The Moment a Ray of Light Shone

Wednesday of the past week was not untypical, at least for the last few weeks. Feeling depressed as I sat alone in the stationary train at a terminus platform of Reading Station, I watched as the carriage began to fill with other passengers. That is, except at my particular section, which consisted of two rows of triple seats facing each other, in which I remained a sole occupant. People passing through the central aisle seemed to glance at me sitting there, then quickly make up their minds to find other still-vacant seats elsewhere.

Am I imagining all this? Or is there a kind of negative aura surrounding my person in such a way that its affecting everyone who comes too close to its proximity? At last, a middle-age businessman, minus a tie, takes the seat directly opposite to where I was sitting, the two of us facing each other as the train began to pull out of its bay. A little way into the journey, as I looked out of the window towards the sky, he suddenly rose from his seat and moved to a vacant seat on the opposite side of the carriage without alighting at any scheduled stops.

Maybe the fellow has a preference for the more restricted airline seating arrangement fitted at the other side of the carriage. Or more disturbingly, could it be the energy generated by such a negative aura surrounding me to be strong enough to make this businessman decide to move away?

A state of depression. It was as if in the midst of deep darkness, imprisoned within the most gloomy chamber I can imagine. How strong and binding it was. Yet I wasn't even sure what was the cause of such emotions. I just couldn't put my finger on it. It seems that no amount of prayer or meditation can shift it. I was thinking whether I need counselling. Would talking to a stranger really unload my burdens? Yet it has been like this now for several weeks. It is as if something was slowly turning the screw, gradually intensifying the feelings of perpetual sadness, fear and trepidation. To the extent of impairing my judgement. As, for example, while fumbling about with this Blogger page on my laptop, I found myself staring at a prompt highlighted on the screen. I'm sure the prompt read, Comments awaiting moderation. Yes, I have a moderation system in place. This is not to dissuade any form of argument or disagreement with what I have written and posted. Rather, it is to keep off any input or contribution carrying links to other websites promoting product sales.

Seeing so many comments under the heading Comments Awaiting Moderation (so I thought), I clicked the Delete All prompt - then suddenly realised what I have just done. I have literally wiped out every comment that was ever posted on the page, probably numbering up to a thousand. It was a disaster, but one which occurred due to a befuddled judgement caused by constant depression. Not surprisingly, by that Wednesday evening such emotions reached near-panic stage.

We were watching Holby City (a soap based on a fictitious Bristol hospital) when I felt a need for both of us (Alex and myself) to pray, and to pray fervently. After the program ended, we both got down to prayer. Perhaps some 15-20 minutes into praying, a disturbance could be heard coming from one of our neighbours.

My heart fell.

"Someone has scored a goal!" I exclaimed, realising that the match between England and Croatia must have gone into extra time, it being rather late in the evening.

As the banging on the wall continued, I decided to put on some relaxing music to act as a background noise-shield for our praying. But after that incident, I couldn't pray anymore. I felt discouraged, and all I wanted to do was to bury my head into a corner of the sofa, which I actually did. But Alex kept on praying, asking God to help her husband find relief from his ongoing depression. She spent a considerable amount of time pleading to the Almighty on my behalf while the gentle music played. At last, after an undefined period, Alex ended her praying and asked if I can give her some refreshment.

I rose and walked into the kitchen and casually looked out of the window. I had to blink twice. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Those two houses on the opposite side of our street. For the last few weeks, giant English St. George flags were draped from the front bedroom windows. I stared at the properties. All the flags had gone! Suddenly it was as if a ray of light had pierced the darkness of my heart. Could it be? Yes, could it be...?

As I was preparing a snack for both of us, for the first time I began to feel my depression lift. But I was very cautious, reasoning to myself on why the flags were down if the World Cup Final is still a few days away. Could it be that such "underdogs" such as Croatia had knocked the mighty and proud Three Lions out of the tournament? Surely, this was too good to be true.

Until I checked the Internet. Sure indeed, the little nation of Croatia had eliminated England during extra time, and the timing of the deciding goal coincided with the disturbance heard from next door. The noise was not of cheering but of disappointment and frustration. By contrast, the depression which had me gripped in its power began to lose its hold, and with great surprise with the result, I began to feel a rush of relief, and for a first time after a long while, a sense of happiness.

