A Trip to a Museum Has Shaken Me.

One of the benefits of retirement is that I can use public transport midweek, where on the trains, I can be assured of a full service without worrying about weekend engineering works on the line and the dreadful replacement buses slowing the journey down to a crawl. And so, a trip to London on the eve of the Queen's 70-year Jubilee extended Bank Holiday proved to be a worthwhile experience.

And indeed, I should be thankful. Very thankful! As I buy a Travelcard ticket from a machine and pass through the barriers onto the station platform, at the same time, there were hundreds, probably thousands, of passengers waiting to board an aeroplane, being told by a police officer that their holiday to the sunshine Mediterranean coast is cancelled. All due to staff shortages after shedding thousands of jobs due to the recent Coronavirus pandemic.

And so, I eventually arrive at the gates of the British Museum, located in the well-to-do Bloomsbury District of Central London. As I hesitated, a marshall called me over and asked for my small backpack to be checked. Thinking that I was unlucky enough to be randomly selected as if I looked to be a potential terrorist, I submitted the bag to his inspection. Satisfied that I won't blow the museum up to Kingdom come, he directed me straight to the main entrance without any further ado. It was at that moment that I realised that I was bypassing a queue leading up to the main airport-style security station, an apparently recently-erected separate edifice up to a hundred metres away from the outer gate.

British Museum, London. The main entrance.

Oh, what a shame to have such tight security checks just to visit a museum. As I recall previous visits to this venue over the last forty years or so, where anyone can just walk up to the main entrance without any bag checks, I see parents carrying their newborns and young children. Indeed, the coming generation will grow up to believe that security checks at public buildings were always the norm and think little or nothing of it. It's people of my age who sigh over the decrease in social trust.

In one of the ground floor galleries, a crowd had gathered around a large glass cubicle, their cameras, mobile phones and tablets snapping away as each took pictures of the Rosetta Stone housed inside the casing. And I sigh over this as well. I recall around 40 years ago when this particular exhibit was housed in one of the upstairs galleries. Erected on a metal stand, it was approachable to the point of touch. Back then, I recall a small group of uniformed schoolboys running up with the loud, excited exclamation, Wow! The Rosetta Stone! Indeed, those boys must have attended a good school, as I never heard of this ancient artefact until well into adulthood.

But why the need to house this massive slab of stone inside a glass casing remains a bit of a mystery. Maybe, with the constant touching, there was a threat of the writing carved into the surface suffering slow erosion, as if from a lead pencil on paper. Rather, the rock on which the writing is carved is a granodiorite stone, a hard intrusive material of igneous origin and related to granite. Not the type of exhibit in danger of crumbling into powder such as chalk, sandstone, or clay would. Yet, with Egyptian, Demotic and Ancient Greek scripts all telling the same tale of the Egyptian King Ptolomy, the Rosetta Stone became the key source for graphologists to learn how to decipher the Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Or maybe housing the stone in a glass cubicle protects it from possible theft. But I still find it difficult to imagine an opportunist burglar snatching the stone from its place in the middle of the night and then making off with it, a slab around a metre in size and weighing a ton, stuffed into his duffle bag slung across his shoulder before making his escape! 

With ancient Egypt already on my mind, I made my way upstairs to the Egyptian Gallery. Here is a display of coffins which housed Egyptian mummies, along with some mummies themselves. They too were all in glass cases, but this time for a proper reason. Unless kept under special atmospheric conditions, the linen wrapped around the bodies of the deceased would quickly gather mould whilst on their highway to disintegration and ending up as a mere pile of dust.

Indeed, I always had a fascination with morbidity. For example, I once stood alone in the Catecombe dei Cappuccini in the underground crypt of a church in Palermo. Although open to the public, I visited during the off-season, when there weren't any other tourists about. The whole place was silent except for a constant flapping of a metal trapdoor attached to an air vent, giving the catacomb an extra feeling of creepiness as the rows of long-dead faces stared down at any passing visitor. Then not to mention the subterranean Catacombes of Paris, where I walked alone through a corridor lined with countless femur bones and skulls. Oh, the joys of an independent vacationer!

Therefore, I was drawn to the Egyptian gallery of the afterlife. Among the coffins and mummies, both humans and animals, there was one of a well-preserved body of a "strong young man" - according to the commentary panel attached to the glass case enclosing the corpse. According to the archaeologists, the body, complete with internal organs and leathered skin, was estimated as 5,000 years old. Sounds amazing. But as a Bible scholar, I knew that this young man couldn't be as old as five millennia. Or else, he lived around 600 years before the Noachian Deluge! If, on the other hand, he lived about the time of Abraham, around 2,000 BC, then this dating would be entirely plausible. 

The exhibit of the deceased ancient Egyptian.

Like the Rosetta Stone downstairs, this exhibit attracted a larger crowd than all the surrounding magnificent artwork of ancestry. But, as I approached it, a feeling of sadness came over me. Although I question the dating of this young man, yet, the panel still dispensed a lot of useful information about this unnamed individual.

When the body was first discovered buried and preserved in dry sand, they also discovered a stab wound just below his left shoulder, and since there was no sign of healing, it was assumed that the stab wound led to his death. This sort of situation can certainly be verified medically. If true, then all sorts of questions are asked in my mind. Who was he? Did he provoke an argument leading to violence and received what he deserved? Or was he an innocent victim of a vicious perpetrator? Or did he die in battle? Was he a slave who, with or without deliberate intention, displeased his master? Or a victim of a fierce rivalry or jealousy? Although we now know that he suffered a violent death, if only he would speak, to tell me about his life and how he came to this. And to hear him confess his involvement in a fight or plead his innocence as a victim of hate.

Eventually, the crowd dispersed for a moment or two, and I was alone with him. It was then I crouched down to his level and spoke gentle, soft words to him, the wanting to comfort, to give him hope and assurance. If you think that I'm a little bit insane or addle-headed to be talking to a dead person, so be it. What I expressed was in my heart.

The feeling I had was sadness, a longing to know him, who he was, although there were indications of being fit, strong and healthy and good looking, I also pondered on how he would have felt in my presence. Would he have jelled to me as a potential new friend? Or take an instant dislike, perhaps thinking of me as a threat to his ego or wellbeing, a possible sexual pervert, or just wanting something? Or would he see me as one of those religious hypocrites who make sanctimonious acts to hide a greedy, insincere or even a lecherous heart?

He lived during Old Testament times when reconciliation to God through the Atonement made by Jesus Christ hadn't yet taken place, thus leaving him to prop up his hope on Ra and other ancient gods in a vain hope to receive their favours. Or like in modern times, he might have been so deluded by the hypocrisy of all Egyptian priests and clerics that he eventually led a life of atheism. 

Such questions will remain unanswered for the rest of my life. In an overall question, I ask:

Had this individual been alive now, or had I lived in his day, would we be good friends?

I would also ponder whether had he been alive during New Testament times or even today, how would he feel about Jesus Christ? Had he been positive about God, then wouldn't it be fair that he's now lost for all eternity just because he was born at the "wrong" time in history? Or, by having faith in the true God, would he have been another Abraham, Moses, or Job?

And so, as I crouch in front of the glass panel encasing this unnamed individual, I think back to the time when he was born, a newborn held in his mother's arms and suckling on her breast. I imagine him growing up and playing the Egyptian equivalent of street football or cricket with his young friends. Then going to school, maybe preparing for university or even called up to serve in the forces. Or he might have been born as a slave, a property of little worth and later disposed of by his unkind master, or even by another slave. And so, the list of possibilities goes on.

I value friendship greatly. Living in a fallen, sinful world brings many sorrows, but having friends that would lead to brotherly love through faith in Christ brings endless benefits. As surveys and polls suggest that a married man is more settled in himself than a singleton, and his own self-esteem rises with the knowledge of his wife's love for him and her devotion. Also, I have seen that a single man also benefits from a devoted friend or group of friends. Maybe that was why Jesus had not only set up his church, but he had to lay down his life for it to redeem his people, and then refer to them as his bride. God's love for the Church is strong and with intense devotion.

