Travel Biography - Week 100.

For one who loves Travel, something weird dominated the newspapers this past week. This was the case of Magaluf in the Spanish Balearic Islands. Magaluf is a major resort located on the west of the Mediterranean island of Mallorca. Its main street is Carrer Punta Ballena, better known as the Strip, a venue for bars, clubs, and all-night partying. Report after report tells of young British holidaymakers abusing alcohol and drugs, of vomit polluting the sidewalks, fights breaking out, and the siren of police cars. Now, the authorities have imposed new laws - bars shutting before 10.00 pm each evening being one of them. Of course, the tourists resent this. How dare they tell them what to do or not do as guests in a foreign land! What a wonderful freedom it was for them to travel overseas without their parents' domestic watchfulness and restrictions. Furthermore, didn't Britain rule over a quarter of the world just a century earlier?

At the Old Town Heritage Park, 1997.

Main Street, San Diego Old Town.

At the Bazaar, San Diego Old Town.

Another view of the Old Town.

What I did find amazing was that this overnight partying wasn't confined to the working class, according to the newspaper. Reports of undergrads were in these alcohol-fuelled parties too, as they paraded noisily through the street in the small hours, totally uncharacteristic of the sober, quiet, self-reserved student from the English county of Surrey, and just out of school uniform.

Echoes of my own past?

Indeed. How could I ever forget 1972, its long arms of memory reaching to this day? In Week 3 of this Biography, I related in detail about a booking made to Tossa-de-Mar on the Spanish Costa Brava. The break-up with my first girlfriend earlier that year sent my emotions into turmoil, and therefore, in Spain, I suffered from alcohol abuse, leading to situations very much the same as in present-day Magaluf.

As already narrated in Week 3, my 1972 conversion to the Christian faith from atheism also changed me from a Sunseeker to backpacking - a wonderful travel transformation in itself. In leisure travel, both sun-seeking and backpacking are triune in themselves, with fun underlying both. According to my own experience as well as in present-day Magaluf, sun-seeking among the late teens and early twenties often involves Fun, Intoxication, and Violence. On the other hand, I could make backpacking a triune of Fun, Adventure, and Education.

Having read the papers this week, I thought how such a wonderful, noble adventure of overseas travel had degraded, along with the price, to intoxication, together with street fights between rival groups, with no interest in local culture and sights. Hence, the above review. And nothing new. As a teenager myself, I was no less guilty.

Forget Tossa-de-Mar! Forget Magaluf! The world of backpacking has always been healthy, edifying, educational, and adventurous. And yes, from my experience, I can write this biography. I have now reached the hundredth week. If I was asked to write about the life of a Sunseeker, I doubt that I would have covered more than a week, perhaps two weeks if lucky. And so, I bring this up to date, in 1997.

View of a marina from SeaWorld.

One of the screaming seals, SeaWorld.

San Diego Attractions re-visited - The Old Town.

Incredibly enough, although 1997, I spent eleven days in San Diego, I never suffered a moment's boredom. And despite having spent my initial five days two years earlier in 1995 after a two-day hike into the Grand Canyon, re-visiting some of these places brought back good memories. Two of these, the Old Town and SeaWorld, along with Mission Beach, revived memories of 1995. One difference was the number of people at these venues, as these 1997 visits peaked in the summer. However, La Jolla, Santa Barbara with Rattlesnake Canyon, St Lois Obispo with Avila Beach, and Malibu were Californian venues unique to 1997.

One afternoon, I boarded a bus for the Old Town. After arriving, I saw no change between 1995 and 1997. The street typifies the Wild West, featured in many Hollywood Western movies. Wooden shacks lined the street. There were also workshop exhibitions, even a wagon. But the central attraction was the bazaar, a garden market along with stalls stocked with souvenir trinkets and other goodies.

I recall two years earlier the stall specifying garden fountains. Perhaps the market demand was already diminishing, as I couldn't see any more of these fountains stocked. That was a pity. I remember the enjoyment I had by just watching one of those fountains on display, demonstrating its function to the potential buyer. (For full details of what is featured in the Old Town, it's in Week 65.) 

