Panic On The Eve Of Glory.

Yep, another Saturday morning. But today, the air is electric with pulsating anticipation. As tomorrow's all-important clash between England and Italy is splattered on the first 13 pages of the Daily Mail, plus a further 16 pages in the middle of the 112-page newspaper devoted to the coming football match, together with the back page spread, this gives a total of 30 pages devoted to Wembley. It's quite a contrast to the five-page devotion to the Wimbledon tennis finals that are also set to take place this weekend. And under the shadow of Wembley, Wimbledon is almost forgotten, hiding towards the back of the newspaper.

Wembley Stadium.

And so I stand in line, waiting to be served at our local Starbucks, this particular cafe is annexed to the out-of-town Sainsbury's superstore. Wearing a mask, I watch as my patience begins to drain, as the queue refuse to move. At the counter, this young man was holding his mobile phone over the card-swiping terminal, but it fails to scan.

As the dialogue continues between that person and one of the females behind the counter, I began to sweat as the tension grows. Unfortunately, my patience is often in short supply and today was no exception. The man continues to swipe the terminal. Still no response. Maybe that's why I'm more of a technophobe than a technophile. The old, stone-age, out-of-fashion cash transaction had always been infallible, so reliable. And it kept the queues moving fast. 

Then came the "advancement" of writing cheques. At the superstore tills, I have found this method of payment so slow and frustrating! It's always the customer in front of me. She takes a chequebook out of her handbag and begins to write. She then scribbles, Thirty for pounds 65 pence, and then signs it. Then she keeps looking at it, tears it up and starts again on the next page, Thirty-four pounds 65 pence, and at last, hands it to the teller, who examines it thoroughly before stamping and then activates the till. Meanwhile, I stand there with my head ready to explode. But like any true Brit, I remain calm. And that's despite my 100% Italian bloodline - renowned for shouty protests and wild gesticulation!  

Then came the electronic payments, first, by typing in the bank account PIN code, then by swiping the bank card, and now by holding a smartphone to the terminal. All well and good. If all functions correctly, that would allow the queue to move even faster than even by cash payment. At least one does not rifle through a handful of coins to find that last penny.

But when the smartphone method of paying goes pear-shaped, then that was the nadir of frustration. There was an elderly couple in front of me whose calmness somewhat impressed me. However, after about ten minutes, the young man who held up the queue eventually collected his drink and made for the exit. How the transaction was settled, I can't say for sure, as I wasn't watching him all of the time he stood there. But quite likely, it was done by typing in the barcode, either on his phone, or at the terminal, or both. However, during the long wait, I had built up a sweat, the mask began to irritate, and so I peeled it off whilst still waiting in line.

Being maskless was, once again, the cause of pandemonium. This happened when the elderly couple, who were in front of me, had paid for their fare and were waiting at the collection point. Having then paid for my normal croissant and cappuccino as well, I moved on to join them. They were both masked. I wasn't, as I was due to sit at one of the in-house tables, as I always do.

Immediately, one of the servers behind the counter began to panic. Shouting at me to the point of hysteria to move away from the couple, she ordered me to "stand over there!" Meekly, I did so without making a fuss. Actually, not only were they both wearing masks, but I came no closer than a metre from the wife, who was nearer to me. Throughout the incident, they remained totally calm and did not say a word or even move away. After they had gone - they had bought a takeaway - I was next to collect my coffee. I saw the server's look of annoyance as I collected my cappuccino and made my way to the table.

I felt ill at ease as I tried to read the paper. I rose up and walked into the superstore and bought a pack of three blue biros (blue ink is nicer than black ink.) Then, having returned to the table, I wrote a sincere note of apology at the back of the receipt for upsetting her earlier on. I waited for a lull in the queue before handing the note to her. Almost immediately, she called out and with a wide smile, acknowledged and accepted my apologies. Ah! Peace was restored.

Oh, dear! What kind of a world are we living in? As I collected my coffee, she made sure she had kept a safe distance from where I was standing, despite the presence of the large Plexiglass shield separating us. There is something apocalyptic about the whole population going about wearing facemasks as if hit by a thermonuclear war that had permanently contaminated the entire globe's atmosphere. Indeed, I find this whole scenario rather unsettling, a reminiscence of those futuristic horror movies where everyone wore breathing apparatus to survive. Furthermore, I was taken by surprise by the panic my maskless face had caused. And that's not the first time either.