Therefore, having recently lost a very good friend of several years due to my own sinful emotions and doings, not only do I look upon this poor deceased individual on display in the museum, but I also reflect on my own shortcomings, admitting my sinful nature and acknowledging my desperate need for salvation through faith in the atonement made by the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, this condemned Jew two millennia ago, but his love and forgiveness are equally effective now. No, I don't need to be reminded of my own shortcomings. I am already aware of them. What I do need is love and forgiveness from God, his imputed righteousness, and reparation of our broken friendship that only God can bring about - if we let him. 

A Wonderful Miracle...

A rancher named Joshua lived in the Australian outback. Being also a naturalist, he was fascinated by the presence of a termite colony not far outside his territory. Many a time he stood near it to watch the activity taking place there, impressed with the tall tower they had managed to build.

Then one day he receives a letter announcing the construction of a road which will pass along outside his ranch boundary, thus adding an extra link between two principal cities. Joshua was alarmed by the contents of the letter, for he knew that the termite colony was going to be right in the middle of the bulldozer's path.

So he tried to communicate with the termites, warning them of the impending doom of the colony as the bulldozer approached, and pleading with them to abandon their present structure and relocate to within his ranch where they would all be safe. But without any success, for the man was unable to speak the language of the termite. Furthermore, each bug was way too busy in its part in the running and the maintenance of the tower in which the insects lived and worked - even to be aware of the man's existence.

Therefore there was only one thing for Joshua to do: Become a termite himself.

Incarnated into one of the many eggs laid by the queen, this termite larva still had all the mental, emotional and will of Joshua the human. For even within this new tiny body, his soul and spirit were still altogether human, with all knowledge and memories intact. As the other termites carried out their instinctive duty and fed the larva, as with all the thousands of other youngsters, the larva eventually pupated and then later, emerged as a full adult male termite, identifying himself with all the other male soldiers, whose job was to protect the colony from invading predators while all the females carried on as workers.

With a level of despair and able to communicate in their language, Joshua the termite began to warn the entire colony of its impending doom. He then pleaded with them that if they believed and followed him, Joshua would lead them to a safe place within his own everlasting domain, and there, a new colony can be established, safe in Joshua's ranch, for this present colony will meet its end very soon.

With around twenty thousand termites making up the colony, over six thousand of them believed and were willing to follow Joshua, including the queen herself. But the rest didn't like Joshua at all. How dare he tells them to abandon the tower which took a great many years to build and constantly maintain! And no, they will not abandon their home to relocate elsewhere.

Yet, word of Josua's warning spread fast throughout the entire colony. The queen herself was alarmed but believed, and she then recommended Joshua's exhortation for a mass evacuation. But as the believing termites were getting ready to evacuate, a group of soldiers purposely killed the leading termite, Joshua. Thus Joshua rose from the dead to become a fully-grown man again, fully human and owner of the ranch. He then watched the huge queen being carried on the backs of believing workers and soldiers alike as they all evacuated the present tower to relocate within Joshua's ranch.

It wasn't long before the bulldozer appeared and in due time, the entire mound was uprooted, killing all the remaining termites, including all the larvae.

A nice story perhaps, but again, just a story, the kind read during children's bedtime. 

Or is it. Could it actually be a re-telling of history?

While we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly -Romans 5:6.

While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. -Romans 5:8.

Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners... 1 Timothy 1:15.

Christ Jesus, truly God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, through the incarnation of a fertilised ovum within the womb of a Jewish female named Mary, a wonderful miraculous phenomenon known by theologians as the hypostatic union, God became man and dwelt among us, fully God, fully human. He came to rescue us from our present state of sin and death and to give eternal life to everyone who believes.

It's glorious, so glorious to God!

When a sinner believes, not only all his sins are forgiven, past present and future, but the righteousness of Christ is imputed into his account, therefore equally loved by God the Father as His own Son. And thus we become sons of God, forever into his family.

Termite queen and workers.

And as I write this, a dark cloud hangs over the land. The thought of another national lockdown is looming. Indeed, it was already predicted that this coming winter will be dire, a gloomy season when there is a possibility of the Police to break into someone's house on Christmas Day if suspected of having more than six people within. Or even just one other person from another household. It all depends on the severity of the restrictions.

If this lockdown is still ongoing by Christmas, then nobody will be able to attend church to thank God for the birth of Jesus Christ. On the other hand, maybe this could be a time of sobriety, reflecting on the birth of Christ, his ministry, death, burial and resurrection. As I was pondering early this morning whilst I was still in bed, when the announcement over the radio of another lockdown is about to hit this nation, at first I felt dumbstruck. Then I thought, well at least this will not be as bad as warfare. With Armistice Day coming up, followed by Remembrance Sunday, I thought about those fighting in the trenches during the Great War, for King and Country, kneeling in the ditch in freezing cold weather as the enemy's bullets whistles past.

It is sobering to think. I can imagine many a young soldier fighting in the trenches on Christmas Day while imagining those childhood days of church attendance, then the cosy home with a Christmas tree, cheap presents, and a sumptuous dinner with relatives, maybe friends too, all sitting around the table with a cheerful, cigar-pungent air and a crackly coal fire ablaze - all fading into a distant memory as the bullets whizz through the freezingly cold wind.

Among these fighters, others are kneeling alongside, longing for the embrace of their mothers or the cuddles of their wives and girlfriends they had left behind. Others have left their pregnant wives behind with the realisation that they may never return to see their unborn child or their children growing up.

Yet we are running scared over a virus which is fatal to only 0.2% of all who gets it, according to an article in the Daily Mail written by Dr Mike Yeadon and supported by other scientists, including top epidemiologists and pathologists who also happen to have enough common sense not to support any further lockdowns.

As my good friend Dr Andrew Milnthorpe wrote recently on Facebook, this fear, this hysteria can and does, reveal who are the "Chocolate Christians" who melt when the heat is turned up, like in August this year at an alfresco Bible study group when I tried to find a place to sit at a widely-spaced circle consisting of just eight people. The resulting commotion and lost tempers caused quite a scene, despite that the chance of picking up the virus over more than two metres apart in the open air is practically zero.

And so our beloved country is split into two groups, the larger group (75% give or take) fearing an economic catastrophe a full lockdown can bring, including businesses going bankrupt, job loss, rising unemployment and poverty, many non-Covid patients failing to have their illnesses diagnosed (eg, cancer, heart failure etc) or the rise in mental illnesses, against the remaining 25% who fears the virus itself, thus the latter group supporting a full lockdown (source: Daily Mail Newspaper, October 31st 2020, p.5.)

And then, as I have already written about before - if ever there is an opportunity to fall on the mercy of God, then this is an opportunity if, and when the dark cloud of a national lockdown darkens the sky over us. As it is written, God will accept anyone who comes to him (Acts 10:34) regardless of which nation he was born in. But I tend to think we're just like those termites, running to and fro in our community, with practically no idea of God's existence, and since He has already incarnated into a man some two millennia previously, he may need for a second appearance.

But all I need to do is delve into the media, whichever form it takes - books, newspapers, television, internet - and this hostility towards God is not unlike the hostility shown to Joshua by the unbelieving termites. Just as Joshua the termite was rejected by his own species, so the man Christ Jesus was rejected in the same way by his own countrymen. But with God, he is very patient, and it's not his will that anyone should perish but all should come to repentance. I guess Joshua the termite had the same motivation - powered by immense love.

Although I don't say this much on this page, this time I will - God loves you. God loves me. I know this cannot be so easily reconciled with the realities of life, especially by atheists who have a good knowledge of the Bible. Yes, God loves them too. Even when the atheist ponders why wearing two different types of garments is wrong, along with planting two different crops in a field (Leviticus 19:19) or why is clipping the side of the beard so bad (Leviticus 19:27) or to have a tattoo (v. 28) or why it's so bad (from an atheist's point of view) for two men who love each other to sleep together? (Leviticus 20:13.) Again, according to the atheist's point of view, why does Jesus himself encourage hatred of parents and siblings, hatred of his own wife and children to qualify to be His disciple? (Luke 14:26.) But the biggest cruncher of all is found in 1 Samuel 15:1-3. This is where God, through Samuel, commands King Saul to slay all the Amalekites - men women, children and infants, as well as all their livestock, for something they did several hundred years earlier when none of that generation was even born.

