Should I Be Angry At This?

It was a typical working day probably around February or March of 2006. It wasn't the ideal day for cleaning windows, but such was still within the realm of possibility. So as I carried the ladders past a cordoned off trench in the middle of a sidewalk at a quiet, predominantly middle class housing estate, to knock on the door of one particular small two-bedroom house, which was occupied by an elderly gentleman, perhaps old enough to be my father, and recently widowed.

Whether he fought in the War or not, I had never asked. But had he not been old enough for combat, then it was certain that he had to engage in Conscription, to partake in National Service until it was gradually abolished by 1963 under Tory Prime Minister Harold Macmillan's administration. 

So on that particular afternoon, as he unlocked the rear gate to allow me into his back garden, he then questioned whether it was worthy to have his windows cleaned on such "atrocious weather". This sort of talk always winds me up, thus expressing his reluctance to part with a few pounds sterling, a small payment compared with fees collected from larger properties, yet was still to play its role in keeping a roof over our heads, all utility bills paid, and keeping us fed and clothed. 

I held out my hands into the air directly in front of me, where there has been light drizzle, on and off, throughout this calm and mild Winter's day. I then responded:
Atrocious weather? This? Atrocious weather? When a storm was powerful enough to wipe a city off the map, then that is atrocious weather!

The elderly gentleman knew exactly what I was on about without the need to explain. I was referring to Hurricane Katrina, which did much damage to New Orleans just a few months earlier, towards the end of August of 2005. As news of such disaster was still fresh on our minds, the client relented without a word and I was left to clean his windows without further ado as he retreated into his house.

It was a month later, when I approached his house again. Although this time he left the subject of the weather well and truly alone, whilst he was with me in his back garden, he launched a tirade about the trench at the sidewalk nearby. It was still there, cordoned off and unattended, with rainwater accumulating until fairly flooded, and therefore giving an expression of a shoddy job left to neglect. When he asked for my opinion, I answered halfheartedly that this was the British for us. He did not say a word as he retreated into his house. Although often is truth hidden in jest, it became apparent that the answer I gave him had hit a nerve. Because at the following month, which by then the trench was refilled, he dismissed me as his window cleaner. And I'm convinced that by mocking the British culture may have played a major role in the termination.

I wonder how someone like him can be so thin-skinned and touchy. I would have thought that with such longevity, with military service thrown in, such a fellow would have been tough as old nails, with day-today living making his skin as thick as a rhino's, and as I expected, to laugh with me at the intended joke. Instead, he felt hurt. I had no other option than to see him as one of many Brits whose mode of transport would be paralysed by a half-inch (1 cm) layer of snow covering the road surface, and therefore gripped with nationwide panic. 

It was more recently that a report of a huge sinkhole at a main street of a Japanese city came to light. But what was so remarkable was that this huge sinkhole, which stretched right across the entire street, was completely repaired after just a week. The street was as if nothing had occurred at that spot, and traffic was flowing over it as easily as it always had. Perhaps the contrast in administration between this Japanese street and the trench at a nearby housing estate might have been the reason for the sense of inferior complex felt by the gentleman when it came to cultural comparison and patriotic matters.

Japanese sinkhole - repaired in a week.

A closer look at the street sinkhole.

He would have been the one desiring to see British efficiency, not only over the neglect and long delays in refilling a small trench, but in other matters such as repairing the many potholes peppering our roads and causing distress on car tyres and suspension systems alike, causing the owner to fork out expenses in nuisance but necessary repairs. And sticking with cars, it does look as though as a cyclist, I can be a threat to the egos of some car drivers. There are not a few times when a driver suddenly revs up his engine close by and roars off with his tyres screeching. If there is any truth in this, then how could the presence of a cyclist threaten the ego of a car owner to the extent of demonstrating his power? The only plausible theory I can think of is the rider's potential fitness, naturally gotten by regular riding, and without the need to pay road tax - despite the motorist being totally unaware that the Road Tax was abolished in 1937 and was replaced by Vehicle Excise Duty, which is a tax on motor vehicles which, like the Income Tax, goes into the General Treasury, and not just on the road. Could this also be the reason for the strong dislike for cyclists riding in skin-tight Lycra, and relying on muscle power to cover the distance instead of the self-propelling engine?

