Self Worth? The Three Zeroes...

When retired, there are things I could do midweek which I had no time for throughout my years as an earner. Such as sitting at table at the Santa Fe Coffee bar located within a bookstore at the newly-developed Town Centre shopping precinct, with a newspaper spread out in front. This week was of no exception. One afternoon, I took a fleeting glance at a fellow customer sitting two tables away, facing me. Then I dug into reading the newspaper when a young and rather pretty waitress from Eastern Europe (going by her accent) arrived at my table to deliver my order. She was smiling with politeness, which is part of her duty etiquette. When all the items were set in place, she quickly left.

Then she went over to the other table to deliver the other customer's order. A conversation struck up between the two and remained ongoing for what could be for up to ten minutes. I couldn't help feel a pang of jealousy as the conversation progressed, with the waitress apparently swooning at the fellow's charms. I had to look up. The man, about half my age, sported some facial hair and was wearing a business shirt unbuttoned at the neck and without a tie. I could see straightaway that he has a university degree. His facial features radiated high intelligence and a scholarly expression - a far cry from my own working class background as a retired Window Cleaner. On his table, beside the coffee mug was a small laptop - most likely that one gadget which fired up the waitress's admiration, as if a confirmation of the fellow's intelligent facial expression.

Within my feeling of jealousy, I was thankful for my present status as a well-established married man. By continuing to read the paper following the end of the conversation, I was able to allow my pangs of jealousy gradually melt away. But supposing I was still single? True enough, I have male friends close to my age who remain unmarried to this day. Some of then did attend uni, others did not. But I knew perfectly well that such awareness wouldn't have added a crumb of comfort to a far more intense feeling of jealousy at that coffee bar. Indeed, the waitress was pretty, wearing a top with a low neckline that would stimulate the desire of any red-blooded male. I have often wondered whether such women serving the public deliberately dress provocatively to attract male attention. 

Santa Fe Coffee Bar, Bracknell, UK - where I call regularly.

As with me, I married later in life, in my late forties. Before then, especially in my thirties and forties, the opposite gender never gave me a second look. Any potential relationship which could have started up, especially when I was in my twenties, quickly fizzled out, thanks to my speech impediment and accent, which had nothing to do with having a foreign background. Rather, it was the result of something I was totally unaware of until I was already married and a father of two daughters - Asperger's Syndrome (AS).

AS is something so subtle and so unlike any physical disease or illness. It affects far more boys than girls, and sufferers often have above-average intelligence. I have a good, long-standing friend with AS, whose IQ matches any member of Mensa, and also fluent in at least two languages. Although quite good-looking in facial features, as far as I'm aware, throughout his sixty years of life he remains single to this day, never having an ongoing relationship with a female. 

Going by what I have seen, I don't think he had ever suffered personal rejection either. Although just a guess, I wouldn't put it behind me that my friend's extraordinary high intelligence, his office career and middle class English background each played a role in personal absolution from teasing or verbal assault. Unlike me, as already shared in a previous blog,* the verbal and vitriolic bullying whilst serving as a volunteer in Israel during 1994 was the nadir of rejection, ridicule and assault - an experience my highly intelligent friend would not have suffered had he been where I was at that time. However, my time in Israel was by no means a unique experience. I was teased by two other young women, especially during my mid to late twenties, and in my previous church. Indeed, exactly like in Israel, this verbal assault came from those who professed to be Christians, and one was influenced by the other.

Whether those two were Christians remains debatable. One eventually married, but not long afterwards, they divorced. The other left our church after such a short time and was never seen again. But even to this day, a couple of young married women from our church seem to feel uncomfortable in my presence, as if my tone of voice, caused by AS, is something of an embarrassment to them. Fortunately, I'm far more acceptable by other men, and particularly by the students. And talking about the students - as one who scroll through Facebook on a frequent basis, they often appear photographed in suits and ties, even bow ties for the men and evening dress for the women. Not only as if having an obsession with middle class status, but from a very different planet to the one I grew up on.

If only they realise how fortunate they are! Out of school into college - sorry, university - and then into some high-flying office career with a respectable income. Quite unlike me back in 1968. The year I left school on a Friday and started work in a family-owned furniture factory soon after. And my first task? Yes, picking up the broom handle. And not allowed to forget that I was at the bottom rung of the ladder, the small fry, the lowest of the pecking order, and I was treated as such as I pushed the broom across the floor. Such lowness none of the students at our church will ever be unfortunate enough to experience or even suffer.