Therefore an atheist who hates all organised religion comes up to me and show me all those Scriptures (and more) and asks me to persuade him to believe that God is love and He loves him dearly. Hmm. I might not get very far.

But in reality, God does love us. He loves us immensely, yearning for all to be reconciled to Him. And the one demonstration of his love is of His Son crucified, the Second Person of the Trinity hanging there on the cross, experiencing excruciating pain as well as receiving cruel mockery from his enemies as they surround Him. All this so we can live and not die.

An Astonishing Contrast?

Put two men together and anything can happen, whether in the world of politics, sport, comedy, starting and running a business or even on theological issues. Comedy? Much of that form of entertainment have thrived on just putting two men together in front of the camera. Steptoe and Son, Morecambe and Wise, Only Fools and Horses, even Till Death Us Do Part (rivalry between father and son-in-law). Talking about Steptoe and Son, based on an elderly widowed father, owner of a rag-and-bone business which was prevalent in the early half of the 20th Century, with his only son who remains unmarried well into adulthood. 

In one episode, Albert Steptoe, the father, had to mind his manners when his son Harold had a new luxury double bed installed in readiness to bring home his girlfriend, to whom he was trying hard to keep up a good impression. However, this bed was unique. Instead of the normal springs with straw, hair or cotton filling, Harold's brand-new mattress is the new-fangled type which is filled with water. During the son's absence and in an act of clumsiness, the father accidentally stabs the mattress with a dagger, creating a surface pool. Frantically, he attempts to patch up the damage and ensures that the water bed was well made and ready for use before the son returns home.

Of course, later that night as expected, there was pandemonium as soon as the couple got into bed! The patch was unable to hold the water in, and the combined weight of the two bodies upon the water pressure causes a fountain or geyser to erupt from the gash under the bedclothes. No doubt, the maiden was unimpressed as the raging son ended up chasing his father out of the house.

Harold Steptoe and his Dad, Albert, 1960s Comedy Hit.

It's little wonder that British comedy remains unrivalled as it's exported to be broadcast worldwide. But even with this, imagine another two men elsewhere, each in their own homes, who both have watched the same show on television. One roars with laughter, while the other thanks God for allowing the sin of fornication to be averted, even in a funny way, but still frowns over the son's lack of respect in not giving proper honour to his father. For the latter viewer, the fact that father and son were roles both played by Wilfred Brambell and Harry Corbett respectively after a long series of takes and retakes under a signed contract, yet still fail to wash. Let's face it, I for one would feel far more comfortable in the presence of the first viewer rather than with the second one. Indeed, both viewers watched the same comedy, yet each went away with a different and contrasting perspective.

And I write this after two rather contrasting sermons, yet on the same theme, both occurring only last Sunday. Amazing enough, both preachers bore the name Simon, who I will call Simon A and Simon B. And I must emphasise here, both spoke the truth from the Bible. Both were right in what they had to say, but my emotional reaction to each one was different.

It was one of those rare Sundays when Storm Ciara hit the UK and the galeforce winds and driving rain kept me at home, deterred from the weekly four-mile cycle ride from home to church, and another same-distance ride back home. Therefore, instead, I listened to the recorded video of the preach by Simon A - twice. His text was taken from Romans 9, especially from verse 15:

I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.

Is this unfair? Does God prefer some people above others? Does God love some people but not others? Indeed, how does God feel about me? Does he even love another Christian more than he loves me? Surely, I know better than to ask such questions after nearly fifty years of Bible study! Then Simon A gives the analogy from Genesis which concerns the family of Isaac, Abraham's son. This fellow himself had two sons, twins actually. The firstborn was Esau, and Jacob was born soon afterwards. Yet, even before their births, God himself assured their mother, Rebekah, that the older will serve the younger. Jacob was the son of the Promise rather than his older brother.

Then this verse:

Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated. Romans 9:13.

Did God really hate Esau? How would a newly-converted Christian take to this? Or an interested inquirer? God actually hating Esau? And how would this go down with readers who are new to the Bible? My own experience bears this out. When I was a newly-converted Christian back in 1974, in church, I sat next to another young fellow who was greatly distressed by this verse, and he cried out for me to help him. With my knowledge of Scripture still in its fledgeling stage, I tried to explain what I thought, (over 46 years, I can't remember what I actually said to him) and he came around, feeling greatly relieved. He finally realised that God indeed loves him dearly.

The quote which Paul used in Romans was taken from Malachi 1:2-3, which is the last book of the Old Testament. Going by verse three, it becomes obvious that the quote was referring to Esau's descendants, the nation of Edom. Also, in the shortest book of the Old Testament, Obadiah, God's displeasure in Edom is well explained. This nation gloated over the fate of Israel and Judah as they were taken into captivity, and rejoiced over their demise, while they, the Edomites, held their heads up in pride. Yet God must have still loved them, after all, they're still people made in His own image.

A Crowd at a Concert. Does God love them all?

This is demonstrated by a rather obscure yet wonderful promise that Edom, along with her sister-nations Moab and Ammon, will be delivered from all oppression towards the end of history, according to Daniel 11:41. Since all this is still future from today's time frame, descendants from these three nations must have existed alongside us right up to this day and will continue to exist. This is far from the hatred by God enforced by national annihilation. Rather, Christ died for them too.

Simon A admits that this election process looks to be so unfair, with smacks of hyper-Calvinism. Although true Biblically, I still cannot deny that throughout the day I felt ill-at-ease. God choosing who to save, allowing the rest to remain in rebellion against him as they all rush towards a lost eternity. When I consider all the Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, along with all cult members - Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons, etc, along with many nominal Roman Catholics, non-committed Anglicans, etc, not to say agnostics, atheists, and so on and on, families with small children, the victims of Third World war and starvation, little children dying of illness in their mother's arms - this idea of Elective Salvation, which is the main feature of Hyper-Calvinism, without the other side of the issue, just does not sit well with me.

It's indeed easy to say that we're all sinners and therefore God's Elect is in itself an act of mercy. Yes, that is true. We all fall short of the glory of God and there is no one alive who has never sinned, for without his grace we all stand condemned. But to translate this to day-to-day living is, well, not quite so easy! Especially in consideration of all the staff working in the NHS, who has, out of compassion, have made great efforts in preserving our lives as husband and wife, Alex's from breast cancer which otherwise would have been fatal, and me from a possible fatal cardiac failure.

Instead, I watch a Muslim youth die of illness or shot dead in battle, or a Hindu infant die of malnutrition whilst in the arms of his weeping mother, and at the same time watch a well-educated, middle-class English Christian pursue his career with astonishing success while raising his family to the point when their children, who are also Christians, reach college age. Not to mention a nice house and garden and a front driveway on which two, maybe three, cars remain parked, itself a symbol of prosperity.

A group of Christian students from a nearby university pose together for Facebook dressed in dinner jackets, tails and bow ties, whilst down the road, a member of a drug gang is fatally stabbed. Even within the church, any church, a graduate will always be the preferred one to preach from the front, although indeed, there are exceptions now and again. One Christian man prays for England to win the World Cup while an unbeliever languishes in jail, contemplating suicide.

Elective salvation. It looks to me living here in England that God has a preference for middle-class, well-educated candidates.

Thank goodness that's not true at all!

Because there is the other side to elective salvation argument, the truth that the light of Jesus Christ shining into the heart of everyone born into the world, according to John 1:4, 9. Paul endorses this truth by insisting that although these unbelievers knew God, they did not glorify him nor give him thanks, because they continue to push away the truth despite that his existence is revealed through his entire creation, thus with everything he has made, the light of his existence still reside in the unbeliever's heart, Romans 1:18-23.