Like in 1995, I decided to walk back to the hostel rather than wait for a bus that might not arrive. As I headed towards the city, I approached the souvenir shop I stopped at two years earlier. I walked in and browsed the shelves. To my surprise, everything was as they were in 1995, including the rows of named mugs. Back then, I bought a mug with my name on it. Just as well. This time, I couldn't find my name on any that were in stock. Fortunately, I still have the cup I bought to this day. We don't put it in utility use. Instead, it's on display on one of our lounge shelves.

The walk from the Old Town to the hostel was a tag longer than the four-mile trek completed in 1995, as our present hostel at Market Street was further away than the old Broadway site. Had I known better, I would soon find out, at the Old Town, that the trolley tram line has a terminus station nearby, although the mainline carried on to Los Angeles. Nowadays, the light railway has been extended to La Jolla, although that was already on the planning table in 1997.

Second Visit to SeaWorld.

On the morning of another day, I bussed to the SeaWorld for another visit. However, this time, I made every effort to stay dry, and not allow the two marine mammals, the dolphin and the Orca, to soak me as before. If I wanted to watch their performances, I chose to sit right at the back, out of the splash zone.

And yet, although I thoroughly enjoyed the day at San Diego Zoo, I felt more enhanced by the sight of marine life than with land animals. The reason for that is simple. We are air-breathing land-dwelling beings who share the same environment with all land animals, whether mammals, reptiles, or birds. True enough, there are air-breathing full marine creatures too, known as the Cetaceans, and they too are classified as mammals. These include the whale, the dolphin, and its close relative, the porpoise. Then there are the seals, sea lions, and walruses, known as the Pinnipedia, that are classified as marine, yet they are amphibians, as they can spend as much time on the beach as in the sea. At the SeaWorld, I watched a group of seals literally screaming as if wanting food. Not believing that any form of cruelty exists in the theme park, I assumed that those screams were the natural behaviour of these creatures. However, I couldn't help but feel some pity for them. After all, they didn't exist for a life in captivity.

Yet, it's the fish species that intrigued me the most, whichever form it takes. For example, I could stand outside the moray eel tank and watch these fascinating creatures relax as their heads protrude out of the purposely designed holes in the submerged rock, thus imitating a real sea environment. From where I was standing, gentle instrumental music was constantly playing, the sound from nearby speakers blending nicely with the environment and behaviour of the eels. Another tank was the home of starfish and sea anemones. Other tanks held more active fish, such as groupers, swimming around as if not a care in the world. At this point of writing, I'm wondering whether there was a coral tank, like at Townsville in Queensland. Unfortunately, there seem to be no photos of coral at SeaWorld in my albums. Either there weren't any, which would have been surprising for a scientific-oriented theme park such as this one, or I simply missed it, a common mistake anyone could make.

Like in 1995, I watched both the dolphin and the orca shows. An occasional splash is hard to avoid completely, but on both occasions, I left the theatre in a drier state than I did two years previously. 

Moray Eels at SeaWorld.

Tropical Palms at the Bazaar.

I stayed at SeaWorld until it got dark and the park closed for the night. I made my way to the bus stop, and to my horror, I found out that the last bus of the day had already gone. I thought that was odd, as I'm sure that there would be those without a car in need to get home. Or wasn't it worth the time and effort to send empty buses to SeaWorld to collect the last of the visitors?

I looked around. Hitch-hike? I'm aware that was already illegal, but a short lift into town? It wasn't that I wanted to hitchhike across the USA. Just a lift back into town.

Pulling out of the car park was a car containing a couple leaving the aquatic zoo. On it was a distinct outline symbol of a fish on the windscreen, and I took this as a sign that they were committed Christians. Maybe they can help. So I approached their car to make a polite request. But as I drew near, the wife screamed, and the car pulled away with a screech.

That shocking incident has opened my eyes to the American life. It had all come together. The need for identification when buying an alcoholic drink. Even when on one occasion, walking through a residential estate, there were homes with a sign posted on their front door saying that they had a gun, so strangers beware! Now this. What a difference to the Old Wild West movies put out by Hollywood.

A walked along the deserted road in pitch darkness. I was heading east. The city was to the south, and across fields, I was able to see the lights of the city lighting the sky above the horizon. I kept on walking along the deserted road, hoping to see a sign pointing to the city.