No posing outside college in suits and ties for me as a teenager, no evening ballroom entertainment or posh dinners with close friends. And with a self-worth which is close to zero, if not already there. The temptation for suicide came and went but fortunately with conversion towards the end of 1972, such temptations faded and I began to see everything in a new light. This included making good use of my single status instead of moaning about it. Rather, I turned it to my favour. With the experience of being a lowly dogsbody already under my belt and the mental toughness which grew out of it, I was able to fulfil my adolescent dreams with world travel, especially as a lone backpacker.

How our church students appear on Facebook - Stock photo.

However, self-worth seems to be in short supply whenever failure at school occur here in the UK. Television interviews relates well with young teenagers who fear for their future unless they pass their exams and get the grades. What amazes me is that unless they graduate and get their grades, there is absolutely no hope for their future. I can't help thinking: I left school with zilch, but half a century later I'm still here, and with a story or two to tell. According to statistics, in 2016 there were nearly 6,000 suicides committed here in the UK, 75% of these deaths were men, peaking at the age range of 40-44 years of age.** Could a lack of personal worthiness be the bottom cause of these statistics? When considering the numbers being roughly similar year in, year out, such events as a divorce notice posted by wives after their kids fly the nest, or loss of a job, or financial difficulties with debt piling sky-high, addiction to drugs, any of these could link to failure in life and a resulting loss of any self-worth.

Therefore it came as a surprise to me that what I had to share at our church's recent "open" meeting seemed to have uncovered hidden feelings among those listening. An open meeting is a Sunday service without the normal sermon, but instead anyone in the congregation can come to the front and share what God has given. The whole congregation always praising God with such positiveness each week and looking contented, I managed to stand at the front and lifted the lid on what was really going on on a day-to-day basis, away from the church building and away from all other Christians.

I shared on the struggle involved with caring for a physically disabled loved one. Sudden intense pains leading to the need to call the ambulance for a trip to hospital, where she is treated with Morphine and other strong painkillers before discharge and a taxi ride home, often in the small hours. These "downers" - as I call them, are imminent  - each one can occur suddenly at any moment. After watching my wife go down with severe pain whilst on a day trip to London on Easter Monday and ending up at a London hospital, I felt that our planned trip to France later this year on the Eurostar had to be cancelled, as we take the National Health service, which is free to all UK citizens at the point of use, for granted. In France, we may be landed with a bill of several thousand pounds for the same treatment. Also "living on a knife-edge" would spoil the enjoyment of any holiday.

Therefore I shared my failing faith, believing that God has let us down, and prayer was a waste of time and effort. After all, God had more important things to tend to. Why should he deviate from what he is doing just to fulfil our wishes? How worthless we really are! Why on earth should God be concerned about us? I then shared what Abraham, King David and the prophet Isaiah had each said about their own self-worth in comparison to God's glory.

These were three of the greatest men of God recorded in Scripture. Here they were, alive between four thousand and 2,700 years ago, and we not only know their names, their genealogy, and their jobs, but we also know what they said and what they got up to, along with their experiences in their lifetimes. Over thousands of years. Contrast this to deceased celebrities such as Frank Sinatra, David Bowie or Priscilla Black. I doubt that much will be known about them in fifty years from now, let alone what they actually said. And us commoners? Taking myself as an example, nobody would know of me less than half a century after my demise.

Abraham was considered a friend of God. But one day he found himself interceding for Sodom, because God was about to destroy that city along with its sister Gomorrah. As Abraham was pleading, he also felt that he was putting the Almighty's patience to the test, so he confessed that he is nothing more than dust and ashes (Genesis 18:27).

King David, who was still a Prince at the time, was being pursued by King Saul with his desire to take the young man's life. At one point David felt exasperated, asking a question: Who am I but a flea or a dead dog? (1 Samuel 24:14, 1 Samuel 26:20). I understand that the flea is the smallest living creature which can be seen with the naked eye - just. Furthermore, a dead dog left lying on the ground, and unless consumed by vultures and other scavengers, will eventually stink and become the food for maggots and other disgusting things. So much of his own self-worth before God!

The prophet Isaiah I consider another example. There he is standing at the Temple of God in Jerusalem, and the Almighty reveals himself to him, his glory filling the temple. Isaiah then cries out:
Woe is me. For I am undone. I am a man of unclean lips and dwell among a people of unclean lips, yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty (Isaiah 6:5).

Along with the Apostle Paul, who wrote: For I know that in my flesh dwells no good thing...(Romans 7:18) - which corresponds well with the testimony of the other three witnesses. And before his conversion to Jesus Christ, Paul was an outstanding and dedicated Jewish scholar who also looked down upon all non-Jews and "sinners", yet his former religion is now considered as excrement compared to the glory of Christ living in him (Philippians 3:8).