Thus, the other side of Simon A's argument is that salvation is open to everybody. Thus he is patient, not willing for anyone to perish but for all to come to repentance, because God now calls all men everywhere to repent, that is to change their minds concerning Jesus of Nazareth being the Christ, as demonstrated by rising physically from the dead.

And so, after not turning up at Ascot Life Church because of the storm, I message my friend Andrew Milnthorpe to ask him whether he'll be at the Kerith Community Church that evening, so I can join him in worship and listen to what Simon B has to say in his preach.

His theme was about God's love amid failure. He reminds us that everyone experience failure in one way or another, but the reality of God's love shining like the sun on a clear day is just the tonic needed to get through the peaks and troughs of life. This got me thinking of the medics who has treated both of us and their commitment to keeping the treatment ongoing. The revealing of God's love, yes even to them, as God so loved the world, not just his elect.

It's the universal love of God which motivates me to give towards those in need whenever I feel it's right, to have hope when the chips are down, for my beloved to attend radiotherapy sessions twenty miles away every day for three weeks. It's the universal love of God for all men which makes the world much brighter, less judgemental, less hostile despite the present political upheaval here in the UK and elsewhere. Faith, Love and Hope is in a way a trinity of lovers, each of the three virtues walking arm-in-arm, blessing the good in this fallen world and a reflection of God's character.

Kerith Community Church, Bracknell.

Simon B's preach is the answer to Simon A's sermon that same morning. It does not contradict each other, rather they are complementary. While the first, although true, got me to do some thinking, the second was needed, and it came just at the right time, to put everything in proper perspective. I left the Kerith Centre edified and in a better mood.

As for Albert and Harold Steptoe, indeed, one has a choice - either to judge their sinful behaviour, especially in bringing a girlfriend in for the night, or recognise all this as acting by paid actors who signed a contract with the broadcasters to make us laugh.

Two Decades, Looking Back...

As I get older, time seems to fly. Especially after retirement from 47 years at a full-paid job, the last 35 years being self-employed. But since this is the final blog of not only the year 2019 but the whole of the 2010s, here I would like to look back at the enormous changes over the last twenty years which enabled us to strengthen our marriage bond and to feel the privilege to take on a new responsibility as a carer, something I had never anticipated during my earlier years of both bachelorhood or married life alike.

2010 began not long after our 10th anniversary. During those days making up the first three years of the 2010s decade, Alex began to suffer from periodic back trouble every day. This I believe, was a psychosomatic throwback of both mental and emotional stresses we both suffered towards the latter end of 2004 and much of 2005, the sort of traumas which could have ended our marriage, but for remembering the wedding vows made before both God and the congregation in 1999, with God's help, I was determined to make our marriage not only stable but strong and robust. And Alex had no intention of separating, either, even though she was advised to do so by Social Services!

But it was also the time of fulfilled dreams. So highly valued were our wedding anniversaries that we made something of them. These included trips abroad as well as within the UK. Overseas destinations within this decade included Kos, Malta, and Paris (twice). This reflects the restrictions our health has recently imposed on us, as within the previous decade, the 2000s, our anniversary trips together included Israel, Rhodes, and Sicily, together with non-anniversary trips such as to Lanzarote during midwinter of 2006. 

And not to rule out our overnight train trip to Inverness from London Euston during the Summer of 2005, a trip deemed very necessarily after what we've been through, and which included hiring two bicycles, one for each of us, to ride the 18-mile 29 km of the northwest coast of Loch Ness to Urquhart Castle, located midway along the Loch. After spending a couple of hours at the lakeside ruin, we then cycled back to Inverness, making a total trip of 36 miles done in a day. Although to my standard, this is quite a moderate distance (I was able to cover up to a hundred miles 162 km in a day on a lightweight bicycle.) For Alex, this was quite an achievement, even surprising the cycle shop owners from where we hired the bikes, who believed that such a trip couldn't be covered in just a day. 

Urquhart Castle, Scotland.

This is a reflection of my beloved's health during those early years of our marriage. Also, she was able to out-run me easily, her lithe physique enabled her to perform fast sprints whenever necessary. 

It goes to show that the 2010s was a decade of massive change and a time for my faith in God to pass through the fire of testing. During the Summer of 2013, we packed our rucksacks for a camping trip to the Dorset resort of Swanage, the gateway town for the Jurassic Coastline with its coastal hiking trail. Alex loved camping and the Great Outdoors. I preferred hosteling, however, the very thought of sleeping in a shared dormitory with other females was anathema to her! So we camped at a site just outside the resort, after a sailing trip from Bournemouth Pier, where the view of Old Harry Rocks, the Foreland and the chalk cliffs of Ballard Down, all viewed from the sea, resulting in an unforgettable experience.

After several nights spent under canvas, the day we were to return home, the weather deteriorated, with gales and rainfall compelling us not to sail back to Bournemouth but instead to take the bus. It was a bad decision. The shaking of the vehicle over rough ground had destabilised her spine, causing a severe pain which immobilised her. She literally struggled to board the train at Bournemouth, and once back home, it took just two more days for her to lay on the floor completely immobilised, a paralysis which rendered both her legs immovable, although not her arms. We called our GP to come on a home visit. At first, he refused. So I had to persuade him over the phone to come and see for himself. Eventually, he agreed to come over. He took just one look at her lying there on the lounge floor and immediately called for the ambulance. With a GP's consultancy, she was admitted to Royal Berks Hospital in Reading, a twenty-minute train journey away from home. There she would stay as an inpatient for up to four months leading to December 2013.

I visited her every single day, including the two weeks she was at John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. It was here, by her bedside, where we spent our 14th Wedding Anniversary while she lay semi-conscious. It was devastating. We were meant to have celebrated our 14th in Crete, where several months earlier I had booked and paid the full price - airfare and hotel - to spend a week there. To cancel, then to imagine some other couple taking our place on a cheap, last-minute deal was very unsettling.

She made a recovery to a certain extent but never enough to regain her full mobility. After discharge, it was the wheelchair whenever she was out of doors. The wheelchair was not supplied by the NHS, rather, I bought it myself for her. Later, for her to enjoy greater independence, I bought her a mobility scooter and a shed to house it in. Paul, a good friend of mine in the church, and I took a full day to erect it.

Ballard Down chalk cliff and Old Harry, taken 2017.

However, just a following year, in the Summer of 2014, I began to find breathing at night difficult along with a sense of fluid in my lungs. Alex persuaded me to visit our GP, who immediately sent for my chest to be X-rayed. It came back with a result. My heart was enlarged and not pumping properly. Therefore followed trips to a couple of hospitals until I was diagnosed with a regurgitating aortic valve, and therefore in need of a major heart operation. And so in February 2015, I was admitted to Harefield Hospital in Uxbridge for open-heart surgery. After this and following further tests, I was put on Warfarin for life along with other drugs. Visits for post-surgery hospital check-ups every few months has become a regular schedule right up to the present.

Unfortunately, the 2010s did not bring full harmony with my relationship with Ascot Life Church, my spiritual home. Among the congregation, there is just one man in particular who has a thorough dislike for me, simply for my love of hugging other people in the church, mostly men. Shortly after discharge from Harefield Hospital, a dispute with an Elder, in connection with this man, during Spring of 2015 opened the door for a sabbatical, that is, to take three months off from church commitment to visit twelve other churches, a different one for each Sunday.

But after my return to Ascot, I couldn't help feel the poison in the air whenever this man is present with us. This has been ongoing until very recently when he suddenly stopped attending. At least for now. But every week, right up to the present, I always expect him to turn up unannounced, and I look around with dreadful anticipation.

This man's perception of God is of a truculent Deity who is usually dissatisfied with how some Christians relate to such a fickle-minded divinity. Not surprising at all, come to think of it, that this fellow sees the truth of imputed righteousness of Christ credited to the believer's soul, which leads to eternal security - to be heretical, a dangerous heresy. He also has very low self-esteem and carries an unhealthy preference for graduates, especially those who are married and hold down a professional career. Therefore I wasn't at all surprised for him to turn up to hear a preach delivered by one married graduate at an evening service during the early Summer of 2018.

