and immediately I ask her if she was okay. She then tells me that pain has erupted above the area of her appendix. Immediately, my nursing instincts kicked in and I give her two Ibuprofen pills along with a glass of water and something to eat, such as a sandwich. The latter is to prevent any side effects, such as stomachache arising from the medicine. The pain then slowly eases. However, if it doesn't ease, then I give her some oral morphine to help tackle the pain.

Painkillers of all shapes and sizes

So frequently this happens that nowadays, my sense of panic has somewhat eased. Thanks mainly to home treatment that eliminates calling for an ambulance. Or at least significantly reduces the use of the phone. Nevertheless, the pain that erupts on someone I love so dearly brings on the distress. Had I been the one to suffer pain - and I have many times throughout life - I wouldn't find the pain so distressing.

However, my wife would. All I need to do is to place my open hand over my heart, and she would be the one asking me if I was okay, even bordering on panic. That's from the vulnerability I now feel after a major open-heart operation I had in 2015 to replace a leaking aorta valve, followed by life on pills, enough each day to stock a pharmacy.

But it's watching my beloved cringing on the floor in pain that I find so distressing. As my own adrenal glands pump their hormones into the bloodstream, my emotions go haywire, I start trembling, I suffer a loss of appetite, tension, and on edge throughout.

It's this kind of situation when I ask God, Why? What is it we've done that's so horrendous in your eyes? Are you really that angry with us? And so it's easy for me to confront God, and then ask,

Why is it that so many other Christians whom I know well are so BLESSED? 

Here, I'm thinking of young middle-class couples with a university degree, good job prospects, and their recent announcement that a baby is on the way. They seemed so well blessed. Then I look at pictures that appear in the media - of young aristocratic and bronze-skinned couples frolicking in a large yacht at sea in the Mediterranean, under warm sunshine and sparkling blue sea. Not a care in the world and far from any thoughts of hospitalisations as the east is far from the west.

Even in my church, I once knew a respectable, middle-class professional couple who has four grown-up children and even several grandchildren. He also owns a yacht which he keeps moored at the coast. However, one of his sons is mentally handicapped, thus bringing extra pressure to the household. And it's this detail that brings me to the subject of this week's blog.

This week, like last week, I attended Encounter at the Kerith Centre in Bracknell. After refreshments, we sang an old hymn, All is Well with my Soul, written by Horatio Gates Spafford. No, before last week, I hadn't heard of him either, neither had I ever sang his original hymn. But behind this fine 19th Century Christian lies a life of tragedy.

Horatio Spafford was born on October 20th, 1828 in Troy, New York State, the son of Horatio Spafford senior and Elizabeth nee Hewitt. Horatio senior was an author of a gazetteer. Horatio junior grew up to be a lawyer. Like most church members around at present, Spafford was well-educated, wealthy, and a devoted Christian. He was friends with the famous American evangelist Dwight L. Moody.*

During the Spring of 1871, Spafford invested in real estate in Chicago. However, during the Autumn of that year, the Great Fire of Chicago destroyed most of what he had as the fire burned the city to ashes.

Spafford had four daughters from his marriage to Norwegian wife Anne nee Larson. They were Annie, aged 12, Maggie 7, Bessie 4, and an 18-month old baby. In 1873, Horatio planned a family trip to Europe, including England to see their friend Dwight Moody, who was ministering in Britain at that time. However, Horatio had to remain behind to conclude his business deals, so he sent his wife Anne with their four daughters on board the French steamship Ville du Havre to sail across the Atlantic Ocean. On November 22nd, the Ville du Havre was struck by an iron sailing vessel, sinking the ship and thus killing 226 people, including all of his four daughters. However, his wife Anne was one of the survivors.

After arriving safely in England, Anne sent a telegram to her husband across the Atlantic with the words, Saved Alone. After setting off to England on another ship sometime later, at Spafford's request, the captain ordered his crew to halt the ship precisely where the Ville du Havre sank. As he looked down over the rail at the water below, he knew that all four of his daughters were at rest on the seabed with 222 other passengers. He went back into his cabin and wrote his hymn, All is Well with my Soul. 

Later, Spafford had more children, including a son, Horatio Goertner Spafford, who was born in 1877. However, in 1880, Horatio Goertner died of Scarlet Fever at age three. Of all seven children they had together, only two daughters survived into adulthood: Bertha and Grace.

Horatio Gates Spafford.

Back in America, Horatio mourned for his loss, both of his real estate in Chicago and the loss of five of his seven children. But worse than that was the lack of support from his local Presbyterian church. If there was a man who needed loving support from his own spiritual brothers and sisters in Christ, then he was Horatio Spafford. Yet, there he was, onboard a ship peopled by strangers, leaning over the parapet to gaze at the sea beneath, knowing that way down at the seabed, his four daughters lay, with one of them not yet out of her infancy. Then he returned to his cabin to write his hymn.