The reader can be forgiven for wondering why I was so against England winning the World Cup. Simply this: with Italian origins, I felt threatened. And that despite earlier that evening, before kick-off, I actually posted a wish for England to do well on Facebook, as well as writing last week's blog in support. And there were other times when I spoke positively for our national team. But thinking back, I don't think my heart was in any of this well-wishing rhetoric. Rather it was done to save face if England made it into the Final and won. In other words, a form of self-preservation.

It was during the days following their 2-0 victory against Sweden in the Quarter-final when three words became apparent, according to Media outlets. Those words looking to be most appropriate are proud and arrogant. Over and over again, the phrase Football is coming home was constantly repeated as if a mantra. There was a high level of pride and optimism that the trophy will return home this time. And the semi-final against Croatia? Never mind about that. Croatia is a non-entity, we will wipe them out as easily as a cloth wiping water off a table. After all, what significance has such a small nation in a tournament of giants, with the Three Lions being the greatest giant of all? A giant which was motherland to history's greatest Empire, which remained ongoing for around four hundred years.

And also in a geographical sense, the motherland of the greatest Empire in history happens to be an island off the north coast of mainland Europe. This gives a mentality of isolation and with it the ability to rule from a distance, without the need for international borders which would encourage foreign invasion. The way I picture it, Britain is rather like a schoolmaster standing at a distance from all the young students, facing them and delivering his edict with full authority and a sense of unquestionable individual superiority, without a single student daring to butt in. As I see it, that's how the English have always perceived the rest of the world. One nation leads, the rest follow with subordination. Indeed, such source of pride is steeped in history.

And what pride! What optimism after defeating Sweden! It is as if such a tiny, insignificant nation such as Croatia had no relevance at all. An easy win. Yea! the Final, here we come! And return home with the trophy. Indeed. But God had other thoughts. As written in Scripture I happen to be reading by chance this morning:

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, 
neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD.
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Isaiah 55:8-9.

And again:

For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.
Matthew 23:12, also Luke 14:11.

Maybe Jesus had a foreknowledge of international football and all the self-exaltation and national glory-seeking which will go with it, even if it's two millennia after his time! Maybe England has a lesson here to learn, what it means to be humble. According to the Oxford Dictionary, the word humble is defined as, having or showing a low estimate of one's own importance. Maybe, who knows, if England had such a characteristic on a national scale, chances that it would have won the Cup several times in its long half-century history of dwelling in the sporting wilderness.

Which leads to thinking. When France beat Belgium in its 2018 semi-final, its fans showed quite a high level of arrogance by causing crowd havoc in the streets of Paris. Could this mean that France will forfeit its chances of taking home the trophy - which would be for the second time since only 1998? Yes, that is possible. But hand-on-heart, I would prefer Croatia to win. At least in its short history, for them it will be the first Cup victory since October 1991, when this small country gained independence from former Yugoslavia.

But at the time of writing, I have just less than 24 hours to find out. If Croatia does win, who knows, perhaps there is further truth in God showing mercy to the weaker side. But if France win - well, God's thoughts and his ways are higher than ours, who can fathom them?

Whichever way the coin will fall, this I know: after prayer that Wednesday evening, a ray of light pierced through the darkness of my heart, and the heavy depression started to lift. I have to wait to see what happens in four years from now.

  

Lord, I Just Don't Have It!

Despite that too many people in this country play down the Bible, calling it a book of myths, fiction, or merely a collection of allegorical stories to boost morality, there is some advice which, to be honest, can be astonishingly accurate. It is considered important enough to be recorded twice: in Matthew 23:12 and Luke 14:11, and the wording is exactly the same in both cases - 

For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.

Even if it is believed that the writers of the New Testament has wildly exaggerated their "miracles" Jesus said to have performed to add a bit of colour to what might otherwise been dull documentation, nothing could have brought out the truthfulness of the advice given than by watching Alan Sugar's The Apprentice, (the British version of The Apprentice USA, with Donald Trump.) What makes this business selection process such popular entertainment is the continual humbling of the eighteen candidates, each vying for the £250,000 investment prize to launch a new business. Each of these candidates - nine men and nine women - have enormous egos, and believing that they can make themselves multi-millionaires, even billionaires by investing the prize money to start a new enterprise which would attract customers galore. Their self confidence, arrogant "me first" attitude becomes a sitting duck for the most appalling ridicule, the butt of jokes, and ongoing teasing. One male candidate boasted that he is the modern Alexander the Great, out to conquer the world of business and enterprise. As things turned out, he was the first of the eighteen to be fired.

Apprentice candidates in the Boardroom

Yeah, right...