His discourse was about the first chapter of Genesis which he believes to be on the same authoritative level as the Enuma Elish, an ancient Babylonian document about how the Creation of the heavens and the earth, with all its life, was from a dispute among warring gods. This reminded me of another ancient document, the Gilgamesh Epic, which most secularists place as the true source of the tale of Noah's Flood, above the authority of Genesis. Afterwards, I asked him directly whether he believes the Genesis record is history. He denied it, insisting that Science holds the reins of truth instead, hence questioning the reliability of the Bible to a congregation of listeners.

Yet despite these setbacks, I always had a passionate love for Ascot Life Church, my spiritual home. But to seek relief from the presence of this aforementioned man, God has allowed a beautiful friendship to develop between Dr Andrew Milnthorpe and myself. It actually took off in the Autumn of 2016, when I invited him to attend a conference in Central London which was held by Creation Ministries International. This two-day conference, which involved a night stayed at the Premier Inn Hotel near Waterloo Station, has opened the door for a relationship with someone with an IQ much higher than the foe at Ascot, despite the latter's adoration for the well-educated.

Within the last two years, Andrew has invited me to Encounter, a midweek lunchtime meeting held at the Kerith Centre, with, of course, a self-serve buffet included. Held only during the school term, I only went to it whenever Andrew was allowed the day off, or even the afternoon off, from work, which tends to be sporadic, hence, an invitation to come along can come at very short notice. A development from there is the swim and sauna immediately after the closing of the meeting, as well as day trips to London to visit a museum.

Another reason why 2019 was remarkable. This year was the diagnosis of Alex having breast cancer. Discovered by a Consultant at Frimley Park Hospital back in April 2019, it didn't take long for her to have her affected breast removed, followed by a course of chemotherapy, which was the cause of her hair loss. With this, I'm very, very grateful for the NHS! This after realising what my friend Paul had said to me, that had we lived a century earlier, there would have been nothing the physicians could do. Instead, I would have watched my beloved suffer in pain as her cancer worsened and to die a premature death. I went home that day almost in tears, and grateful to God for allowing us to live in the present when scientific expertise had literally saved my wife's life.

2019 consisted of trips, back and forth, back and forth, to Frimley Park Hospital. This includes the three days she stayed in after her operation. But this also includes the eleven days she had to remain, a few weeks later, after an ambulance pick up from our home to the A&E department. This was due to the discovery of her low white cell count due to her chemotherapy, and the development of feverishness, which if left untreated, could have led to sepsis.

Oh, the days of loneliness as I spent the nights and mornings in an otherwise empty house, save for the goldfish. But the level of comfort gotten from the aquatic organism was practically zero. I wanted my beloved wife to be with me. Back and forth to Frimley Park Hospital by several means. One was by taxi, another by train, other times I actually cycled the 8.5 miles 13.8 km from my house to the hospital and back. But at other times, I can only thank those at our church who was willing to give us a lift, as well as the regular three-week journeys in my father-in-law's car.

Dr Andrew Milnthorpe, a good friend from 2016 - present.

The 2010s decade has changed my life in many ways, from the carefree, travel-loving husband of the late 2000s decade to the responsible carer of the present. This has given Alex tons of loving assurance, especially after the loss of her hair, and my trust in God's faithfulness has grown and matured. And also learning never to take anything for granted but to realise that each day we spend together is a strong, robust marriage is in itself a wonderful gift from God.

Atoms: One Very Creepy Truth...

If statistics can be believed and relied on, then what I have read in a Creation Ministries International article, submitted to my Facebook wall by my good friend Dr Andrew Milnthorpe, looks to be very creepy indeed! The article is about how we are essentially made of atoms. I know that this is a typical school classroom stuff every student should be familiar with before leaving school. But considering what we are really made of, I think it's a good idea just giving it another thought here.

Indeed, I have written about the atom before on this blogger page.* But I still feel it's good to add a refresher from time to time, plus some astonishing scientific facts which I don't think I have mentioned before. It's either exciting - or it's rather creepy. And I emphasize the word scientific, as this is now held by most around me as the yardstick against all faith either standing or falling - with just about all of faith, especially Biblical faith, falling into mere myth in the eyes of science.

I have always been familiar with the atom as a miniature Solar System-like particle consisting of a nucleus with electrons whizzing around it as tiny orbits. That how I have always perceived it to look like. But according to the article, the electrons are no longer seen as tiny planets orbiting the nucleus. Rather, they are more like a cloud surrounding the nucleus.

Since the atom varies considerably in complexity, the article chose the simplest of all, the hydrogen atom. It consists of just one proton and one electron spinning around it. But what intrigues me is the actual space existing between the electron and the proton nucleus. Thus with the help of the internet, I had a bit of fun with numbers. Thus the classic illustration of the atom, above, is very misleading. If the true scale was to be shown, my computer screen would be as big as the lounge it's in, or probably even larger than our house altogether.

The distance between the proton nucleus of a hydrogen atom and its electron would on average be 60,300 times greater than the diameter of the nucleus itself. On a rough equivalent, this would mean that the space between the nucleus and the electron is so wide that if the nucleus was the size of our Sun, then the electron (perhaps represented by another star or very large planet) would be 14 times further away from the Sun - or 51,380,700,000 miles 82,689,320,000 km - than the actual mean orbit of the furthest planet of our solar system, Pluto, which is about 3,670,050,000 miles 5,906,380,000 km away from the Sun. Or for greater clarity, the distance of Pluto from the Sun: 3.67 billion miles. The distance of the electron from the Sun: 51.38 billion miles. Thus a 14 times difference.

Therefore, just supposing that every atom in the average-sized human body was to implode, that is, the pull of the nucleus bringing the electron to its touching point. Then the average human body would be reduced to the size of a single grain of table salt.

It's this unique property of the atom which, to me, is so dizzyingly complex. If I understand physics as I think I do, then I believe that opposites always attract, like the north pole of a magnet pulling towards the south pole of another magnet. So likewise, the negatively-charged electron should be pulled towards the positively-charged proton, causing the atom to implode on itself. Yet it doesn't happen. Instead, the electron whizzes around its nucleus, as it was believed, this fast movement keeping the electron at an equal distance from its centre and at the same time, forming an apparent solid shell, giving a billiard ball-type appearance.

I have wondered whether it's the centrifugal force within the atom which keeps the electron at the correct distance from its nucleus. Like the time, as a boy, tying a weight at the end of a length of string and then swinging the weight fast round and round. At all times the string tightens as it keeps the object at a constant, circular ark. Had the string snapped (and thank God that had never happened!) the weight would have flown in a straight line through space - except for the Earth's gravity arching the straight line into a parabolic curve which eventually brings the weight dropping to the ground.

And so, instead of positive/negative charged objects, could it be the centrifugal force generated by their orbital movement which is preventing all the planets in our solar system from plunging into the sun by its gravitational pull? Although I was very good on one or two of its subjects, unfortunately, during my school days, I didn't graduate in General Science, whether it be physics, astronomy, geology or biology (although if I wanted to now, I most likely could, without too much of a strain) but one thing is certain - acknowledging God for his power in Creation.

That's why I find the atom to be a fascinating study. As already mentioned, the rapid movement of the electrons (if that what it is) forming a billiard ball or cloud-like structure. This while considering that the atom is mostly empty space. Therefore it's this empty space between electron and nucleus which makes it possible for an omnibus to be over eleven metres long and over four metres in height, instead of being the same size as a coarse grain of sand, or myself standing at 5'11" instead of being the size of a single grain of table salt.

Furthermore, I find it amazing that all though I, along with every known substance, whether animate, vegetative or inanimate, solid, liquid or gas, all consist of empty space, none can pass through each other. Let the rain fall upon the surface on a car, bus or bicycle and the water will run as beads over the smooth, painted metal. The same if a person is splashed, the skin will remain impenetrable despite that the human body is 99.99999999% empty space, yet just leaving that person dripping wet. Two vehicles colliding in an accident will dent or smash the areas of impact and at the same time making a very loud noise, but the two will never pass through each other, despite all of these are a bundle of well-arranged almost-empty atoms. It's the "shell" or "cloud" created by the whizzing electrons which give every created thing its substance.