Then, staying on transport, there is a matter of the Eurotunnel, which passes under the English Channel (or La Manche if you are French). There has been calls by right-wing newspaper commentators to have the tunnels closed permanently, even to the extent of blasting them with dynamite. English commentators that is, since I have doubts whether the French would be that keen to have the tunnels shut down. With two return trips to Paris on the Eurostar train with my wife already completed, and a possibility of a third trip, this time to Marseilles, on the cards for next year, I have become an avid fan of Eurostar. As I see it, this magnificent service is the visible, tangible representation of the European Union. It also holds the solution to my partially disabled wife for international travel without the need to fly, which cabin air pressure and such, might pose a further threat to her health. That was after the return flight home from Malta in 2012, as well as on board a plane from Kos a year earlier, when on both occasions had suffered with backache.

A fan of the Eurostar, taken Oct 2016.

And it is the European Union which is the issue here, or rather a BBC Panorama programme broadcast earlier in the week. It was about English gang violence against immigrants, Poles in particular, which spiked soon after the 2016 Referendum. The sequence seems to be the same - five gang members against two Poles, or even a single victim. Very much like the right-wing, racist thugs who attacked and killed Stephen Lawrence in 1993. Back then there were also five of them. At first it was five against two, but one of the victims managed to run off to get help. So that leaves five against one. When they appeared in Court, all were dressed smartly in suit and tie. Yet this tells me a lot about them. Their suits might have accentuated their Englishness. But not their bravery or heroism. Instead, they were cowards. Just by looking at a snapshot of Stephen Lawrence tells me straightaway that he already had a high level of education. It showed in his facial expression. This was confirmed afterwards by reading an article saying that the victim's ambition was to be an architect. And his fate was to meet a premature death as a result of inferior complex shared between each gang member.

The Panorama programme showed groups of up to five strong chasing just two Poles and having caught up with them and then shouting at them,

Get the fuck out of our country! Go back to your own fucking country! You're not welcome here!

Then they proceeded to beat them up until hospitalisation was required for the victim.

But before I go any further, I need to ask: Were you shocked to see strong language here, O Christian reader? Were you tempted to click off this page after reading such unseemly words? If so, then I have hit the nail on the head. There lies the problem. For although had Jesus himself had been there, he would have mingled freely among them, even absorbing foul language thrown at him at least at first by them due to his Jewishness. Yet his love for them would have prevailed, with a result of changed hearts and spiritual rebirth. Then if a couple of middle-class Anglican churchgoers were to approach him with the question on what he was doing among scum, his reply would have been classic - I tell you the truth: those whom you call scum will enter the Kingdom of God before you! - Matthew 21:31-32.

But as my wife sat, smuggling up to me whilst watching the documentary, she began to become very concerned, and started to plead with me: Please, don't get worked up! Don't get angry! Remember your heart! That was when she felt my torso tremble with rage. Was it rage against those gangs who were giving the Poles a hard time, simply because they were immigrants, and not English? And was all this exacerbated by the Brexit win at the Referendum? Well, almost, but they weren't the bulls-eye of the intended target. For strangely enough, my anger was directed more towards middle-class churchgoers who voted Leave. Before writing this, I had to sit down and think things through. These gangs living in more deprived areas of any city had the same psychological problem as the thugs who killed Stephen Lawrence. And the same as the power-mad motorist over a Lycra-clad cyclist. And the elderly gent whose windows I had cleaned. They all suffered some form of inferior complex at one degree or another, or some threat to their own egos. Especially if the immigrants were far more successful in finding manual jobs and accepting low pay in such a graceful way no white, English working-class youth would tolerate. In addition, many of these immigrants were successful in setting up their own business, thus showing up the indigenous as incapable of entrepreneurial ability, with the possible exception of drug trafficking.  

As a result of such in-depth thinking, I could not be angry at those deprived city gangs. Rather, due to the reluctance of churches being where they are most needed - at those deprived districts where hatred breeds hatred. It is a well known fact that Anglican churches steer clear of such areas, in favour of wealthier districts with respectability, whilst carefully selecting their leaders from the gene pool at both Oxford and Cambridge Universities.