I haven't counted the times when a passerby had deliberately veered away when we passed each other on a public footpath. A few were even wearing masks - outdoors. Then not to forget last Summer when a Christian group met for an alfresco Bible study in warm weather. After leaving our house late due to the need to nurse my wife whilst she was in pain, I was the last to arrive and the Bible study was already underway. When I attempted to join in, those nearest to me (more than two metres away on both sides) - a near panic ensued, as if I was the disease, a source of potential danger.

Stock Photo.

I could never forget that incident, and it enabled me to realise the psychological damage the pandemic had caused. Instead of seeing each other as fellow human beings, brothers and sisters in Christ, each receiving a greeting of politeness and respect, and to evaluate the best for each other, instead, each one of us had turned into objects of fear, repulsive, to be kept away from. What the heck had happened to us? And the reason to wear masks? The official line is to protect the next person from breathing in your viral breath droplets. But I tend to believe that the real reason for wearing masks is fear. Fear of catching the virus.

I was intrigued when I read about and saw the pictures of the 60,000 who poured out of Wembley Stadium after England had defeated Denmark last week. The mask was a rare sight. In fact, It looked as if there were more fingers on my hands than football fans wearing masks. The exuberance over the win for England had eliminated all fear, or at least most of it, to enable these fans to go about in a crowded environment with hardly a mask in sight. And I would feel very disappointed if I were to turn on the TV to watch the Final tomorrow evening - only to see a crowd of 60,000 (out of the 90,000 when at full capacity) at Wembley, all wearing masks and all remaining quiet if England scores. Dream on! I'll eat my own head if England scores without as much as a whisper from the excited crowd! Yet, didn't our Government ask precisely that during last week's match against Denmark?

Alex, my wife, and I will be on holiday by the time of kick-off, God willing. Knowing my beloved, she detests football so much, that it's unlikely we will watch the match - or at least the first half. But who knows? Even as two football sceptics, I would still be keen to watch at least the second half of the most important football match for over half a century.

And who would I prefer to win? This, for me, can be a difficult question to answer. First of all, as already mentioned, I'm a full-blood Italian. But I have lived all my life here in England. Italy has won four World Cup tournaments (second after Brazil with five wins) and one European Cup (in 1968). In turn, England has won only one World Cup (in 1966) and no European championships. Then to add to this, all my friends are keen England supporters. If I were to cheer Italy, would I be looked down upon with disdain, or even down their noses if England wins? I know one or two who would, and they are Christians. And to support Italy would go against the national flow. Yet considering all that, I would still give Italy my preference due to family loyalty and being my original homeland.

 

The very fact that the England football team is symbolised by the three lions - indicating strength, courage and the ability to win the battle. I believe that the three lions are synonymous with the British Bulldog, that icon of courage, strength and emotional restraint, that ideal typification of the Englishman. My PhD friend Andrew had used this icon in his Facebook posts to equate the British Bulldog with Brexit. Although others have disagreed with him, nevertheless, I can see his point. According to one recent article that appeared in The Daily Mail, those who are more likely, by a narrow margin, to ditch the mask after Freedom Day are Brexiteers. Those more likely to hang on to their masks after July 19th are Remainers. Hence, my friend's perception of equating Brexiteers as having the Bulldog spirit.

Of course, some Brexiteers will prefer to keep their facemasks, and some Remainers will dump them. But I wouldn't mind betting that the majority of the jubilant England fans who poured out from Wembley last week had voted to leave the EU in 2016. But how wide or narrow the margin between Leave and Remain is, that would be anyone's guess, short of a thorough survey.

Yet, this is so, so ironic! Some who are Brexiteers have been accused of "lacking the Bulldog Spirit" by other Brexiteers for not wanting to ditch their masks after Freedom Day, but instead, to keep on exercising caution, including the wearing of facemasks in shops, public transport, and other enclosed spaces. 

On Facebook, I have used my travel experience to demonstrate that the Bulldog Spirit isn't tied exclusively to Brexiteers. As a Remainer, I have hiked the Grand Canyon twice in my life, in 1978 and again in 1995. Before hiking, I became aware of the risks of undertaking such a venture. Hikers have lost their lives on the trails, others were rescued by the ranger, still, others had suffered heatstroke, others still, hyponatremia - the lack of salts in the bloodstream caused by excess drinking of water without an adequate intake of salt. This brings severe pain due to muscle cramps that immobilise the hiker. Yet, I took on the challenge, aware of these risks, to fulfil my dreams and created a photo album full of stunning pictures. The opposite of taking risks is to be over-cautious, thus refusing to hike and missing out on a life experience that is treasured forever.

Given the opportunity, I would walk the Grand Canyon trails again tomorrow. And I voted to remain in the EU in 2016. Risk-taking is not exclusive to Brexiteers.