Presently, a cyclist was passing by, going the other way. I called out, asking the way back to the city. Instead of pedalling off in frightened fury, the cyclist actually stopped and indicated a turning just a few metres ahead, and I'm to take it. After arriving at the junction, I turned, and not far off was the trolley tram standing at Old Town terminus station. I quickly bought a ticket and boarded.

Cooking supper in the hostel member's kitchen was such a relieving task.

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Next Week: I journey on to Santa Barbara.

From Sun-Seeker To Backpacker.

The late Harry and Glynis were customers who became good friends during the 1990s and through into the 2010s, as I was the only Window Cleaner whom they had trusted and relied on after they were let down by my predecessors. As retired pensioners themselves with just one unmarried son, a company executive who had spent time working in Germany before being posted at various locations across the UK by the same employer, these two seemed content to have me sit outside in their back garden as I was offered a cup of traditional English tea and a plate of cheese sandwiches.

It was not long after returning home from Los Angeles, after being away for ten weeks backpacking the globe, calling at Singapore, Australia and California, - the Travel Triathlon, as I affectionately call it, the conversation about sun-seekers began as I relaxed for a short break from working, sipping the refreshing tea. 

This was some time after Harry had shared with me of his travel adventures as a student during the 60's, backpacking across Germany, and staying at their Jugendherberge with their traditional morning duties, that I realised that the greater strictness and regimental atmosphere of Youth Hosteling was already a thing of the past by the time I headed for the airport in the 90s. Nowadays, we don't call them Youth Hostels anymore, but Backpackers Hostels, or simply Backpackers, with no morning duties, lest they all went out of business due to the resulting market decline. With Australian hostels still in the process of reform during 1997, at one provincial hostel, I was given a choice of "Dollar or Duty". I chose to pay the extra dollar for each night I spent there. After all, I wasn't one of the poorer city-slum kids who was "to learn about the countryside" for which hosteling was originally intended and often used by overnight school trips. We have come a long way since Harry's student days.

Typical Youth Hostel dormitory. Stock photo.

Our conversation turned towards sun-seekers, which he assumed I was one. I reminded them that there is a big difference between a sun-seeker and a backpacker. I went on to explain tongue-in-cheek that many a sun-seeker fly out to the Spanish Costa, and to spend the afternoon sunbathing on the beach, then its the bar, where he spends much of the night talking about football, football, football, and more football, until he drags his way back to the hotel at three in the morning, perhaps unable to avoid regurgitating his alcohol-drenched vomit on the sidewalk kerb, before slumping on his bed with uninterrupted sleep, only to wake up at twelve midday to head back to the beach to repeat the process all over again. The sun-seeker makes sure that the bar he visits is actually an English-style pub which accepts the Pound Stirling after thinking that the Peseta is Spanish for potato.  

The conversation was light-hearted but I knew that Harry and Glynis had both got the hint, as an experienced backpacker himself, Harry could not dispute.

And it's that time of the year again when in the past, the High Street travel agents would have been crowded, busy booking these Summer breaks to escape the dismal August when the kids are off from school while the wind and rain sweep across the UK. Nowadays anyone can book their annual holiday via the internet. But psychologically speaking, to look forward to the Summer after the Christmas break is over and yet to face a bleak Winter ahead is a great panacea. But I wonder, with the uncertainty of Brexit looming, how many are confident enough to fly to the Spanish Costa without any border-control bureaucracy at the airports hampering their journeys - to discover that they cannot enter a European country without a visa, and neither have one. Or to fall ill abroad and discover that the much-valid European Health Insurance Card is now completely useless, and therefore facing an unexpected hospital bill totalling thousands of pounds.

It goes to show how well God has blessed me by keeping me as a singleton for so many years - I was already 47 years old when I finally married. At present, with all this talk about climate change, the carbon footprint, the diminishing of the rainforests, and the extinction of species, along with the resounding echo of 9/11, it's a far cry from the carefree days of long-haul travel. As I write, Australia is literally on fire, with the authorities fighting a losing battle to contain the forest flames. And the sense of guilt if I board a long-haul flight, my selfish desires versus conscience as the idea of leaving another carbon footprint will be disturbing as I add that bit of extra stress to the natural environment. Indeed, I thank God dearly for allowing me to fly out to Australia when the times were good and tourism there, still in its fledgeling stage, was relatively cheap.