This was the general trend I shared with Ascot Life Church during the open meeting. It must have had an impact. Before I returned to my seat, two men came up to me and started praying for me and my wife, and also praised God for my courage in revealing honesty, the truth of my spiritual heart condition. After the end of the service, one or two others came up to me and admitted that they often feel that way before God - that God has let them down or is too far away.

I am but dust and ashes. I am but a flea. And I have unclean lips. Without the Atonement made by Jesus Christ, these would be exactly a good description of myself as I stand before God. It is a dreadful truth but reality nevertheless. It's exactly the same as standing under the shadow of the Cross.

David Bowie (d. 2016) Would we still remember him after 50 years?

Under the shadow of the Cross, it no longer matters whether I voted for Brexit or to remain in the EU. Social class becomes irrelevant, as my occupation in relation to social status. All of these has lost all value or relevance. As with wealth. What use is it once we step off this planet? Or our high level of education. Would that add a single cubit to the afterlife? Like dry ash scattered by the breeze, a shrivelled leaf blown away by the wind, a dead dog's stinking corpse gradually eaten by maggots - what use is it campaigning for the sovereign of our country and the glory of England's future - if that what we really are before God?

Sometimes I question the wisdom of mankind - especially of my own countrymen. We sing for England's glory after Brexit, we also proclaim the salvation of our God through faith in Jesus Christ. But it seems, these are all cover ups of our own inadequacies, our lack of self-worth, regardless of what our education level or profession may be. Indeed, Sunday by Sunday, we may indeed hold our hands up in the air (but in reality we don't even do that - it's not British!) - but afterwards, when we are all alone at home or at work, we may ponder whether God is really with us, or are we after some ecstatic spiritual experience to boost ourselves up?

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*For a more detailed account of this experience in Israel, click here.
** Office of National Statistics.

World Cup - Oh Dear!

By Frank E.A. Blasi

Contrary to most people I know personally, including Christian believers, my heart groaned at the news that the England squad were to fly out to Rio in Brazil, to take on the challenge to win the elusive World Cup, and become world champions in international football. As supporters carry on with their daily business, their eyes sparkle with hope and optimism that the 2014 contest will be won by England, for the first time for almost half a century. This was when the Cup was won by England at their own turf in Wembley Stadium against Germany in the Summer of 1966, when I was just a thirteen year old schoolboy. I recall the school games period when many of the boys sang Lonnie Donegan's World Cup Willie, the 1966 England mascot, throughout the Autumn term, with the P.E. master getting into the act as well. Most likely, if not absolute certain, that the name Willie, short for William, would not be allowed public broadcast on the airwaves during the present day!

1966 World Cup Willie Lion Mascot.

Not that I despise England - far from it. Although with full-blood Italian parents, I was born here in England and grew up here. Despite its topsy-turvy weather, there are places in England which are strikingly beautiful, even if, due to being part of a small island, lacks the dynamism of some of the natural features of the continents. We may not have the Niagara Falls of Canada, or the Victoria Falls of Zimbabwe, neither the Rockies of North America, the Alps of Switzerland, and certainly not the Himalayas of Asia, but we do have the gentler Lake District National Park, where I did quite a bit of hiking before I married, boasting beautiful mountains, green fields, lakes and tarns fed by streams (or creeks) with cascading waterfalls, and hiking trails offering spectacular scenery. Back in 1992, a friend and I made it to the summit of Scafell Pike, England's highest mountain at 3,210 feet (978 m.) We referred to it as the Throne of England, even if compared with Mont Blanc bordering France with Switzerland and Italy, let alone the Himalayan Mt. Everest - Scafell Pike is but a bump on the road, yet by climbing it, we have made a marvellous achievement, and we were rewarded with stunning scenery, with tarns shimmering at a distance beneath us, along with a view of the Irish Sea. It would also be unfair to moan that there is no Grand Canyon of the Colorado River in England. This two-hundred mile gash in the ground, if aligned east to west as in Arizona, would cause the North Sea to the east and the Irish Sea to the west to meet in the middle and flood the Canyon, causing the nation to be geographically split into two. And not to mention what I believe this to be my favourite English location, the Jurassic Coastline, particularly in Dorset, where a hiking trail links the famous Old Harry Rocks with the equally famous Durdle Door Arch, passing through the quaint resort of Swanage, once a settlement for quarrying of building stone.