In 1881, Horatio and his family set sail with a party of 13 to Jerusalem in what was then Judaea. There, he founded a Messianic Church known as The Overcomers together with some Swedish Christians by starting home prayer meetings. While he was there, he waded through Hezekiah's Tunnel, a water channel dug through solid rock in 701 BC under the leadership of Judean King Hezekiah, to divert the Gihon Spring waters into the city and out of reach from the Assyrians, who were threatening to sack the city. In the middle of the tunnel, Spafford discovered the Siloam Inscription, a Hebrew text carved into the wall commemorating when the two parties digging from each end of the tunnel met in the middle.

Horatio Spafford junior died of malaria on the 16th October 1888, just shy of his 60th birthday. He was buried at Mount Zion Cemetery in Jerusalem.

In the presence of the risen Jesus Christ, I can imagine a heavenly reunion with his five children, here all appearing as young healthy adults, never ever to be parted again.

If I can refer to another example of when human ingenuity was demonstrated. There was an American story of a married couple whose home was totally destroyed by a hurricane. When the pastor of their church arrived to give them some comfort, to his surprise, he saw the couple singing praises to God, right in front of the rubble which was once their home. Indeed, just like Horatio Spafford before them, these two had their minds fixed on heavenly and eternal glory, rather than on earthly and temporal things.

By taking into account the experiences both Spafford and the married couple went through, I can see the leaves of the Bible shaking in the wind. I'm referring to the Old Testament book of Job, a Middle Eastern nomad who, according to Bible scholars, lived about the same time as Abraham.

Like Spafford, Job too was a wealthy man, even if he lived in a tent. His wealth consisted of livestock and he had ten grown-up children - seven sons and three daughters. However, one day a hostile tribe arrived, killed all but one of his servants, and took away all his livestock, leaving Job penniless. After that, a storm overtook the house where all his sons and daughters were enjoying a feast. The roof of the house fell on them, killing all but one. When Job heard the bad news, he didn't blame God. Instead, he managed to thank God for everything he provided and praised him for who he is. Finally, Job fell seriously ill, even close to death, and yet he refused to curse God, even after his own wife attempted to persuade her husband to do so.

Indeed, the saying, The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, originated from this set of incidences recorded in Job.

The tragedies of Horatio Spafford and how they parallel those of Job has given me a proper perspective of our own difficulties in life. Such experiences seemed to have fulfilled what Jesus said to his disciples shortly before he was crucified: 

In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

John 16:33 AV.

Spafford, the unnamed American couple, and Job all knew that looking at heavenly glory eclipses anything the earth can offer. And the truth about Imputed Righteousness as being one and the same as eternal security of the believer, or simply put, Once Saved Always Saved. Sometimes, as with me, such wonderful truths thrive in my head, and I wonder whether these truths have really percolated from my head into my heart.

The American couple sang praises to God in front of a pile of rubble that was once their home.

Horatio Spafford sat down and wrote, All is Well with my Soul, after looking over the parapet over the site where his four young daughters drowned.

The nomad Job was able to praise and acknowledge the goodness of God after the loss of his wealth, his children, and his health. They all looked up to the stars.

It was a pity that the patriarch Jacob looked down on the mud. The grandson of Abraham through his son Isaac, Jacob was the chosen one to carry the Messianic Promise. Yet, at the loss of his favourite son Joseph, he kept on mourning for him many years after his disappearance, using his words, in deep sorrow I will go down to my grave - or - I shall go down to my grave in deep sorrow to my son Joseph. This is akin to saying, Woe is me! For everything is against me!

And so, Jacob spent the latter days of his life - more than twenty years I believe, living in a mournful, sorrowful state, his eyes focused on mud. How is it with you? How is it with me? Are you looking up to the stars? Or are you looking down at mud?**

Hezekiah's Tunnel, visited by Spafford.

Unfortunately, like Jacob, I tend to look at mud when the chips are down. Yet, I know that it would be utterly foolish if I was to renounce my faith in God! If anything, now is the time when I need to believe that God is sovereign and has the whole world in his hands.

Wondering whether a third world war will break out due to just one man's wickedness is one kettle of fish. Watching your nearest and dearest writhe in pain is quite another.  Watching someone - in my case, the only one who thinks the world of me and sees me as a tower of strength - crumpling in pain is very upsetting. But no, God is not angry with us. Rather, through our faith in him, he can show that we are his children.

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*Source: Wikipedia.