I don't believe that Jesus would have acted in the same way as the present churches. Instead, he would have mingled right in their midst, and tolerating the foul language, the swearing, the curses, and the obscenity which passed through the air on a daily basis. After all, are these present street gangs really worse than the fishermen who plied the Sea of Galilee each day to eke out a living? After all, had he not heard the invective and abusive language thrown by them at the tax collector, the latter seen as a traitor to the Romans. Yet Jesus called a tax collector along with fishermen to be his disciples. And all this is endorsed by Scripture itself, which records Peter cursing and swearing during his denial after the arrest of Jesus (Matthew 26:74) - which was a relapse into his natural self during unfavourable circumstances.

Then again, I believe that the reluctance of churches setting root at such deprived areas may be borne out of fear. Fear of verbal abuse. Fear of physical harm. If a Christian is fearful or wary, the gangster will see through this straightaway, and tend to be more threatening. Genuine love, borne out of faith in God is the only weapon against such hatred, including patriotic hatred. And not quoting a set of rules on morality, not even the Bible either, as this would probably rub salt into the wound and enhance hostility. Instead, the gangster must see genuine love, based on the believer's trust in God, the same way Jesus' faith in his Father allowed his love to flow unhindered to the very worst of sinners.

How I wish that the Holy Spirit would come upon us so powerfully that all fears, anxieties and wariness would be washed away, leaving nothing else but strong, agape love for these people. After all, God's love yearns for them, and I believe, his yearning for them is more important to him than our obsession with religion, patriotism, social class, higher education, and wealth.

A Heart-Touching Story

Going back to an unspecified number of years, there was a medical student from a poor background who was struggling financially, and therefore had to knock on doors to sell merchandise in order to keep up with his college payments. One day, as he was walking along the street feeling hungry, with the last dollar bill in his pocket and unable to afford a restaurant meal, he decided to knock on the door of a house with a hope that whoever lives within may be kind enough to hand out some food.

So as he knocked, and the door was answered by a young woman, he spontaneously asked if she could spare a drink, probably with a realisation that asking for food was perhaps a little over the top. She went back inside and then returned to her front door holding a tall glass of milk.

"How much do I owe you for this?" asked the grateful student.

"Nothing," was her answer. "It doesn't cost anything to be a decent human being."

Some years later, at a hospital ward, this surgeon arrived to discuss a procedure to one of his patients who was in a critical, life-threatening condition. He recognised the patient as the kind-hearted woman who was so generous to him during his student days, and then had her wheeled into the theatre on a gurney to proceed with the operation. Some weeks afterwards, she received her bill. On it, it read:

"Paid in full with a glass of milk."

This story, which appeared in Facebook and which I then shared, reminds me of a song by Rolf Harris which was released in 1980. Its lyrics were about how two boys, each were playing on his own wooden horse, when one of the toys broke, leaving its owner Joe distressed. Then the other boy Jack beckoned his friend to come and share his horse, as there was room for two and he can go just as fast with two riders. 

Years passed by and the War came so fast. During the heat of the battle, a horse dashes out onto the battlefield to arrive at a fellow soldier who was lying on the ground badly injured with his life slowly ebbing away, and urgently needed to be taken back to base. The rider recognised the casualty as the one who offered a ride on his toy horse so many years previously after his own one had broken, and asked:

"Did you think I would leave you dying when there's room on my horse for two? Climb up here Jack, I can go just as fast with two."

Although the first story is actually true while the second is fiction, both I have found heart moving perhaps even a tear rolling down my face, seeing such kindness in action - the concern for the other's welfare above our own as a result of agape love. Just as one of many maxims spoken by Jesus during his ministry:

And whosoever shall give to drink unto these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward.

Matthew 10:42 AV.

He shall in no wise lose his reward. Maybe the promises Jesus makes here in this life are more true than many assume? But the best reward I can experience in helping someone in distress is the feeling of exuberance, as if freed from all the worries of this world and desiring to skip along the sidewalk like any happy child would. There are many things I come across which I find soul-stirring. One example is an elderly lady or gent struggling as he walks home from the shops or some errand, even with a help of his support stick. Seeing such people, in my opinion, puts to shame those owners of expensive fast cars who purposely rev up their engines and step harder on the accelerator whenever they see a bicycle. If the driver is a man, I tend to smile, pitying his microscopic genitals and resulting frustrations in the bedroom! If the sports car driver is female, they are usually young professionals in their attempt to send out a message that they have graduated at University and at present holding down a high-income profession. Since the female seldom step on the accelerator at the sight of a bicycle, I seldom smile, but woe betide me if I unintentionally stray into her lane. She'll make sure who is the boss.