Durdle Door Arch, Dorset

When considering, in addition to its natural beauty, how England is steeped in history, with the famed Stonehenge stone circle dating back to the days of Abraham, and not forgetting many Roman and Medieval structures still standing today- such as at the city of Chester for example, England does have a lot to boast about - it is such a beautiful land steeped in history.

And our Constitution, based on Christian ethics, is one of the best one can live under. Of its greatest assets, the National Health Service was the envy of the world. From the taxes of every person earning an income, a public purse was created so that treatment for all kinds of illness and infirmities became available to all. And what a far cry from the Dickensian days when only the rich and well-to-do could afford to pay for a visit by the Doctor, and further payment for appropriate medicines, leaving the poor to suffer their fate. The NHS has been a great help for both my wife and me over the years of married life. So with all these credentials - natural beauty, steeped in history, the Constitution, and the NHS - why do I cringe at the thought of England winning the World Cup?

I guess that when I was a boy, I recall asking my Mum whether I was English. She was firm in her reply:
No, you are not English, you are a full Italian. But since you were born here, you have British citizenship.

So where does that leave me? A foreigner? No, I was born here. English? No, my parents are Italian. It leaves me as just British, but not English - an Italian, yet living somewhere in no man's land. I grew up feeling that I did not belong here, and for that matter, neither had I ever felt that I belonged to Italy either. I was a young guy without a homeland. Furthermore, my surname caused heads to turn, particularly in secondary education (from age 11-15 years). I was not fully accepted as one of the boys in my class, which was made a lot worse when I did not possess the ability to play team sports, such as football and rugby. When we all lined up in the field to be selected by the team captains, I was always the last one remaining, who walked to one of the teams for want of nowhere else to go. Even when I left school without any qualifications in 1968 and started work in a furniture factory, even there I felt ostracised, with my surname barring me from fitting in adequately.

I guess that's why, in early 1971 at eighteen years of age, I started attending gym and lifting weights to build up muscle. Known here as circuit training, a series of free weights and other apparatus were arranged in a circle, so that in one round I would have exercised all the muscles of the body. Not only had I enjoyed it, but grudging respect from other employees began to be felt.

But it was in the mid 1980s onward that the reality of "being different" actually dawned on me - yes, from fellow Christian believers! I guess it began while on a cycling jaunt across Windsor with three or four other believers on the run-up to the 1986 World Cup, I made a passing statement that I would support Italy. After all, by birth, blood, and parentage, I had a closer tie with Italy than with England. Although I did not join Ascot Baptist Church until 1990, by 1985 I was well known among the single young lads who attended, including a few who sincerely believed that England was a "superior" nation than the rest of the world, especially "the reckless Itai" as I was to become known. I guess this "national superiority" stemmed from Empire, together with the Darwinian concept that the English were more advanced in evolution, and therefore referred themselves as the Master Race.

But to put everything into perspective, I was not hated by them, not even disliked. Through Biblical conviction, I was accepted as a mate, but I had always felt that somehow I was not equal to them, but perceived as nationally inferior. Two lads had insisted that "the English are the best - I'm proud to be English" - a statement backed up by several others. So whenever England played Italy in any international, I tended to stay alone in my apartment with the TV switched off, something I still do to this day. If England did beat Italy, the smirks I would have received would have been close to intolerable. Yet despite of all this, the history of international football show to this day that Italy comes second to Brazil in the number of World Cup victories, with four wins to Italy to Brazil's five, way above England with just one - the historic win over Germany in 1966.

I guess much of this antagonism could have been avoided if these church people took their Bible a little more seriously, including of showing the love of Christ. Instead, even by subconscious, they had a hankering for the former Empire. There was even one fellow, several years younger than me and a graduate to boot, who was convinced that the British Empire was the work of Almighty God, as he expressed it. Some of them agreed, others weren't so sure, but as far as I recall, I was the only believer in Christ who challenged him head on.

Jesus did command his followers to "Go out into the nations and preach the Gospel to every creature." (e.g. Matthew 28:18-20, Mark 16:15-18.) But earlier in his ministry, he sent out his twelve disciples with the authority to preach the Kingdom of God, to heal the sick, to cast out demons, even to raise the dead. Then he gave a specific instruction:
If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave that home or town. I tell you the truth, it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgement than for that town. (Matthew 10:14-15.)