If only Alex and I were in good health! With train travel, there is not such a big footprint, although there will always be that ultra-political correct guru who will insist that trains are powered by coal-fired power stations, thus leaving a carbon footprint after all. But how could I forget those magnificent train journeys across Europe, from London to Sicily through France, and other trips through Belgium to Germany and Holland? The Calais-Milan route via Lille and Basel took me through some of the most splendid Alpine scenery with mountains and lakes making the train journey a dream come true. With the Folkstone-Calais ferry crossing to complete the route from London, travel of the early 1980s was indeed a real adventure. And how I long to do it all over again. 

Swiss Railways, I travelled by train through here in 1981 & 1982.

How is it that a typical English August is usually wet and windy rather than hot and sunny? Being an island just off the north coast of mainland Europe, it faces the moisture-laden Atlantic winds on one side and the North Sea on the other. And with the Jet Stream having a preference to drift south of the UK during that month, the resulting lousy British Summers gave rise to the package holiday culture, once the preserve for the rich and for the Chosen Few, to be the second-largest UK industry after Defence, even if tourism does not have the flavour of proper industry.

When I was single, after 1972, I never gave the package holiday another look. That was after my very first trip abroad without my parents. I was nineteen at the time and it was before I became a Christian believer. Although what I said to Harry that day was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, actually there was a lot of truth in what I said to him.

When my college mate and I flew to the Costa Brava just south of the Pyrenees, this was my first ever trip out of the UK without my parents. It was also my first flight ever and I felt nervous over it, as my parents had never seen the inside of an aeroplane. Each day we sunbathed on the beach. Then the nightlife when I got completely drunk with the cheap wine they sold there. As I crept back to the hotel, alone, with my mate already there waiting for me, one morning I found myself waking up after sleeping in the bathtub in alcohol-induced vomit. It was not long before I became a byword of the hotel staff, whilst my college mate, who has a much stronger character than I did, and stayed incredibly calm. He was able to contain my behaviour and to hold me steady until I sobered up, ready for another day on the beach. Such as the case of my mate marrying not long after whilst I was dumped by my girlfriend just four months earlier.

What a difference a conversion to Jesus as Saviour, just a few months after that Spanish incident, has made! My perception of travel changed completely from sun-seeking to backpacking. It was just a year later when I found myself walking alone through the ruins of Pompeii, followed by a hike to the summit of Mt. Vesuvio, and looking inside the deep dormant crater. This was a far more exciting adventure than any seaside package holiday, which involved learning ancient history and volcanism, as well as in this, and in years to come, train and bus travel from town to town and experiencing off-the-street room requests at a hotel whichever town I arrived at, as hosteling didn't become part of me until 1985. 

I once read a saying that the full beauty of Creation cannot be perceived with Christless eyes. I believe there's an element of truth in that saying. During the Spring of 1973, alone in the house while thunder was rolling outside, just by reading the first three chapters of Genesis became a revelation from God, as if he was standing right there in front of me and offering a choice - to believe in his Word or to believe in Evolution. There was no "halfway house" (that is, Theistic Evolution.) I had to belive either one or the other. I suddenly knew which side I was on!

To believe in a literal six-day Creation has opened my eyes to the beauty of this world, the recognition of the Almighty power of God in everything he has made. This may affect each individual differently, but for me, there is an intricate link between realising the reality of Divine Creation and backpacking. One primary example of this is when I stood on the rim of Vesuvio's crater and recognising this as a tool for God's judgement on such wicked towns like Pompeii and Herculaneum nearly two millennia previously. Such thoughts and ideas would never have come to mind just a year earlier in 1972 whilst drunk in the bathtub of a Spanish hotel.