Climbing the social ladder seldom impresses me, if such success impresses me at all - especially when showing abuse behind the wheel. But on the other hand, I certainly don't believe in the old English edict of "minding your place in Society." However, climbing from rags to riches can only be good if others benefit, even if it's only to hand out a glass of water. Another issue I tend to find soul moving is bereavement. Not so much as the death of a celebrity as, for example, the death of a wife or girlfriend. This image also came up on my Facebook wall and I saved it for easy access on my profile timeline:

I spent quite some time fixated on the image, and at the same time listening to a very beautiful and sad piece of instrumental on You-Tube: BrunuhVille Pirate Love Song - Black Heart, which is fully appropriate, as the music depicts the broken heart of a pirate who has lost his loved one. That's one of the marvels of the modern computer: in addition to Facebook which is already on the screen, I can click on to You-Tube, then click on to the video, and then re-click onto the Facebook image, and look deeply at it whilst the music is playing. It makes me think about my own sweet wife, and how thankful I am for her being here with me. Nevertheless, whenever we go out together, I have to push her in a wheelchair. This for me is a distressing sight - to see my nearest and dearest in such a situation when I clearly remember when she was not only fully mobile, but was able to sprint - she always outran me - jump, and dance, for the first twelve years of our marriage.

Yet her condition has spurred a greater faith in God. Through this experience I have discovered something about suffering, whichever form it takes, and the milk of human kindness which meets with it. What is it about love, the tender compassion shown by one to another, the grieving with someone who is grieving at the loss of his loved one? Or at least being aware of many around the world who are suffering one way or another, say from hunger, warfare, or certain diseases, but will never have the opportunity to meet them personally. I thank the Lord that there has always been a group of Christians who have dedicated themselves to helping out these victims of circumstance. And this is where my privilege of giving lies. If I can help from the distance, the opportunity is there. And nothing could be so exhilarating than to see a distressed child break into a smile and say "Thank you."

The wide, bovine eyes of a frightened child is certainly not far and few between. And I think of the thousands, yes millions who are born never to hear the true Gospel of salvation - simply because they were born in a Muslim, Buddhist, or Hindu country. I was sharing this very matter with a student friend of mine at church. Astonished on how one can perish eternally just because he happen to have been born in the "wrong" country or continent, a matter of no fault of his own. I was stumped for an answer. And here in the so-called "Christian" Britain, children attend school where Darwinism is taught in lieu of Creationism, and will grow up never understanding the truth of what the Gospel really is, and simply pass it off as fables, fictional ideas of ignorant men of ancestry who didn't know any better. And even among true believers, there is that tendency to advocate "Theistic Evolution" to hardened unbelievers, so not to sound like a nerdy ponce in their belief in a literal six-day Creation.

As such, these forces which exist in the air do their hardest to keep the individual from the truth of God's love (Ephesians 6:12) seem to be quite successful in their endeavour. Very successful I should say. And so I was unnerved by an incident which took place at our church last week, which lies behind the inspiration for this post. Near the end of the service, the Elders thought it was wise to sing an old English patriotic hymn, I vow to thee, my country - something I thought to be a sore point considering being at present in the midst of the Brexit-Remain political controversy. However, our Elders dismissed the first verse out of hand which glorifies earthly military might for King and Country, to skip straight to the second verse which aims for the better country as depicted in Hebrews 11:13-16 - an eternal city prepared by God to be the permanent habitation of the faithful.