The English in the past centuries believed that they were the new people of God who had replaced Israel, possibly Rome as well. This was immortalised by the famous hymn taken from the poem written by William Blake:

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

Apparently, this poem was put into song in 1916 to encourage soldiers to dream of England as God's country while out fighting to defend its Empire. It would therefore be the result from the earlier invasions into foreign territory to colonise the land, had gotten the approval of God. Naturally enough, the indigenous did not welcome the invaders with open arms. But where Jesus had instructed these "Christian soldiers" to shake off the dust from their feet and retreat, and leave these "horrible indigenous inhabitants" to the judgement of God, instead they invaded with shotgun in hand, and set up their own laws and government, with the mentality that they were the Master Race.

But I guess the blame can't be directed to the indigenous. Rather they cowed into submission when they realised that they weren't able to defend themselves, their families, or their land. After the Empire collapsed, bitter memories remain, which had endured for decades, and had been well documented. If only the British actually obeyed the instructions Jesus had given them - to heal the sick, raise the dead, preach the Gospel of love, grace and forgiveness, and retreat if they found themselves unwelcome - what would have been the outcome? Would India become Christian instead of remaining stubbornly Hindu? Or the same with Nigeria instead of remaining Islamic?

Here is what I find to be the shortfall to all this: Instead of faith, hope and love, the crave to conquer, to fight and win, to prove the nation's superiority. And until the recent past, all in the name of God whose land this was meant to be. One good example came straight from one of the Christian men who were in our church. A proud Englishman, while at work, he once brought a Scotsman to tears after taunting him when England beat Scotland at an international rugby match. While the Scot was weeping, this fellow muttered, Uh! I don't think I'm behaving as Christ would. No, indeed not.

Such an attitude and taunting of team rivalry says it all. And that is the precise reason why I cannot bring myself to support England in the coming World Cup contest. The English are a proud nation who have throughout history, have deluded themselves as being superior to foreigners, and that despite their own boast of being tolerant, they tend to have a disdain towards those who were not born and bred here, particularly throughout the 1950s and 60s, when there was intense discrimination and prejudice towards coloured immigrants. So much so, that when Enoch Powell gave the Rivers of Blood speech in Birmingham on the 20th April 1968, much of the nation sided with him.

So according to Jeremy Paxman in his book, The English - A Portrait of a People, much of this way of thinking is due to the fact that we are an island nation, with at least twenty miles of sea separating the coast of Kent from the northern tip of France, our nearest neighbour of mainland Europe. After all, without any international borders, the English can relish the idea that the very last invasion took place in 1066, precisely 900 years before England won the Cup, when William the Conqueror defeated the indigenous and brought the land under Norman conquest.

Do I dislike the English? No, not at all! God loves them, as he loves all mankind, and he wants all to come to the knowledge of the truth and be saved. If God so loved them to the extent that he gave his only Son to die in atonement for their sins, then who am I, as a believer in Jesus, to think otherwise? Rather, I love the English (and all other nationalities) and my sincere desire is that all would believe and be saved. There have been times in the past, particularly in my bachelor days, that I sat alone in my apartment feeling close to tears, as I longed to see far more of my countrymen saved. If there was a nation which was, and is, desperately in need of God's love, it is England, well the UK as a whole. The Cross of Jesus Christ needs to cast a long shadow right across the UK.

And how this nation as a whole desperately need to come under the Shadow of the Cross. In the Bible, we can read the tremendous humbling power the Cross of Jesus Christ can have on a society of people. The 120 in the upper room is a good example of this power (Acts 1:12-15). Here both men and women were praying together - something totally unknown in a typical Jewish synagogue. The group included people of all classes, from Nicodemus the Pharisee right down to the Canaanite woman whose daughter was healed by Jesus. The sense of superiority over inferiority was swept away. Such power did the shadow of the Cross had as it fell across the room. Educational levels had lost their meaning, along with nationalism, wealth and social standing, levels of occupational professionalism, and to put it in a modern sense - the size and location of their homes, their cars, and which football team to support. All these things swept away as they stood naked before a Holy God, which just the shadow of the Cross offering any chance between them and the Almighty. As all huddled together, knowing full well that death will overtake them all, and only the Cross can save them from judgement. It is a terrifying thought, yet also the source of new hope and new aspirations - the desire to follow Jesus and the fullness of life which result from such a decision.

As for myself, I too want the Cross of Christ to slay the old man in me, which includes any national favouritism. In other words, I no longer consider myself British, nor English, nor Italian, neither do I consider myself working class, nor middle class, educated or professional. Under the shadow of the Cross, all these things becomes as stinking dung in order that I would know Jesus Christ, and his glorious Kingdom, to which through his death and resurrection, I have become a citizen, one of God's family.