The Grand Canyon. Stock Photo.

All I can do is wish England well at the Finals. This is a time of joy, excitement, hope. A relief from the months of the pandemic lockdowns and more optimism for the future of the nation, families and individuals. But, instead of relying on human strength and self-confidence, wouldn't it be wiser to remember what King Solomon had written in Proverbs 21:31:

A man prepares his horse for battle, but the Lord gives the victory. 

Far better would it be to give all the glory to God and to credit Him for the victory. To acknowledge God and to submit to His ways through faith in the death of His Son Jesus Christ by crucifixion, His burial, and His physical Resurrection, then not only England, but the whole of the UK would be on a winner.

John Bull: Should I Support Him?

Daniel was one Biblical prophet I have learnt to admire. According to what is recorded of him, he was very well educated and had exceptional qualities. He was also trustworthy, he was also very loyal to the king, and there was no corruption in anything he did, nor did he ever show any negligence in his calling. And how devoted he was to God, trusting in Him completely and praying regularly in the privacy of his own room every day. He was also innocent of any blatant sins, such as adultery and murder, two of which King David was guilty of during his lifetime, around four hundred years earlier. Yet, David too was referred to as "a man desiring God's own heart" - according to his biographers.

Daniel's faith in God was so strong that he wasn't afraid to be thrown into a pit containing hungry lions. And that was what his associates desperately wanted - for him to die - but not peacefully in his sleep but with intense pain and bloodshed by the sharp-toothed jaws of these feline predators. Their motive was jealousy. That deep resentment felt among them after their inability to interpret dreams the king had, nor were they were able to read and interpret the supernatural writing on the wall which foretold the Babylonian king wanting - and his resulting demise that very same evening. Yet, the prophet was able to solve these difficult problems with remarkable ease, giving them the impression of superior intelligence, learning, and power.

The fact that the prophet Daniel was a Jew - a "proper" Jew at that - as he was from the tribe of Judah, from which the word Jew originated. His associates, of Chaldean origin and renowned for their knowledge of mathematics and astrology, already harboured a deep resentment in their hearts for having a Jew appointed over them by the king. After all, it was they, the Chaldeans, who sent their armies to Israel, under their former king Nebuchadnezzar, to raze their city to the ground and brought the captive Jews into Babylon to settle in subservience to them.

And so, as Daniel was praying, or even lay asleep in the lion's den in the company of sleeping lions, King Darius the Mede, tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep and in the grip of deep sorrow and anguish, as he imagined the flesh of the prophet being torn apart over a puddle of human blood soaking into the ground. He also felt angry at the astrologers for their idiotic decree. He was also angry at himself. How could he allow such a stupid, stupid decree to be signed by his own hand? That one irreversible law of not allowing anyone to pray to any god or man except to the king only for the next thirty days! Perhaps the most senseless scheme ever thought up by these so-called "intelligent" Chaldeans. And he fell for it, hook, line and sinker. How could he not smell a rat? And afterwards, he was then forced by law to condemn an innocent friend to a horrible death, despite his plea to his advisors for clemency. 

Meanwhile, in stark contrast, the Chaldeans responsible for Daniel's demise lay in their wives' arms in bed, feeling smug and content that, at last, there won't be an exiled Jew telling them what to do! How little did they know that this would be their very last night in their lover's arms? For the king's wrath would spill on them at daybreak, and they will all be food for the hungry lions.

However, the goodness in Darius' heart was manifested when, at the crack of dawn, the king made his way to the pit while he was still wearing his nightclothes, and called out to the prophet, perhaps expecting silence or at least a roar or two from the lions. Instead, to hear the Jew calling back to the king had caused his heart to change from distress to joy - and then to anger - anger at those Chaldeans who wanted his friend dead to get him out of their way.

It's the jealousy lurking in the hearts of these Chaldeans that has given me some food for thought: The 1993 murder of Stephen Lawrence by a gang of white racist youths is one example. Could I see a parallel between these youths towards Lawrence and the Chaldean's attitude towards Daniel the Jewish prophet? Just as Daniel displayed divine wisdom at a level beyond the Chaldean's capabilities, so Stephen Lawrence, who was black, was already better educated than his persecutors, and they knew it.   

Then at a football match, there is the racism that often exists at the stands. This is when fans make monkey noises at a black player or even throw a banana at him. There is a story that when the very first black player, Wilf Mannion, scored for England in the 1950 World Cup in Brazil, the English supporters refused to accept the goal as a valid score. The resentment that was seen among English fans against non-Caucasian players throughout the decades to follow has, to my mind, has given English fans a bad reputation on the international scale, particularly in the eighties.