I turned to see a couple several rows behind me, looking very disappointed, a picture of sorrow. Then after the single verse of the hymn was finished, the wife began to "pray" aloud for the welfare of our Queen. I use speech marks here because her contribution sounded very much like a rebuke to the Elders for daring to dismiss verse one in such a way they did. When considering the short lives of many around the world, living in fear, starvation and illness, the Queen has never had it so good. Already in her nineties, she has outlived a great many, including my father. This English church woman praised the monarch for being "a devout Christian" who suffered nothing more than a cold over the Christmas period. And this female has revealed the true fear within the hearts of many here in the UK - that one day the Queen will die. Such a passing away bringing some Armageddon-like catastrophe not only to Britain, but to the whole Commonwealth, and maybe to other nations too. To be truthful, it has always been my opinion that throughout her entire reign, she has done an excellent job as monarch with a full, whole-hearted and unwavering commitment. But we cannot hide under the carpet. One day the Queen will die. That is certain. The only thing we don't know is when. God alone knows when she will be called home.

Then, after her death, the institution of the British monarchical system will not end for the UK, unless the people want it to be so, which I think, is very unlikely. Prince Charles is ready to claim the throne, and if he happen to be unlucky enough to kick the bucket whilst his mother is still alive, then there is her grandson Prince William. Indeed, as long as it's the will of the people, the British institution remains as firm as a rock.

It's this kind of hypocrisy which had dominance in the Church of England in centuries past which sprouted the likes of Richard Dawkins, Bertrand Russell and Charles Darwin, along with many other "Thought Bombs" who had an impact in shaping our national society to such a level of unbelief I see to this day. It is distressing. Bertrand Russell, in his book, Why I'm not a Christian, aims his guns mainly at the Church of England of his day. With one chapter titled Nice People, he gives a candid description of a typical wealthy female attendee, herself a lifelong spinster but a rather bossy Aunt to her relatives. Each Sunday there she is, at church, dressed in her Sunday Best, and having a respect for the rich and the noble, not to mention her devotion to the King, but also having disdain and strong dislike for the poorer, uneducated class, the pariahs and dregs of society. Such a person can be cruel and disrespectful even to her own house servants, but lavish in her own standing before the King, Country and God himself.

Most likely such an attitude, its existence also endorsed by classic novelist Charles Dickens, can be put down by their central soteriology of Arminianism - the Catholic stance of salvation being decided upon human choice rather than God's sovereign grace, and as such, salvation is looked upon as a lifelong probation rather than as the free gift given eternally to every believer. That is to say - Arminianism, first taught by Dutch theologian Jacob Arminius to counter the teachings of John Calvin in the 16th Century - insists that a believer can lose his salvation if his faith weakens, a condition every believer is seen as in potential danger of falling into, as well as a piling of unconfessed sins. The result of this line of thinking is to ensure that one's faith remains strong, along with efforts to remain holy and undefiled in the presence of God, really, out of fear of eternal punishment. The fruit of Arminianism includes the liability to lead the believer to become judgemental towards others who disagrees with him, together with a greater respect for social class, and an attitude of self righteousness. The aforementioned couple who "prayed" for the Queen are devoted Arminians.

Hence either the diminishing or even the absence of agape love. The milk of human kindness which motivated the householder to hand out a tall glass of milk to a hungry student. The kindness shown by one young boy to another when his toy horse broke. The tears running down the face of the bereaved as he stands at his girlfriend's grave. The sort of stuff which can cause me to shed a tear. Something so wonderful, so endearing, so awe-inspiring. The very thing churches everywhere, including ours, so desperately needs. To see the lifting up of a distressed child, her wide, tearful eyes narrowing as she breaks into a grateful smile, to witness someone come to Christ by faith as a result of seeing love at work. To see hope restored in those who had no hope. To see the real love of Jesus Christ shine out of our hearts.

And the test of real love? It is shown to those who are different. Having different opinions, being of lower social class, having a manual job, being less educated, arriving from a foreign land, unable to speak good English, of a different race, poorly or scruffily dressed, even physically deformed by disease, disabled. True love covers everyone who does not fit the mould, as well of those who does.

God loved all of them enough to send his Son to die for them all. With God there is no favouritism. It is an impossible realm to reach by self effort. Only the Spirit of Christ in us can bring us up to that level. Jesus promised that his Father is very willing to give the Holy Spirit to everyone who asks (Luke 11:11-13) - and no self reformation is needed before the asking for the Holy Spirit. Every human heart is evil, and it is to the unreformed evil heart where God enters in!

Based on a True Story.