It's through the eyes of Jesus Christ from which I can see and appreciate the beauty of tropical vegetation which cannot thrive here in the UK (except under glass). Thus, to look at a row of Traveller's Palms of Singapore brought a spring to my step, as the coconut palms so abundant at Miami Beach, or the unique palms thriving on the roadside of San Diego, the Mangroves of Queensland and NSW, as well as the ground-shaking thundering of Niagara Falls, the rocky shapes at Blue Mountains National Park, and not to mention the dramatic glory of the Grand Canyon. And last but certainly not least, I stood on the rim of an active Mt Etna volcano in 1982, feeling the black basalt ground shaking beneath me as the steam exploded from the vents inside the crater. With God's help and direction, I have seen and experienced all these things which involve backpacking travel.

At the rim of the crater, Mt Etna, taken 1982. 

As I lay in my own vomit inside that bathtub, how could I possibly imagine that within four years, in 1976, I would be standing on the summit of the Mount of Olives, looking down at the wonderful panorama of Jerusalem Old City with its golden Dome of the Rock directly in front, and the New City seen in the background? Would I ever imagine walking through both the ancient and medieval streets of the Old City? Or wade through the confines of a tunnel dug around 701 BC? Or to kneel in front of the 14-prong star marking the site of Christ's birth? Or gaze across the Sea of Galilee? Or float on the waters of the Dead Sea? Such is the exciting adventures of backpacking along with the social side found in many hostels. 

Yet that is the difference between looking at our natural world with Christless eyes and seeing the beauty of this world through the eyes of Jesus Christ. 

Come Unto Me...

This has been quite a week. Last weekend Alex and I went to see the movie Noah, and since then I have given a lot of thought throughout the working week. But it was the Biblical Noah which stuck on my mind, not the Darren Aronofsky's version which has populated cinemas across the UK. But the Scriptural account which drew much of my attention was the drunkenness which followed sometime after the Flood. We as Christian believers tend to frown at such behaviour, tut-tutting with either a threat of losing salvation and facing the prospect of Hell after death, or proving that one was not really saved after all, and that despite the devotion shown to God and the church over the years. In other words, whether you believe in Probational Salvation or Once Saved Always Saved, it is impossible to imagine a believer in such a state without involving the issue of sin.

 

But by taking a closer look on the lifespan of Noah, (i.e. the Biblical version) it is not difficult to read that for the first six hundred years of his life he had supportive family members. For a start, he had his good old grandpa, Methuselah, who died just a week before the fountains of the deep burst open. Just five years before that, his dad Lamech died. But he had his wife and his three sons, and their wives. Then his mother and grandmother - were they still alive when the Flood was ushered in? Probably not, for it looks likely that by God's grace, they were laid to rest some time earlier. But the parents of the sons' three wives were most likely still alive, along with their brothers and sisters. Then not forgetting Noah himself had brothers and sisters from his parents, and aunts and uncles from his grandfather Methuselah. For all this, just read the fifth chapter of Genesis, where we assured that Noah was by no means all alone before the Flood as one might first suspect.

 

However, Noah was by no means the first to know of the coming Deluge. Rather, God had already revealed this to his great-grandfather Enoch, who in turn named his eldest son "Methuselah," meaning When I die the waters will arrive. So Enoch knew of the future catastrophe, obviously Methuselah did too, and of course, so did Lamech, Noah's father. Yet all of them had "other sons and daughters." Enoch was a father of many, his son also, so was Lamech, by seeing how old his father was becoming, yet had other sons and daughters who would all drown in the deluge. Odd, I would have thought. So with all those relatives - the numbers unknown but they seemed many - only eight finally made it into the Ark and were saved.

 

This led me to conclude one of two ideas, or both may apply to a certain extent. One was that all family members loved Noah as one of their own, but believed him to be rather delirious, or a bit of a nutter, and very eccentric with the revelation of the forthcoming catastrophe. They looked with wonder and stunned unbelief as the Ark was under construction. The other idea was that they had followed the way of Cain's descendants, and therefore turned hateful and violent, even among themselves. Which ever way, I can't be sure, but the fact of Noah's drunkenness seemed to have indicated the former attitude. They loved him, and proper support was given to him by his parents and grandparents.