I too have been a victim of this prejudice, albeit in a much milder form. This began in school, followed by my work colleagues into the late sixties and the seventies, and then into the eighties and the nineties when I was part of a group of five unmarried Christian men from several churches. Their commitment for England to win the World Cup and the European Cup caused my skin to tingle and my hair to stand on end after categorising me as an Italian, despite being born in England, and as such, someone to be regarded somewhat as an inferior, more of an out/group than in/group. And all that is manifested whenever the European Championship or the World Cup football tournaments comes around.

I think that had I done better at school, things might have been different and I would be treated with better respect, although two areas of my life have given me a morale boost. Firstly, knowing Jesus Christ as Saviour, and secondly, my love of travel. However, mingling with Christian friends who were avid England supporters came to a head during the 1998 World Cup. Rather than face my friends if England were to lift the trophy once again since 1966, I bought an air ticket and fled to New York. However, I was still in the UK when England was knocked out of the Cup by Argentina on penalties after a 2-2 draw. But rather than ask for an airline refund, I gladly flew across the Pond to visit the Big Apple, where I stayed at the world's largest HI-affiliated hostel, according to the Guinness Book of Records.

And while I was there, I successfully photographed the twin towers of the World Trade Center from the ferry linking Battery Park to the Statue of Liberty. Back then, I never realised how precious those pics will be after 9/11. 

World Trade Center, taken 1998.

I find it amazing how everything changes for the better after one member of the group finds his ladylove and marry. The young architect, and perhaps the most handsome in our group, was the first to marry. Not long after, the accountant marries. This is followed by the banker. Finally, I marry - after meeting Alex just a few months after flying home from the New York trip (actually, I flew home from Boston Massachusetts after spending a week there.) However, one other member remained single right up to the present, the kitchen porter. He was the most patriotic in the group, the one who believes that the English are the kings of the world and all other nationalities - especially the Italians - are ethnically and culturally inferior. Yet, this same chap, who is proud of his British stiff upper lip, remains unmarried and is now in his sixties.

I was affectionately referred to as that Reckless Itai (pronounced eye-tie) by the banker, and I'm still called that to this day. I don't mind that at all, for it's always done in a friendly spirit, and not in a derogatory one.

With the group long dispersed after we had all gone on our separate ways, my apprehension over whether England will win the cup or not has somewhat wained. Perhaps not entirely. I still feel a little of it now. But just goes to show how much psychological harm can be caused for Mr B, when Mr A thinks he's nationally, culturally, and even biological superior. Then Mr A's team knocks out Mr B's team, from the tournament. Then Mr A appears smug and looks down with a patronising gesture towards the hapless Mr B. I recall this happening once, some 25-30 years ago. When his English rugby team beat the Scots, the mockery from the England supporter was enough for the Scotsman to break into tears, to which the Englishman finally admitted, Oh dear, I'm not behaving Christlike.

This spirit of England has become, in my opinion, something of an anomaly since the start of the Coronavirus pandemic. Perhaps I can personify England as John Bull, a character that is supposed to represent courage, stoicism, and to keep going during a crisis. Mr Bull, I think, is generally introverted, and he's not the one to be a braggadocio people-minded individual but more of a task-minded person who is shy when it comes to winning contests and quite happy to accept defeat. After all, it's the participation in the game that counts, whether win or lose. Such as John Bull, that is, until recently.

Oh, what has happened to John Bull? Have we become a nation of chocolate teapots? Have we become afraid to ditch the facemask? Isn't there any optimism for the near future? Do we have faith in the vaccines? Does the majority believe that there will be another lockdown before the onset of Winter? Are we constantly looking out for a new variant? Would this new variant result in an immediate lockdown? Will it be vaccine-resistant? Are we avoiding each other as if each one of us is carrying the Bubonic Plague? And have we become reluctant to return to the office which involves commuting in a delayed packed train?

I say "we", but I have never seen the inside of an office, let alone work in one. This idea of "flexible working" - the concept of part-time office work mixed with working from home - a new trendy culture that would never be dreamed of during the early days of my own working life! I recall the days when there were two kinds of occupation: The salary-earner and the wage-earner. The man in a business suit and the man in a boiler suit. The one who signs in and the one who clocks in. The one who works flexi-time and the one who is told when to start and finish. The one who takes a company-paid business flight to a foreign country, and the one who pushes a broom across the factory floor. The one who is highly respected and the one who is treated like cattle.