At school and among her friends, Jackie was a pretty, happy-go-lucky girl. Already in her teens, she could be the life and soul of the party. She can talk about anything she knows about without hesitation - that is, except about her mother Victoria. She never mentions her mother. And she would be too embarrassed to accompany her while shopping at a supermarket. She would blush with shame at the thought of accompanying her in the street in case they would be spotted by one of her friends. As a result, Jackie would shout in defiance whenever her mother would ask her daughter to accompany her outside.

Facially, Victoria still retains much of the beauty of her younger years. Neither has she gained any significant amount of weight except the normal filling-out after childbirth. At a passing glance, Victoria looks as normal as any other suburban housewife. Except for her hands. They were both twisted, shrivelled out of shape, and they are the source of enormous embarrassment to her daughter Jackie, who stands physically unblemished. As the mother's misshapen hands created such shame and hostility in Jackie's attitude towards her, her mother just kept everything to herself without ever a protest.

Then one day, after spending a considerable time sensing the tense, distressing atmosphere between the two females, Jackie's father called his daughter aside with a request for a talk. He then explained how her mother's hands got to be they were at present. When Jackie was a newborn, an accidental mishap caused the baby to fall towards the open coal fire. Immediately, her mother instinctively sprang forward and caught her in time, but severely burnt her hands in doing so. When the adolescent learnt the truth, she burst into tears and ran into her mother's arms, apologising and begged for her forgiveness. Thereafter, Jackie accompanied her mother whenever any shopping needs to be done, and asked whether she can bring her friends home to allow them to see for themselves the proof her mother's heroic demonstration of her maternal love.

Victoria's hands had not changed since her father's talk. They were just as shrivelled and distorted as they had always been. But her daughter's attitude had changed in such a dramatic fashion, that what she previously saw before as an embarrassment, now they were the source of pride and eternal thankfulness. During her father's talk, she saw for the first time ever her mother's sacrificial love, and her own life forever changed.*

Coming to think of it, there seem to be a strong correlation between love and the preservation of life and welfare of another. Conversely, selfishness can, and does, destroy the welfare and happiness of another, and could even take a life rather than preserve it. One good example is theft, whichever form it takes. Within the last week, after my beloved hinted that she would love to set foot in France, along with my own desire to experience the Eurostar, we made a booking for both return train seats and hotel reservation. At was after all payments were made and all bookings confirmed, that I decided to check up on Paris Gare du Nord terminus station where the Eurostar will come to its final halt. Written by other travellers, the TripAdvisor website carried far more negative reviews of the French terminus than positive, with a large proportion as mere average.  

Paris Gare du Nord

Perhaps it may be a natural reaction of the human heart to either exaggerate or understate a matter to make the review a lot more striking, but the majority of these reviews point to one major social disease - theft. Travellers have written about the presence of pickpockets, vagrants, pushy taxi drivers, and other distractions aimed at the tourist who may be well-strapped with cash, but remaining unfamiliar with such surroundings, making them prone to be vulnerable targets. My excitement for the coming trip turned to anxiety, despite that we have to wait until October before travel. And anxiety leads to fear. All because there will be some people there who love themselves far more than others, and will find ways to gratify their own desires on the tourist's expense, causing suffering and distress to the victims.

For such a one as myself who has experienced foreign travel, why this anxiety? After all (if I may boast a little) I know what it's like trying to sleep in a cockroach-infested squalid room at a backstreet hotel in central Manhattan, while listening to a brawl between various Afro-Caribbean groups outside, around two in the morning. So much for living on a shoestring. Or to walk through the seedy East 7th Street of Down-town Los Angeles towards the Greyhound Bus Station, while groups of suspect characters hang around the front doorsteps of residences. I have been approached by aggressive beggars, and in Italy I was a victim of a pickpocket whilst standing in a crowded train from Pisa to Florence, and I had to get through a whole weekend totally penniless. Oh, the ins and outs of solo backpacking! So why the anxiety now?