All this makes me feel in awe of God, my Creator and Redeemer. Such knowledge, such wonderful knowledge, puts me in my proper place in the realm of God's holiness, that is, as Abraham once admitted, just dust and ashes, my sin had made me unworthy to stand in God's presence.

Indeed, it's the love of God and his grace through I exist, as God's intention has always been to populate the Earth. It was the command given at Creation Week. Then again immediately after the Flood, his initial command was the repopulate the Earth and to fill it with life.

Here is the marvel of God's loving grace. Knowing that I am very nearly 100% empty space is a sobering truth, even a very creepy truth. Yet not one atom in me implodes. Instead, each atom is part of a highly complex molecule, especially in the nucleus of the cell, where the DNA, the RNA and other cell parts making this minuscule machine far more complex than the most highly-developed and most fast computer.

Inner workings of a typical cell.

Therefore Abraham was right when he refers to himself as dust and ashes when standing in comparison with God's holiness (Genesis 18:27). God, in His righteousness, could cause every atom in us to implode, but He does not. Even after death, the flesh decays yet the bones remain relatively preserved. Its atoms do not implode.

Every breath I take, every heartbeat, whenever my food is digested, whenever my immune system is busy, the nights I spend oblivious to the world during sleep, even when my body heal itself after injury - indeed, how a well-arranged bundle of near-empty atoms can sustain life that's something science can't explain. Furthermore, unlike the rest of all lifeforms, I as a human being made in the image of God, a blessing indeed, which enables me to read, write, do maths, make decisions, carry out various tasks, and communicate in a way no other lifeforms can. Furthermore, to have a conscience, to know right from wrong, to make a choice between good or evil - and also to be accountable to God. Yet I'm composed of atoms - almost entirely of empty space, and yet no different to a boulder resting lifelessly on the ground or on a beach being lashed by the tides, a heavy inanimate object which too, is made entirely of atoms.

And so I write this blog after a week of reading in the national newspapers about the argument over Brexit - the promise of national sovereignty, the assurance of its coming greatness, the desire to rebuild the former British Empire. A class-obsessed nation with a history of racism and of xenophobia, the funny idea that this island, Great Britain, is really God's country, with England being the New Jerusalem of William Blake's tale of young feet of our Saviour walking through this land of mountains green and England's pleasant pastures seen.

And such cries to have this land restored to its former glory by leaving the "satanic political mills" of the wretched European Union, we now have a political deliverer - a very different saviour from the lone Jew who walked this Earth two millennia back in time. This one was elected by a group of devout Tories. But to him the leave-voting nation looks up to, to see the end of EU membership, to make ourselves great again, to have our God-chosen national status restored.

And so I look up to my good friend Andrew, who is a polar opposite to me in political matters, yet although holding a doctorate, he sees me as one equal to himself and therefore acts accordingly, winning my admiration of him, despite the two of us getting into a tizz on Facebook over leaving the EU. Yet despite all that, we both recognise that without the life-giving God, we are merely empty space. And that is a very creepy truth indeed.
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* Two of my blogs from the archives touching on the Atom are available by clicking here.

Come on England! Go for it!

Midway through the FIFA World Cup tournament, it's time for the knockout stages to begin, with England against Colombia this coming Tuesday (July 3rd). So with me, after many years of hostility towards any prospect of England ever winning the World Cup, as the blog title suggests, what has brought such a dramatic change of mind?

Could it be that Italy had failed to qualify? Amazing too that has happened, as I have not only recall the much-maligned Italy playing well within the midst of each tournament, but actually won the cup four times in its history (in 1934, 1938, 1982, 2006) which is second to the greatest number of wins achieved by Brazil, which was five times overall, including a penalty shoot-out against Italy in 1994, after a goalless draw, including thirty minutes of additional playing time. And that particular match was watched on a foreign TV set - complete with Arab commentary - alongside other volunteers at a Christian Conference Centre in Israel. But with Italy failing to qualify for this year's competition was not the cause of my change of mind. Rather it was something else.

By contrast with Brazil and Italy, England has won the cup only once in its history which, as we all know, was back in 1966, more than half a century, which within many born and died without ever a chance of witnessing an England win, or were too young back then to realise that their home team had just made history. 

But I do recall having a favourable disposition for England during my childhood and adolescent years, second in favour after Italy. Even though I was born in England and grew up here, I was taught by both my parents that I have a pure Italian bloodline, and all our family members were Italian, not English, although after legalisation, I have always referred myself as British when filling in any important document, whether civic or otherwise. 

How the English see themselves...

It was the influence of other people who eventually turned me against the idea of supporting England. And this may come as a surprise to anyone reading this, but the churches around here must share the blame. But even before my conversion to Christ towards the end of 1972, I have suffered sneering from British work colleagues for no other reason than having Italian origins. Sure enough, those who did taunt me were mainly disgruntled war veterans who fought "tooth and nail" for our freedom and democracy, yet felt little or no appreciation or thanks from my generation, the Baby-Boomers who were born into this world not long after the end of the War. Therefore to watch someone like me growing up and living off the fat of the land, and then innocently making known my origins, did not exactly endear myself to them.

But I can understand the plight of these veterans. They fought for the democratic freedom of this country against the threat of German Nazism and its potential takeover of Britain. Then following the end of the war there was several years of food rationing, something we juniors did not have to endure, far less worry about. Such former work colleagues are easily forgivable. But when I came across this church-going patriot during the mid-eighties, who is a few years younger than me, and whose sense of inferior complexity swelling his xenophobic English pride out of all proportions - well, that was something altogether different. 

How incredulous it might have seemed for such contrasting people such as him and myself to share in the same Body of Christ, but such as both of us being true Christian believers. But not long after getting to know him, he made clear to me that the English were a superior nation, above the rest of the world, and certainly above the Italians, and how proud he was of that! Also a strong advocate of the British stiff upper lip, he certainly viewed us Italians with a sense of cultural backwardness. 

Therefore, it did not take me long to realise that his train of thinking and emotions stemmed from a sense of social inferiority - having never entered university, nor having any qualifications from school, and remaining perpetually single, yet this former kitchen porter mixing freely with church-going graduates and watching one after another pair up to stand at the altar. Therefore whenever England played internationally and won, the look of gloating arrogance became unbearable, and if ever the time came for England to play against Italy - the thought of the latter losing to the former, it would not bear thinking about. Therefore this Christian played a major role towards the hostility I felt towards England, which wasn't edifying or faith-building at all.

Happy to say, now attending a different church, his continual absence has dulled any ill-feeling I might have had towards England. On top of that, he too is forgivable, and to forgive is not only obedience to Christ's teaching but also beneficial to all mental, physically and emotional wellbeing. If England is to win this tournament, I would no longer feel so threatened as I did during the 2014 World Cup, or during earlier World Cup contests. How could I ever forget 1998, when I fled to New York to deliberately miss the final, which was won by France, after England was already knocked out by Argentina even before I took off from Heathrow Airport?

Alas! Such fleeing abroad to escape the Cup Final is not quite so easy now, being a married man whose wife is partially disabled. But with my English rival settled in another church, I don't feel so threatened as I did before, and to a certain extent, able to wish the England team good luck. But this comes after remembering certain Scriptures with which I have been familiar for years. Such as Isaiah 40:15-17, which reads:

Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket; they are regarded as dust in the scales;

(God) weighs the islands as though they were fine dust.

Lebanon is not sufficient for altar fires, nor its animals enough for burnt offerings.

Before him all the nations are as nothing; they are regarded by him as worthless and less than nothing.