And it all comes down to the level of education, does it not?

Like the scientists who are advising our Government on which course of action for the whole nation to take. Like the king listening to the prophet Daniel, our MPs are listening to these scientists as they bow to their wisdom gotten at Oxford. And the rest of the people bow. At least the Brits are quite unlike the ancient Chaldeans!

Oxford University.

Don't be surprised when I say that there were times that I felt a pang of jealousy. Maybe, I understand how these ancient Chaldeans must have felt. After years in college, they became great and well knowledged for that period. Then this exiled Jew arrives, and with his powers, wins the favour of the king, who then sets him over the whole kingdom. No wonder the Chaldeans felt miffed!

Daniel's character is admirable, and with all honesty, I would very much like to be like him. He had the mind of Christ. And this level of spirituality is attainable by anyone who wants to have it.

There are three choices I can make:

I can be like one of the ancient Chaldeans and wallow in envy towards those who are better off.

I can be a typical Brit, which, at present, seems characterised as a chocolate teapot.

Or, I can inherit the qualities which Daniel the prophet had, which can only be possible by having the Holy Spirit dwelling within, who is available to anyone who asks God.

The Paradox of Prayer.

It's one of those days when nothing seems to turn out right. With my own laptop deciding to give up the ghost and instead, using my wife's computer, I shall begin to write this blog in a slightly different, less familiar environment. Ah, what is it about technology? Have we become so dependent so much on it that without it we are utterly lost? Or like an illegal drug, we have become addicted, and nothing short of cold turkey would be able to free us from the addiction?

My Fujitsu Laptop - on the blink?

And so being on Tier 2 of the Coronavirus restrictions, home visits by friends are banned, although I would have much preferred to use the term discouraged. With neither of us - my wife and I - having the virus, I would have thought that some friends can visit, even if the number of households is restricted to one, maybe two. Not to worry. Over the coming Christmas period, up to three households are allowed, but only for up to five days, which is between the 23rd and the 27th of December, inclusive.

Yet despite the gloom, our health not being so great, plus a conked out laptop, under social restrictions, the threat of going into Tier 3 isn't far away, despite the promise of a vaccine. With the prospect of not being able to sit at Starbucks over a cup of soothing coffee, let alone enjoying a drink at the pub, the threat of such a forlorn lifestyle isn't that far away. Literally. As less than 25 miles from our hometown, this cloud of gloom looks to be about to settle over Greater London, a phenomenon which threatens the whole national economy and a loss of many jobs. I wonder how many fed-up Londoners are looking ahead with dread? 

And earlier this week, whilst attending a Zoom prayer meeting with a few of my Ascot Life Church friends, I expressed my concerns on quite a different topic. I was praying for a post-Brexit agreement of a deal between our Government and the leaders of the European Union. As I'm writing this, it does look very likely that no agreement will be made, therefore, we could be in for a No-Deal Brexit by the end of the year. For an example of the consequences, I can thank God that I'm not a sheep farmer. With new tariffs to be levied after the end of this transition period, the extra cost in exporting lamb into EU countries could put the farmer out of business. But hey! What difference does one unfortunate individual make? As long as the State becomes sovereign again, be all and end all. Hmm. Can I hear some sound coming form Karl Marx's grave, with both Lenin and Stalin also clapping their hands?

Will Britain become great again after its divorce from the EU? Really, at the end of the day, it's up to God to decide. I can say even further that God already knew of the fate of Britain (and Europe) in the 21st Century even before the world began. Hence God's Omniscience. After all, soon after the Fall, the certain Promise of a Redeemer was made some 4,000 years before Jesus Christ was born. And it was fulfilled at exactly the right time.

Hence the Paradox of Prayer, a title of one of the YouTube videos (with the latest count of 229,092 views) posted by our aforementioned atheist Alex O'Connor. O'Connor was the YouTuber whom I had the privilege to meet in person at Oxford early this year, thus a minor celebrity in his own right (with a present total of 34,895,163 views - and rising.) This Oxford undergrad is reading Theology, and perhaps looking, in my view, to be a future Einstein, this committed vegan has the knack to put omnivores like me to shame.  

Like in another of his videos, O'Connor's argument for veganism is based on the cruelty of animals being slaughtered just for the benefit of our taste. Thus, for raising chicken for the egg industry, all male chicks are gassed alive while female chicks are allowed to live, are fed, and grow in order to lay the eggs as adult females. The only snag with this argument is that in order for some eggs to be fertilised to stabilise the high population level, some male chicks must be spared, but O'Connor does not mention this.