 

And according to 2 Peter 2:5, Noah was a "preacher of righteousness." The Greek word used for "preacher" in this verse was keruka, a herald, which seems to indicate that during the building of the Ark, Noah was warning the antediluvian world that the Flood was on its way, and this was enforced by the ageing of Methuselah, and if anyone wants to be saved, he must enter the Ark with him and his family in order to be spared. This was a matter of believing. The Ark might have been ready for use sometime before the Flood, maybe by weeks or even months. The vessel was open to anyone. Any family, either from the line of Seth or of Cain, could have gone in. But this required faith, the believing in the coming judgement was necessary, and such faith acted upon. Noah's answer for the cry, "What must I do to be saved?" would have been, "Believe in the revelation of the coming Flood and enter the Ark, then you shall be saved, you and your house." (Acts 16:30-31.)

 

Noah would have welcomed anyone who had faith. This is the proper meaning of repentance. A change of mind from unbelief to believing. The same is true at present. God has already reconciled the world to himself through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. A change of mind from unbelief to believing is all that's required for salvation. Once having believed, he is safe in Christ and no threat of eternal death awaits him, just as anyone inside the Ark cannot be touched by the waters of the Flood. That is the wonderful thing about the Gospel. Just as the structure of the Ark was strong enough to protect all those inside, so Christ, who is even stronger, is able to protect us and keep us safe as well, for God is a strong tower where all the righteous run into, and they are safe. The enemy forces cannot touch them.

 

Yet it is an unfortunate reality that the common belief among Christians is that our lives must be blameless and without sin, regardless of the circumstance, or either he is in danger of losing his salvation, or mere proof that he was never saved in the first place. Both are nonsense! If you are a believer in the death and the resurrection of Jesus Christ, then you are eternally safe in him, just as all those in the Ark were safe from the deluge outside. Later, long after the waters had receded, the narration states that after planting a vineyard, Noah drank of the wine (fermented grape juice) and became drunk. It is worth looking at his set of circumstances that brought this on him.

 

For the first six hundred years of his life, Noah had support from his family, perhaps including his wider family of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and maybe the brothers and sisters of his three daughters-in-law, along with their parents and wider family. It was certainly a crowd, and despite the evil and raw wickedness and violence among the descendants of Cain, it was likely that Noah was loved. But instead of believing his message, they probably thought that Noah was crazy, and no flood will occur. After all, no rain had ever fallen in the last 1,600 years or so since Creation. So why should it rain now? So although he was in the midst of Methuselah's wider family, shortly before the Deluge, none of them believed the revelation except Noah, his grandfather, his wife and his three sons and their wives. With the death of Methuselah, there were just eight believers among Seth's family line altogether, and no believer at all from Cain's descendants, which by then, most likely would have numbered into the billions in world population.

 

What crushing loneliness Noah must have suffered, perhaps while still in the floating Ark. Like with many Christians today, it would not have been unnatural for depression to have set in. Such emotion was likely present even when Noah offered a sacrifice on a makeshift altar after disembarkation. Noah's first grandson, Canaan, was born from Ham's seed maybe even during, or shortly after, the flood. It was during this time when sons and daughters were soon to be born to all of his three sons, but none of this soothed his depression. It must have been a few years later, when Canaan was growing up, when Noah fell into a drunken stupor, and probably, while the rest of the family were out and about, young Canaan sexually molested him, while his father called his two brothers, Shem and Japheth, to his attention, and the two sons of Noah acted appropriately in honouring their drunken father.

 

Noah woke up, and found out about his grandson's misdeed. He cursed Canaan, taking away the birthright and the Messianic lineage from Canaan and giving both of these to his uncle Shem, to be passed down through Arphaxad, one of Shem's sons and Canaan's younger cousin. So we see a righteous man lying in his tent, drunk out of his mind, perhaps mistaking Canaan's assault for his wife's endearments. Yet no one, as far as I know of, had ever condemned this man to Hell for such a misdeed, on the contrary, he is included in the faith hall of fame in Hebrews 11:7.

In the last forty years as a believer myself, I have not come across any other Christian in a state of drunkenness. As for myself, I have hardly ever allowed myself to become intoxicated, although I am not a teetotaller, I like a tipple on certain occasions. Christians, especially advocates of Probational Salvation, tend to quote 1 Corinthians 6:10 - ...nor drunkards...shall inherit the Kingdom of God. And whether verbally or by writing, such a quote is usually wrapped in a judgemental attitude. This to me, does not present a pleasant atmosphere, nor emphasise the love of God, especially to someone who is depressed. And here is the irony, by the looks of it. If an intoxicated unbeliever was to stagger into a group of Christians, chances are that he would be lovingly approached and counselled to receive Jesus as Saviour. But if an established believer with one too many is seen staggering around, he would most likely be reprimanded and quite possibly be questioned whether he is saved. It would have been interesting if a typical group of church-goers were transported back in time to witness Noah in such a state. How would they have re-acted?