When I posted this on Facebook, one friend commented that he doesn't sound like a good boss! Yet I cannot help read this as the appropriate rebuke to national pride. But to put the Scripture into its proper context, it is Lebanon which gives a clue to its meaning here. In Old Testament times, Lebanon boasted a forest of cedar trees covering the entire land, from which palaces were built and parts of the First Temple were constructed. It was also the source of firewood in abundance for sacrifices which were necessary for the covering of sins until the Crucifixion. Yet if Lebanon with its great abundance was still below par with its supplies, how less were all other nations? The context is to do with redemption, proving that absolutely no one was ever able to work himself up to God's satisfaction and earn Heaven after death.

Where salvation is concerned, every nation is worthless and less than nothing. By comparison, this is strikingly equivalent to the aprons of fig leaves Adam and Eve had made and wore immediately after the Fall. Despite its covering, those leaves still failed to enable them to stand before God, but instead they hid in a bush when they heard him approaching. When God was able to speak to them, he totally ignored their efforts and slew an innocent animal to provide the skins suitable to clothe them (Genesis 3). This involves only the work of God himself without man's help, and involves the shedding of blood of an innocent substitute, the forerunner of Christ's crucifixion.

Those aprons were a symbol of religion - a system of trying to attain reconciliation with God by self effort. It can take several forms, including a high sense of morality, but also through empire building - whether it was by means of the Tower of Babel, the Egyptian or Babylonian Empire or the British Empire, or any form of individual, family, tribal, or national achievement or glory. Indeed, any nation can excel in glory by comparison with other nations, but will never attain the holiness of God by its own efforts or self-promoting glory.

Which brings me to ask: Am I reading too much into the World Cup tournament? No, not really. The football competition is another way of seeking national glory, to stand head-and-shoulders above all other nations in the world by means of eleven men kicking a football across a field. Indeed, football is a religion, a means of worship into the heights of glory. Or in other words, like the Tower of Babel in the depths of history, an attempt to reach the heavens through the efforts of a team of players. 

The players themselves do the work, and if a victory is won by them, then the whole nation is glorified through them vicariously. There seems to be very little difference from the vicarious victory won by Jesus Christ through death by Crucifixion, Burial and Resurrection. There seems to be parallels between the England football team and Jesus Christ in the sense that both do the work on behalf of others, leading to glory for all - in one, for every Englishman glorified in winning the World Cup through the efforts of just eleven men playing on the field, for the other, every believer to receive glory through the work of atonement by Jesus Christ.

But there is a difference, maybe only one difference, but a major one at that. The Englishman's glory is temporary and will eventually fade, receding into memory, especially if England fails to win at the next contest. Neither does the Englishman's glory bring reconciliation with God or partake in his holiness. On the contrary, the glory awaiting every believer in Jesus Christ is eternal and will never ever fade or recede into memory. Furthermore, the death of every believer is defeated and is forever reconciled to God, eternal life is given, and made a partaker of his holiness.

Without the work of God to intervene, every nation is as dust, worthless and less than nothing as God sees them. Their struggle to attain glory through self effort or vicariously through means of a team of players, all is vanity, vanity of vanities, so wrote King Solomon in his book of Ecclesiastes. Therefore every Englishman (as well as everyone whose nationality are still in the World Cup contest) should think deeply, and consider that we are all dust and ashes whose breath of life in our nostrils is from God, who sustains us each day. We are the work of Divine Creation and we are not here by accident, neither a turn of luck on the evolutionary scale.

With this way of thinking, the football supporter is humbled, recognising the power and glory of God and therefore doing away with any feeling of superiority over those who had lost out in the contest. Apart from death itself, awareness of the glory of God is a great equaliser, it has that heart-cleansing power to eliminate arrogance and national pride and glory. With this in mind, I would like to bring to attention one marvel of Creation - the unique characteristics of the Earth. 

It was from a recent BBC programme, following our planet on its full orbit around the sun. Both my wife and I sat there feeling very humbled at the knowledge that our planet is tilted by 23.5 degrees from the orbital plane, giving us the seasons, which according to scientists, are essential to life, including a diversity of animal and plant species depending on the seasons for reproduction and sustenance. Furthermore, the orbit of the Earth around the Sun is not quite circular, nor is the Sun bang centre of its orbit, but rather elliptical, with the Sun nearer one end of the orbit (the perihelion) than the other end (the aphelion).

It seems ironic that the perihelion happens to occur around January 3rd, that is during our Winters here in the UK whilst the southern hemisphere, enjoying its Summer, also has the privilege of being closer to the Sun. On the contrary, around July 4th, at the height of our Summers, we are also furthest away from the Sun. And then I wonder why we have such lousy Summers here in England! But the truth, highlighted by the BBC, is that the Southern hemisphere is mostly ocean-covered, with just Australasia, Antarctica and South America being the three main continents down under. The result having far cooler and lousier Summers south of the Tropic of Capricorn, simply being a vast expanse of ocean, it takes much longer to heat up. If Southern Winters were on the peak of aphelion, chances are of a permanent Antarctic ice age. To me this was quite a revelation.

The position and gravitational moon is just right, causing solar eclipses as our satellite blocks out the sunlight and giving the impression that the Sun and Moon are exactly the same size. Then not to mention the tremendous effect tidal cycles have on marine life and climate. Finally, despite its eccentricity, the whole of our orbit lie within the Goldilocks zone, the only zone away from the Sun where water can retain its liquid form.

Although some of these facts I already knew from adolescence, the BBC unwittingly highlighted the very power and glory of God in his Creation. It caused me to humbly worship. Indeed, with knowledge of such revelation, the pride, strength and glory of every nation does appear as fine dust, worthless and less than nothing when compared to life giving and life-sustaining powers of Divine Creation!

But having said that, poor England, deprived of an international World Cup win for 52 years - go on, go for it, and bring the trophy home this time. I'll support you. But remember God and acknowledge him, for your very existence depends on him.

A Job with Glamour...?

Alan was one person I always admired. Although I have changed his name to protect his identity, his real name had made it into our local newspaper. And not for any negative reasons, but for good reasons. For Alan was one of the lifeguards at Coral Reef Waterworld. Yes, the same venue which was the main subject of my last blog, Down the Tube. But Alan's time at Coral Reef, long before the renovation, was probably around the years 2007-2010 or thereabouts, according to memory. It does not really matter precisely what years Alan worked as a poolside lifeguard. What matters to me more was his achievements.

Coral Reef Leisure Pool

Alan was exceptionally good-looking with a slim but superb physique, to which I was called to attention by Alan himself as he was taking a shower following further training and prior to going on duty. I said to him that I looked just like that during bygone days, as I made my way to Sauna World, housed in a building of its own reserved for the over-18's, but still fully attached and accessible to and from the main pool. But despite our huge age difference, I could not help myself going weak at the knees in reverence. As I had always perceived, there is an element of glamour in being a lifeguard.

Alan was friends with a colleague named Scott, a fellow lifeguard whose employment at Coral Reef Waterworld began some time after Alan's, but by overlapping, enabled him to be on duty at the same time as Alan, at least for a short while. It was after the end of another Saturday sauna session during one mid-afternoon that I had the opportunity to talk to this person whilst he was sitting on a lookout tower overlooking the pool. The height and location of the tower was right next to the upstairs restaurant balcony, thus making conversation not only possible but without any difficulty. After sharing with Scott of my own experience as a poolside lifeguard in 1973, he explained that lifesaving techniques has evolved since then, to the point of being near to the level of a paramedic, and therefore leaving my former life-saving techniques obsolete. In fact, according to his testimony, if a vehicle accident occurred on the main road just outside, the lifeguards were duty-bound to attend to the victim's injuries until the paramedics arrived. They were that qualified.

With such updated information, it was no surprise that Alan's personal achievement caused me to look to him with a degree of reverence - something I cannot bring myself to do to an employee dressed in a suit and tie and sitting at an office desk. Because Alan became Lifeguard of the Year, the highest award and the top rung of the ladder attained by vigorous training and testing, both in and out of the water. And the announcement of this was published in our local newspaper, The Bracknell News, complete with pictures.