My guilt in consuming milk is enhanced by the atheist when he explains that a newborn calf is forced from its mother, with both suffering distress, in order that the cow's milk, meant by nature for the calf, will instead be for human consumption. Too bad, I, as a milk, meat and egg-consuming Christian and a Creationist, would be labeled a hypocrite for what amounts to an endorsement for the cruel suffering of animals at the abattoir, while at the same time, I acknowledge the existence of a God who was supposed to approve of us eating meat, milk and eggs. 

Thus, his attitude to prayer in his video carries a valid point. If God is an all-knowing, omniscient God who not only knows well in advance what's going to happen in the future, but actually directs everything which does happen, then what is the point of prayer? Here, O'Connor gives two classic examples - prayer for someone who has cancer and prayer for the favourite team to win.

Suppose I prayed desperately for my wife to be healed of cancer (she actually had breast cancer) and there was no treatment offered to cure her of the disease. Therefore, I pray fervently. But God already knew, according to O'Connor, what the final outcome will be, and God will see to have this met. Therefore, if she recovers, it can be said that it was God's will for her to recover and thus, my prayer was considered answered. But she would have still recovered had I not prayed at all, according to the undergraduate. But if she had died, then God had already known this would happen, he allowed it to happen, and my prayer remains unanswered.

Or in the case of a football team. During the 1990 World Cup tournament, I knew a devout English church-going Christian who prayed and fasted for England to win the Cup. However, England was knocked out through a penalty shootout by West Germany in the semi-finals, opening the door for West Germany to lift the trophy against Argentina in the Final by one goal to nil. The prayers and fasting of this Christian remained unanswered, as God already knew who would lift the trophy on that particular occasion, as He already knew from eternity beforehand, according to O'Connor. And unfortunately for that Christian, seven more World Cup tournaments took place without England winning any of them. Indeed, what is the use of prayer?

Alex O'Connor.

It is indeed an unfortunate twist for the meaning of prayer in the Italian language, for the Italian word for prayer is pregare - to beg. Perhaps looked in the same way as that poor widow who begged an unwilling and stubborn godless Judge to grant her justice (Luke 18:1-8) - it does seem that God is reluctant to answer prayer until the begging edges towards hysteria. But here Jesus went on to explain that unlike the unjust Judge, God is quick to answer prayer.

But where I would like Alex O'Connor to consider is the intercessory prayer recorded in the Old Testament book of Daniel. In chapter 9, verses 4-19, he would see the prophet pleading with God for the forgiveness and restoration of Israel, particularly Jerusalem. This was seventy years after Jerusalem was razed to the ground by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar in 586 BC. After King Nebuchadnezzar died, his son Evil-Merodach reigned over Babylonia, followed by his son King Belshazzar, who was defeated around 516 BC by the armies of the two kings, Persian king Cyrus and the Mede king Darius. 

As King Darius took over the throne in Babylon, thus fulfilling seventy years of Exile, Daniel pleaded to God in prayer, acknowledging the greatness and the majesty of God, Israel's rebellion against Him, and the punishment due. He then calls upon God's mercy and for the restoration and the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the nation restored.

But God already knew that in 516 BC, King Darius the Mede would take the throne after seventy years, because through the prophet Jeremiah, he said so before or during the start of the Exile. God also knew that King Cyrus would grant the Jews to return to their homeland, for He had already foretold this through Isaiah around 700 BC (Isaiah 44:28, 45:1) and actually mentioned his name.

Therefore, what was the point of Daniel's intercessory prayer if God knew everything beforehand and willed that everything was fulfilled exactly as He said it would? Was his prayer pointless? Would King Cyrus still set the Jews free if Daniel hadn't prayed? Yes, He would. Such was His plan all along. And timed exactly right.

Was O'Connor right after all? That praying is a waste of time? It certainly looks that way! Yet God the Holy Spirit invited Daniel to pray on that particular day, even by God's own Omniscience, it looked as if deemed unnecessary. But Daniel prayed. He gave his whole heart into his plea. Daniel loved his fellow countrymen, he had a reverence for Jerusalem, already aware that from king Solomon onwards, God has written His own name in that city, and to see it destroyed must have hurt him deeply.

Daniel pleaded for his city and for his people. He loved them dearly. But to add to this, prayer is a privilege, even when it's difficult to pray at times, either due to lacking faith or not knowing what to pray for. As such, I have found that thanksgiving to God for all the good things I have is a good starter.

Furthermore, for all believers in Jesus Christ, God is our Heavenly Father who cares for us. As it's written, Cast all your burdens on Him, for He cares for you - Psalm 55:22,  Matthew 11:28-30, 1 Peter 5:7.