**S.I. McMillen MD, None of These Diseases, Lakeland paperbacks.

 

Bring Back "Band of Brothers!"

Encounter is a midweek meeting held at what was Bracknell Baptist Church, now renamed, The Kerith Centre, after the original church building was demolished, to be replaced by a much larger meeting venue with a capacity of a thousand people. Its American megachurch-style interior might have been borrowed from Bill Hybel's 7,095-seat Willow Creek Community Church in the Chicago district of Barrington. Both the Kerith Centre and Willow Creek are very similar in architecture.

Interior of Willow Creek Community Church, Chicago.

For the midweek Encounter meeting, the plush interior is converted into a cafeteria or coffee house with several round tables laid out, with each table holding up to six people. How many people turn up each week varies, but taking a rough guess, I wouldn't be that far of the mark if I were to say about sixty. Sometimes it could be just half that.

And so, this week I was invited by a friend to attend a meeting. We were looking for a place to sit when I saw one table occupied by just one person. I then said, Oh look, there's James. Let's join him.

James merely nodded when we joined him at his table. As the thirty-minute slot for chatting over refreshments gave way to a time of worship, and then the main preach, it was as if James thought that he was the sole occupant of our table. Except when he rose, donned his facemask to walk over to the coffee server some 5-10 metres from where he sat. He then returned with his refill and kept his mask on until he was fully seated.

It was one of those occasions when I felt tempted to ask whether his mask was to protect us or himself. Had he said, to protect us, then I would ask why he wasn't protecting us while we sat at his table by immediately donning his mask as soon as we arrived, or even asking us not to sit at his table in case we get infected. But had he answered, to protect me, I could have asked him whether the virus discriminates between one who is sitting down from one standing up. 

Instead, we both kept quiet. I knew James since he arrived at Bracknell from University in the early 1980s. Only a tad younger than me, yet a brilliant academic, and an ideal candidate for membership with Mensa. And he's also on the autistic spectrum. And he wasn't alone. My friend with me also had Asperger's Syndrome and like James, he was educated to gain a doctorate degree. And then there was me, making up the three at that table. According to a psychotherapist who once spent three hours testing my intelligence quotient, I too have a slightly higher-than-average level of intelligence, along with Asperger's. The main difference between the three of us was that I never saw the inside of a university.

But looking back, in truth, my whole life was, and still is, a university, constantly learning something new. The only difference between these two friends and me is that I don't hold a sheet of paper bearing my academic credentials to impress any potential employer. But unfortunately, our society is geared on that piece of paper. It gives the holder a greater sense of personal and social worth than to the one without it.

Hence, as I had mentioned before this week, the rate of suicides is not only the highest among British men, but it's their biggest killer, exceeding that of cancer and heart failure. And the rate of suicides is almost certainly among the working classes, especially among those who have neither any qualifications nor a proper job.

James is one of those who are academically bright, is on the Autism Spectrum, yet remains single even up to his seventh decade of life. Yet, behind his veil of British stoicism and intellectual prowess, I can detect his underlying sadness, especially during this week's Encounter meeting. Not having married until I was 47, I can understand the sense of loneliness generated by the silence of being the sole occupant of his home, with the only contact with another person or group of people is vicariously through television or radio. James is not the only singleton I know personally. Whilst writing this blog, I was able to make a list of all men I know or once knew who never married. I came up with twelve names, all within a few years of my age, and two who were older than me.

Of the twelve, ten are Christians who are all alive today. The remaining two included an outstanding athlete who shone in both track and cross-country footraces during the late 1960s and into the seventies. This handsome athlete, qualifying as "the ideal bachelor open for any female to date" is still around today. The other non-Christian was ten years my senior, gay, and one of the Royal Life Saving Society's outstanding candidates, one of the few who, during the 1970s, successfully achieved the elusive, top of the range Award of Distinction. The last time I saw him was quite a few years ago and even then he looked aged and dishevelled. I wouldn't be surprised that, although he might have moved to a different area of the UK, there's that possibility of no longer being with us.

How can I describe our society's attitude towards the churches? Within the universal worldview of Darwinism having been set in stone, anyone believing in the Young Earth Creationism isn't taken with any level of seriousness but may be regarded as a nutter, one who hangs on to pseudoscience to maintain his religious beliefs that are out of touch with the real world. Thus, as someone once wrote, a typical church is viewed as a near-empty building on a Sunday morning, with a few addle-headed elderly crouching on their walking sticks and with a bat or two hovering inside the roof.*

Paul McCartney's 1966 pop song Eleanor Rigby reflected the attitude towards the church during those days. In verse 2, the lyrics were:

Father McKenzie,

Writing the words of a sermon no one will hear -

No one comes near -

Look at him working -

Darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there -

What does he care?