However, although Alan does have a Facebook profile, he had never allowed me to be "friends", or to have our profiles linked, which reason might have something to do with our age difference. But he has made enough of his posts set to Public, for me to build a picture - sketchy as it might be - even if he had not posted publicly for the past twelve months. He left Coral Reef Waterworld a few months after gaining his award to take a sabbatical, before beginning to drive a van for a living. Not long after this, he took on a post at Waitrose, a superstore favouring towards the upper-middle class side of the market. Since I cannot imagine such a well-trained lifeguard swapping his profession for a job in shelf-stacking, nor for that matter, for sitting at the checkouts, I can only imagine his role in management or departmental supervision.

It was this sabbatical he took which, I will admit, turned my admiration into envy. Because on that cold Monday morning in January 2010, while I had to take a break from window cleaning in the blowing cold wind, Alan with his mate, also a lifeguard at Coral Reef, along with their girlfriends, were heading to Heathrow Airport to board a flight to Singapore. From Singapore, they would proceed to Australia, then to New Zealand, and then to California, to cover a duration of between five to six months. Damn it! I felt the cold wind eat into me as I sat on a low wall, my ladder lying on the sidewalk waiting to be used. And I envisioned the joy and excitement those four must have felt as they took their seats in the Boeing 747, still parked at the loading bay. But at least I was able to comfort myself with memories of my own Round-the-World backpacking trip in 1997, covering Singapore, Australia, and California. Yet Alan has still beaten me by including New Zealand into his itinerary, as well as a longer duration out of the UK.

Never mind that news came in that whilst Alan was speeding in his hired camper van, he was stopped by the Police Down Under for speeding, and he was obliged to pay his penalty. Never mind that their visit to the Great Barrier Reef did not seem to hold a candle to my own visit some thirty months earlier. Never mind that their photos sent to Facebook were predominately about dancing and skylarking about on the Pacific beach, rather than the more "serious" sightseeing of the corals and tropical marine life, the beauty of nature, the mangrove trees and other exotic vegetation, and of human history. Their Round-the-World sabbatical was still an envy for someone stuck in a mundane outdoor job on a cold January Monday morning.

Then as I thought of my long-lost friend, I began to look through his profile timeline. And as I did so, I begun to feel my emotions sink. I began to feel very sad for him - and that despite his apparent present success in raising a family of his own and looking to be doing well for himself. Because of the casual use of foul language in his posts depicting the vanity of life without a real purpose for living. That alone tells me a lot. A lot more about himself than he could possibly imagine. Because, as one author wrote many years ago:

I told her to get lost. She replied, "You're the one who is lost." She was right, I was lost. The word screamed in my head. LOST! LOST! LOST!*

And that is exactly I can perceive this magnificently-trained lifeguard. Lost. His Facebook posts can be so revealing. Little wonder I felt sad. Very sad for him. And it was a similar set of circumstances which caused me to cry out one night, Lord God, why, oh why did you create us?

It is the sort of question I do ask: How can someone like Alan, who has been trained up to save other people's lives, be in the same fold as Adolf Hitler, who is guilty of the murder of six million Jews? And again, where is the reality of God reconciling the world to himself in Jesus Christ without counting their trespasses against them, according to 2 Corinthians 5:19 - if all I can see around me is a lost world unable to find itself?

At least I can say that there is no record of Alan ever disliking me. I do recall him having a level of respect for me as a customer at Coral Reef Waterworld, and maybe even as a kind of father-figure, but definitely no dislike. But as I read down his timeline column on his profile page, and see how he sees his own life as so futile, I can't help feeling that my heart goes out to him. I would very much like to see his life perfectly fulfilled in Jesus Christ, and for him to know that he has eternal life.

This is distressing. Because it all boils down to this: We as true believers in Jesus Christ, are the living letters from God to the rest of the world, along with the beauty of Creation, and of the Bible itself. I suppose there are three witnesses - the Church/Israel, Nature, and the Word. How the incorrigible human heart rejects Creation for Evolution, turn the Bible into a myth, insist that Israel shouldn't have a place in the Arab land of Palestine, sees the Church as something of a standing joke, and perceives salvation, if it exists, as something to be worked for and earned. As for the churches, what went wrong?

So horribly,

Horribly

Wrong?  

Could it be l lack of love for each other? Already I have said, not everyone in my church loves me as a person and a brother in Christ. This grieves me, it grieves me badly. I'm disliked - not because I deny Christ. I don't deny Christ. That is something I will never do. I doubt whether this is something I'm able to do. Neither am I an imp of Satan, although I'm seen as wicked. Instead, I'm disliked because I don't present myself as an ideal Englishman - well educated, stoic, self-reserved, refusing to hug, holding a profession, a Conservative voter and a Royalist, a lover of the Queen and her family members. Oh yes, I can add: Good at team sports and ready to go to war for his country. As a result, I tend to be shut out from social circles. Like the time in 1978, when I asked a group of my own age if I could join them on a week-long boating trip. I was told flatly, No. Or the occasions I was told with quite an angry tone, Someone is sitting here! - which might not have been necessarily true. Or the viscous snide, You're not sitting at this table! Or more recently, at the start of the church Men's Curry Club one evening a couple of years ago when I was told to move in a threatening manner. And this comes from an Arminian who insists that a believer, after Christ has cleansed him from all his past sins, can only hold on his salvation by hard work and keeping of all the Commandments.

Just a minute! As I'm reading through the book of Acts of the Apostles, and I can hear the leaves of the trees rustling. After Paul the Apostle returns to Jerusalem, he is fervently persecuted by his own fellow Jews. His own brothers, all sons of the same Abraham, are baying for his blood. And the reason is simple. It's not that complicated. Paul believed in salvation through faith in the risen Christ alone. The Jews believed that salvation can only come through obedience to the Law of Moses, including the need for circumcision. I can see a parallel, a chilling parallel in the unholy attitude among the Jews towards Paul and among those who has taken a dislike to me. In the case of the latter, it is my failure to think, feel, say, and act like a proper Englishman. Or at least that's how it looks. Instead, I hold diverse opinions, rebellious opinions, and I guess I get a thrill in lowering my head and pushing hard whilst kicking against the goads of national and cultural hypocrisy. 

What does Alan sees in the church? After all, he was brought up in a country which Constitution was borne out of the Christian faith. So he is most likely Church of England, or possibly a Roman Catholic. But without the revelation that God loves him unconditionally, he will forever have that veil across his eyes. The deceptive veil of a truculent God who always quick to judge everything he does, right down to his innermost thoughts. A divine being who is never satisfied, but insists on works, impossible works, in a failed attempt to bribe for his love, whatever love that is supposed to be. The very same problem I still suffer myself to this day, due to Roman Catholic upbringing. The difficulty in accepting God for whom he really is. A God of Love, who loves us unconditionally. The love God had for Barabbas to the extent that he allowed his own Son to take his place in Pilate's execution. At Pilate's Court of Justice, God loved Barabbas. He loved him so much that he was set free instead of executed. No, it wasn't the baying for his life by the crowds below which had released him. Rather it was God's LOVE which released him!

God is love. It was his love which satisfied his justice which demanded an accounting of every sin committed. Jesus Christ, nailed to a cross, has fulfilled that justice. In his love, God wants to give us eternal life. Eternal life through his Son. To believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead. That is all. It's about time every church drops it's national heritage and advocate God's love a lot more. Preach it, act upon it, live it! There is absolutely nothing wrong in a man giving a tight, prolong hug to another man! It will make him feel loved, accepted, one in the family. It lifts the spirits, it also enhances health. And furthermore, there is no work required to earn it. It cannot be earned. God's love is higher than the highest mountain, deeper than the deepest ocean, wider than East is from West. And it's free, unconditional, and has no national or cultural limitations.

Oh, how I wish I took advantage of the opportunity I had during Alan's employment at Coral Reef. My failed attempt to be pleasing to all men, an ethic which can only lead to death. My heart goes out to him. My greatest hope is that someone else will open his eyes to what tremendous love God has for him.

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*Doreen Irvine, From Witchcraft to Christ, 1973.