But it's also Science which backs the benefit of prayer, as O'Connor just about worships science. But any psychiatrist, psychologist and other therapists agree that there are benefits in prayer. It's good for mental and spiritual health, and it can also benefit physically. There is something about calling upon God. It isn't a sign of weakness but one of humbleness, acknowledging my helplessness in certain situations and calling upon God for guidance.

Prayer is about thanksgiving, recognising His goodness. And that includes thanking God and interceding on behalf of the NHS, whose skills are excellent in bringing healing against illness and disease. As God had created the brain and its vast complexities, so He had given the ability to learn and gain knowledge which includes the field of medicine. No, Science does not contradict the Bible and faith, rather it supports it, as many of the great thinkers and inventers, such as Raymond Damadian, the Young Earth Creationist who invented the MRI body scanner, a machine which advanced the NHS by leaps and bounds.

Not to mention academics such as the late Henry Morris, another Creationist and hydraulic engineer. Another example, chosen randomly, is Fred Brooks. He was the computer architect and software engineer and a committed Christian who holds the Bible as truth. And there were, and are, many others.

MRI Body Scanning.

Indeed, prayer is simply a good conversation between a man and his God. Put in perspective, prayer is not a ritualistic set of words often used in Catholicism. Rather it's a way of expression of the heart to God, to tell Him what's in my heart. Like O'Connor, I too grew up as a Catholic, and during my early teens, I learned the Lord's Prayer, the Hail Mary and the Act of Contrition by heart, but reciting these was not praying.

Being aware of O'Connor's background, I think I know where he was coming from. Prayer is not a recital. Rather, it's a heart-to-heart talk with God.

Climbing to the Top...

Imagine a pub or bar scenario. Two groups of football supporters sitting side by side. One group support Rovers, and their motif is a striped blue and white scarf. The other are United fans, distinguished by their solid red scarf  - as here in the UK, football, officially known as Association Football, or Soccer for short, is played during the cold Winter months. This particular afternoon, United thrashed Rovers by four goals to one. So a member of the Rovers supporters approach one of the United fans and shaking his hand, congratulates him for being the better team. In turn the winning supporter buys him a drink.

 

Yea, if only.

Rather, opposing soccer fans has been a cause of fierce rivalry over the decades, with a strong Police presence keeping rival fans apart and making sure no violence erupts. Furthermore, at an average football stadium, fans of one team sit on one side of the pitch, the opponents on the other.

 

This is the time within the four-year interval that specific nations of the world are playing qualifying matches for entry into next year's World Cup tournament to be held in Brazil. Earlier in the week, England managed to beat Montenegro in the first of the two playoffs. At this point of writing, they will still have to defeat Poland before a guaranteed entry.

 

England has this habit of defeating rival internationals to qualify, but later, well into the tournament, England gets eliminated during the knockout stages in the selection for the cup final. And that is when I breathe a long sigh of relief!

 

Of course, 1966 will always be a year to remember in English football. This was the year when England defeated Germany at the World Cup final played at Wembley, and the whole nation roared with delight as the golden cup was lifted by the team captain. Afterwards, the open top double-deck bus hardly moved along the streets of London as the road was literally blocked with thousands of cheering supporters. A year later in 1967, the team manager Alf Ramsey, was knighted by the Queen.

Then again, back in 1966, when I was a thirteen year old schoolboy, our national culture was different. Despite being at the peak of the hippie age, men were still men and women were grateful! For example, women back then saw nothing amiss about staying at home as a housewife while the husband went off to work, no matter what occupation he was in, to fulfil his role as breadwinner. I recall, during the school holidays, watching Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men, as the BBC back then broadcast the daily fifteen minute Watch with Mother programmes. The very nature of these shows reflected the housewife and mother staying at home to look after their young children while Dad was at work. I guess the way our brains are wired up, along with genetic makeup, we men are simply not happy unless we are productive in one way or another. I also guess that it had all started when God commissioned Adam to maintain the Garden of Eden and to look after it, giving him his wife Eve to be a help meet for him.

 

It has been said that productivity was the result of the Fall, but the Bible does not indicate this. Instead, God told Adam to take care of the Garden and to keep it, before the Fall. It was only after sin had entered the world that our livelihoods depended on our productivity. Yet, for thousands of years which followed, until relatively recently, productivity had always been a male domain.