Because I am not alone any more. Instead, my wife Alex will be with me, confined to a wheelchair until we arrive at our hotel. That makes us both feel very vulnerable, especially at the station. The very thought of any harm aimed at my beloved is the stuff of nightmares. But with us, we know that God is on our side, and nothing can happen unless the Lord grants permission, and such would only be for our own good, according to Romans 8:28. I suppose the "downers" I have experienced as a lone backpacker over the years has reminded me of three important issues. And that is, I have never came to any physical harm, neither did I go hungry, nor did I ever find myself owing to a loan-shark creditor. God has always been with me, and any negative event coming my way was always "filtered" by my Father in Heaven. This is the hope we must both have for the future.

To be realistic, I tend to comfort myself with such Biblical truths rather than rejoice in my security in them. Like a kind of opium in an attempt to put my mind at rest. I can't help recall one of the late Cilla Black's songs, What the world needs now is love. This song was released in 1965, over half a century ago, but it is just as relevant now as on the day it was written. It contains a verse which strikes a familiar cord with my backpacking days:

Lord, we don't need another mountain. 

There are mountains and hillsides enough to climb.

There are oceans and rivers, enough to cross,

Until the end of time.

What the world needs now is love, sweet love...

The popular song is actually a prayer, and it's sung to the Lord himself. The singer's heart coincides nicely with the desires of my own heart - the want of a much greater virtue of love in this world to add to its natural beauty. The kind of love that would turn thieves into benefactors, pickpocketing into acts of genuine kindness, offers of a taxi without the exorbitant price they are presently demanding, the want for safety and security, the ability to enjoy the sights of Paris without periodically tapping the sides of my pockets or for my wife to keep our valuables tightly concealed whilst in her wheelchair.

I can't help thinking about that verse which is constantly in my mind while I type this. It is John 10:10:

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

It is quite a contrast between the triune deeds of the unregenerate heart, to that of the heart one the believer in Christ. Indeed, the prayer in Cilla Black's song is not so far-fetched from reality as the writer might have supposed. If only the Gospel can go out en-masse on a large scale! If only such hearers were converted by the multiple thousands! Yet Paris has one of its finest attractions: The Notre Dame (Cathedral of Our Lady) which draws in tourists by the thousands each year. But it fails to preach the Gospel of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ alone. Instead it preaches the possibility of salvation through works and continual faithfulness, or be eternally lost. The most unfortunate result of this line of soteriology, is that this does not generate a love for God at any way near as Jackie's love for her mother. Yet it has hold on the majority in Christendom.  

Petty theft, including pickpocketing and bag-snatching, is also prevalent in other major cities including Barcelona in Spain, as well as in Rome, home of the Vatican. The city of Barcelona, according to the Media, is one of Europe's worst for petty theft, followed by Rome. Yet the Cathedral of the Holy Cross and of St. Eulalia, a female saint martyred at that location by the Romans, attracts as many visitors as the Notre Dame, along with even bigger numbers to the Vatican itself. Yet they leave such buildings with their hearts remaining unregenerated, even if very impressed with both the exterior and interior artwork. And so the weariness of loss through petty theft goes on. If on the other hand if it looks as though I'm letting London off the hook, pickpocketing goes on at the most touristy areas as well, even if the two major churches - St Paul's and Westminster Abbey, are both Protestant-based Anglican establishments. Like with the others, tourists leave these buildings without hearing and believing the true Gospel.

The true Gospel includes the sacrificial love of God for all mankind through the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. True faith, or believing, must produce a changed life, just as the teenager experienced when finding out about her mother's injury. When the truth was out, she repented from her former attitude and her love for her mother was overwhelming. Our love for Jesus Christ should be the same. But I suppose to have someone there, visible and tangible, makes her object for love much easier than to love someone who is not only invisible and intangible, but died and rose again some two thousand years earlier. I think that this reality of lack of tangible substance together with such a long passage of time make the need to be indwelt by the Holy Spirit an absolute necessity.

A poster found on Facebook

Victoria burnt her hands while saving her newborn daughter. The hands of Jesus Christ were nailed to a cross, along with his feet. Victoria immediately withdrew her hands from the fire, and she lived. The hands of Jesus remained on the wood until after death. Both were of sacrificial love, and both have engendered a response, with many laying down their own lives for the Gospel.

If only the fragrance of the Gospel would waft across Paris. Only then I will be assured that Gare du Nord station will be truly safe for vulnerable tourists such as us.  

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*Although based on a true story, the characters presented here are fictional.