Rest in Peace, Church.

Did you know that, rather than gloating over the church's demise as I did during my teenage days when the song was released, I now find it so heartbreaking? Here is the Body of Christ, the Gate to Heaven, the Source of Hope, left to die whilst the busy, unbelieving world marches on under the banner of Charles Darwin and the constant development of advancing machinery, until the day comes, as Eleonor Rigby died alone and of old age, and was buried alone in her grave with no one else attending, so the church too, awaits its burial with nobody caring.

And now, with the war in Ukraine, people are turning to God in prayer - prayer for the war to end, prayer for Ukraine to remain as an independent, sovereign state, prayer for peace to remain across the whole of Europe, hope that World War III won't break out. Indeed, it takes a threat of warfare for the world to resurrect the church! If only the churches would lay on specific meetings to cater for people's particular needs in the modern world.

And that includes the men's meeting that came in various forms and which I often attended. One was the Friday morning men's group at Bracknell Baptist Church back in the early 1980s. It was the one chance when first-time neophytes were given the chance to preach. The sermon was then followed by the critique delivered by the senior pastor. The critique was the part most looked forward to by the group, as the pastor never minced his words but came out direct and to the point. 

Then there was the Saturday morning Men's Breakfast, held every six weeks at Ascot Life Church. Here, anyone was allowed to give a talk if approved by the Elders, and there was no critique to follow! Like this, I was allowed to give a talk on the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron and how important that is to the nation of Israel. The talk seemed to have gone down well.

At about the same time, my father-in-law was keen to drive me over to Christchurch Anglican in Virginia Water, a very well-to-do village ten miles 16.2 km east from my home. Here, far more attended the monthly Saturday men's breakfast. It was well organised, the food was very good, but lacked the personal touch that characterised a smaller meeting. Those who were strangers tended to remain strangers, although I made an effort to make one or two friends. However, the post-meal preaching was good and practical to our daily lives.

Then, also before and right up to the start of the pandemic, we men at Ascot Life Church met at an Indian restaurant nearby for a social over a meal together. Known as Curry Nights, it was guaranteed that my beloved would turn away from my foul-smelling breath after getting into bed, but the social value in those evenings out together as men was good and edifying for the whole church.

However, probably the men's meeting I considered the best was the Saturday morning Band of Brothers, which used to be held at the Kerith every four months, or three meetings annually. Unfortunately, that too, folded up some time before the pandemic, so the virus was not to blame for its demise, but as I suspect, due to lack of support or its gradual decline of attendance.

I recall at the start of one meeting when there was a long table laid out, banquet-style, along one side of the main sanctuary. One chap was sitting there, his back was turned to me as I approached from behind, and jokingly asked, May I nick your piece of toast?

To which he replied, You touch my toast and you will replace it with four pieces! - he answered with a degree of sternness, quoting from Exodus 22:1. Then he recited, That reckless Itai! What can I do with that reckless Itai? several times as I made my way to collect my serving and laughed at the same time. And that's the whole basis of these men's groups: to build and maintain relationships.

And the sermon can be dynamically life-changing. For example, forgiveness. To hold a grudge against someone causes the adrenal glands to pump out its toxin into the bloodstream, eventually bringing illness. But to forgive the offender is not for the offender's sake but for your own sake. Even if the offender has long disappeared out of your life, to refuse to forgive will only ruin your health, not the health of the offender! The main reasons to forgive are not only it's pleasing to God but you will enjoy health benefits. 

Such was the style of preaching heard during the Band of Brothers men's meetings.

By my observations, these meetings are generally shunned by singletons. Indeed, it's true that these adult men's meetings cater primarily for married men, how to improve the marriage relationship and that with your children. Single men weren't interested. Thinking of James, I can't recall him turning up for any of these meetings. Instead, the church had also laid on the single groups, a weekly get-together following the Sunday evening service. The formality soon fell apart due to a lack of commitment and ended up as a mere social, normally at the home of a different host each week by a rota system.

I can understand why. The singles were labelled apart from adults, indicating that one doesn't reach adulthood until his wedding day regardless of age. To me, this was a horrible misnomer.

A banqueting table like this one is ideal for men's socials.

I firmly believe that meetings such as Band of Brothers or equivalent hold an important place at any church. During these difficult days when pandemics and threats of war are ripping through the fabric of life, Christian men should get together for the triune order of worship, teaching and fellowship, and furthermore even invite non-Christians or leave the option open for them to feel welcomed.

Now that the pandemic is waning, maybe it's time for us to think these things over and see to organising.

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*Michael Green, You Must be Joking, 1976, Hodder & Stoughton.