 

I recall the moment I made a mention in referral to this while I was a volunteer in Israel, back in 1994. Immediately I was taken the wrong way by a couple of feminist-minded women in the Christian Conference Centre where I lived and worked. It was this that led to my final dismissal by the centre director. They thought I was saying that women were "inferior" to men. I told them straight that I was not implying this. What I said was that men and women have different roles to function and both were equally important. After all, does it look natural for a woman to be lying flat on the floor of a mine tunnel, drilling into the coal face, covered in black soot? Or getting equally dirty sweeping chimneys? These occupations seems okay for men, but for women? Then again, pardon my perception, but does it look really natural for a female to drive heavy articulated trucks with their massive steering wheels? Or even buses? For that matter, bricklaying at a building site? Is there something attractive about a female bodybuilder with rippling muscles and bulging biceps and thighs as hard as tree trunks?

 

Maybe I'm old fashioned and a male chauvinist, but I would never allow my wife near a coal mine, although bricklaying has always been something she would have liked to aspire to. Then again, stacking shelves in a shop or supermarket, or even at a factory production line, I might have given my grudging consent, if our household budget was dangling precariously over the cliff. But working in an office? To tell the truth, in such a case my self esteem might have come under threat, although not ever had this experience, I can only speculate.

 

Yet in domestic window cleaning, I came across situations which opened my eyes to what really goes on behind closed doors. I know of five cases where the husband walked out from his wife and family, three of these the wives were dedicated career women, the other two had found new female companions in the office. Furthermore, I knew of three cases where the wife walked out of her husband and in one case, her two small sons as well, to pursue a career. I had men weep with grief on my shoulders. Sometimes I feel that my occupation involves more than mere cleaning windows. To add to this, I recall a TV documentary in the 1980s on why the UK divorce rate was rising rapidly. This programme involved interviews with one middle aged couple, whose grown-up children had flown the nest. After more than twenty years of marriage, they were separating. The reason for this did not become apparent until near the end of the show, when it was revealed that after their youngest offspring had left home to start a new life, the wife and mother had engaged in night school, and managed to gain some qualifications, maybe even a degree, and she wanted independence from her husband's bread winning role. He was devastated, and they both felt their love for each other dry up. Of all TV programmes, this one is as sharp in my memory as if broadcast only yesterday.

 

Only last week, I was sitting in the sauna with two other mates, one of then a commercial window cleaner at another town. He recalls a conversation among fellow cleaners in an office, where one of them overheard a female say to her colleague:

Ugh! He's just a cleaner!

I was told that several male cleaners were brought to the brink of tears by such attitude they come across frequently. Talking of British class divide, I can fully identify with these guys as I have encountered hostility, mainly from school or college-age daughters of customers who themselves are decent people to work for. From these experiences, to others as well as myself, I tend to believe that there is something intrinsically evil about someone, both male and female, pursuing further education and a career for the sole purpose of climbing to the top. Furthermore, I have read the result of a national survey, that employees of both genders prefer male leaders than female. Photos of a model posing as a female boss bullying a male office worker had also appeared in newspaper articles, enforcing my suspicion.

 

But am I being a male chauvinist? Not really. The Bible gives some examples of the lives of godly women, four comes into mind straight away. They were Rahab, Ruth, Hannah and Elizabeth. Reading the lives of these four, all were submissive to their husbands, with even Sarah, who ordered her husband Abraham to rid the house of Hagar and her son Ishmael, submitting to him, referring to him as a lord (1 Peter 3:6).

 

One of the loveliest praises offered to God were from two women, whose praise were very similar to each other - Hannah mother of Samuel, and Mary mother of Jesus. I quote here the praise offered by Mary in Elizabeth's presence, as quoted by Luke 1:46-55:

 

My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoice in God my Saviour, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.

From now on, all generations shall call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me - holy is his name.

His mercy extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation.

He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inward thoughts.

He has brought rulers from their thrones but lifted up the humble.

He has filled the hungry with good things but he has sent the rich away empty.

He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and to his descendants forever, even as he said to our fathers.

 

If you read 1 Samuel 2:1-11, here Hannah goes into greater detail in her praise to God, but essentially her prayer was the same as Mary's. These women show the virtue in having faith in God and to lead holy lives.

Men and women have different roles, but neither one is greater than the other. But pressing for supremacy, I think, is evil. That is the reason why I feel relief whenever England is eliminated during the knockout stage of a tournament, or any competition. If England wins the cup in Brazil next year, the national and imperial atmosphere of pride across the nation will be almost unbearable. Oh, for the nation to collectively humble itself before God in contrition, and to put its faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour. Not only would there be a dramatic change in culture, but this alone would make our nation really great.