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 6:12:
Everything is permissible for me - but not everything is beneficial. Everything is permissible for me - but I will not be mastered by anything.

In other words he did not allow "horrible religious restrictions" get in the way in his walk with God.  If he wanted a alcoholic drink, he did not allow himself to be judged by the Law, nor allowed anyone to condemn him or to pass judgement. But if he did not see anything beneficial in alcohol consumption, then he refrained rather than risk dishonouring Jesus Christ, whom he so fervently loved. Paul's mission was to expound the love of God to a helpless, sinful world, yet at the same time warn of the coming judgement. Since mercy had triumphed over judgement, his emphasis was to exhort people to repent, to change their minds and embrace the risen Jesus.

But to portray God in a punitive manner is a big turn off from conversion, and from the faith altogether. While this blog was written, I had a chance to watch a short movie about two black teenagers in South London who wanted to band together to produce their own Rap music. Ah, Rap! Not very church-like with its traditional hymns and spiritual songs, and already some Christians would be tut-tutting over such an idea. So did the mother of one of the lads, who was a devout believer. At the dining table she delivered Christ's disapproval of his project in front of his siblings. The look on the adolescence's face was so thunderous, that it would not be any different had a husband received news of his nagging mother-in-law's sudden and unexpected arrival.

The vast majority of the unbelieving world perceives God in exactly the same way. Punitive, picky, constantly watching our performance, very much like how Santa is portrayed to children - that he only gives presents to good children for Christmas, while ignoring naughty children. It would be enough for the child to angrily respond that Santa can keep his presents! Isn't that familiar? Let's face it, if God was portrayed in the true character of love instead of the punitive personality he is often portrayed, then there wouldn't be so many influential atheists such as Bertrand Russell, Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and others who had swayed the public general thinking by their theories. I personally think that Christians who advocate Probational Salvation (known better as Arminians) have done enormous damage to the minds of many. And I dare say that the doctrine of Lordship Salvation had always been equally damaging. But even among those who believe in Once Saved Always Saved, or Eternal Security, are not let off the hook either. If they see a depressed saint on the bottle for instance, they would poo-poo with the idea that perhaps he wasn't saved after all. What psychological damage such thinking could bring.

Jesus always preached a message on love. Just a short while before his crucifixion, he stood on the Temple porches and cried out to the blustering crowd during the Feast of Tabernacles:

If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Who ever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him. John 7:37.

Earlier he also said,
Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30.

One particular day, Jesus found himself sitting opposite a Samaritan woman at a well. Feeling thirsty, and having no vessel of his own to draw, he asked the woman if she would draw for him as well. It was a simple request any person with a small amount of decency would have happily obliged. But instead, she looked at him with a startled expression and asked,
"Who are you, a Jew, to ask of water from me, a Samaritan, a woman at that, and the lowest of the low?"
In other words, You Jews have always been judgemental and punitive pigs towards us for centuries past. Are you expecting me to show you kindness now? (See John 4.)

The woman had a point. Despite her previous five husbands, none of whom she was able to keep an ongoing healthy relationship, she was looked down upon and condemned by the Jews, who believed that they alone held the oracles of God, and kept his laws. Really, it wasn't too different from the attitude of many Christians today. But Jesus loved her as she was and she could see it. His exposure of her past life was not to condemn, nor even to convict, but to demonstrate to her that he was the Christ. When she believed, she went out, deliberately leaving the water jug behind so he could have a drink, and encouraged others to come and hear him. Such was the wonderful display of love.

Jesus said, "Come to me." To this day, his plea to everyone is, "Come to me, and live."
If only those who stood at the Ark in unbelief heeded the message of Noah, who would have said the same thing:
Come to me and live, you with your wife and children. Who knows. Their distant descendants might well have been with us to this day. It only needed faith in God's love.