At the end of each episode, when the fired candidate walks solemnly out of the studio, the national population watches with glee, a degree of gloating in which lies the expression, serves him right. Not quite so high and mighty now - as melancholic music plays over the defeated candidate as he or she climbs into one of Sugar's limousines to be driven home. But none of this deters the fierce pride and competitiveness among those who return to the house. Instead, these remaining candidates looks to me to be the very backbone of Britain - London and the Home Counties in particular. This was aptly demonstrated a few years ago when the male team named itself Team Empire. Indeed to conquer the world of trade and enterprise, and to hold dominance.

This sort of oozing self-confidence has made me wonder if church leaders would vie to have such a candidate stand at the pulpit on a Sunday morning. There is something intrinsically alluring about having a fellow in a business suit delivering a preach - whether it's expounding the Bible, giving an exhortation, or merely testifying of his missionary accomplishment. For some reason or another, a chap who wears a suit to work depicts status, a good education, along with a mental and emotional capacity to hold down a profession carrying responsibilities - and is perceived by church leaders as the only kind of vessel from whom the Holy Spirit can minister to the listening congregation.  

The best teacher is experience itself. One example of this occurred in 1997, soon after returning home from a ten-week Round-the-World trip. As I stood at the front to testify about my travel experience, I made a mention about the Second Advent of Christ as King, suggesting that this may be soon in human history. After the service was over, I asked a friend why he stood up in defense of my speech. His answer was that he became flustered by the whispering among the seats behind. They were asking among themselves how could I possibly have any knowledge of eschatology if I was a mere labourer, who earned a living cleaning windows. Indeed, manual labour and higher education certainly don't mix! Or for that matter, a few years earlier when our Elders (not with us any more) refused to let me teach a class, in favour of someone who worked in an office. 

But does one with a higher education really make a better vessel for the Holy Spirit? As was the case of one graduate who I know reasonably well. Here was someone young enough to be my son, yet with a much higher level of education than myself and with a far more eloquent speech to match, delivering a preach about Enoch, the seventh generation from Adam. He opened with a statement that, according to his studies, around four thousand years separated the Flood from Creation. I thought, What? Where did he get that from?

After the service, upon my request, he explained that our use of Greek numerology was very different from that of the Hebrew language. Indeed, that is true. The numbers in Hebrew are represented by the letters of its alphabet. But than again, it looks to me that the ancient Greeks did not use numbers. Instead, the measure of quantity was written in words. One good example is found in Revelation 7:4 which in the Greek reads: Hekaton tesserakonta tessares chiliades - quite a mouthful really, just to say 144,000. But I think the point is missed here. Really, no matter how the quantity is expressed, 2+2, as far as I understand, will always be 4. The real issue lies in the number of years between the birth of Enoch's son - Methuselah - and the Flood itself. It is not that difficult to work out. Methuselah was born during the 65th year of Enoch's life. When Methuselah was 187 years, his son Lamech was born. After the birth of Lamech, the narrator then stated that Methuselah lived a further 782 years, making a total lifespan of  969 years.

When Lamech lived 182 years, he became the father of Noah. Lamech lived a further 595 years before he died, making his total lifespan of 777 years. The interesting case I find here that if Methuselah lived for 782 years after the birth of his son Lamech, then the father outlived his own son by five years. Now if the narration has any credibility, Noah was born 369 years into Methuselah's life. If Noah's grandfather lived to 969 years altogether, than on the day he died, Noah must have been 600 years old already. And according to Genesis 7:6, that was his age when the Flood came.

The real punch to all this is the actual meaning of the name Methuselah. It literally means When I die, the waters will come. This seems to me that while his father Enoch was alive, God himself instructed him to name his son with a prophetic name. There remains the question of the period between Creation and the Flood. Just add all the numbers of the father's years when each son was born. And including the age of 600 years of Noah's life, this brings the total of 1,656 years separating the Flood from Creation.

Am I very pedantic? Why am I so engrossed with such detail? As I myself admitted to the graduate. This is not to show how clever I am, for it does not take a rocket scientist just to add up a few numbers. Rather it shows how factual the Bible really is, and its ancient writers had a far more advanced mathematical knowhow than many of us wish to give credit for. What I have read in the past, during the days of Abraham, children attending school at ancient Ur were learning about the square root, the cubic root, geometry and other mathematical wonders. Transport such a child through time to the present, and I would not be at all surprised if he would make a successful graduate at Oxford. Such a little fact as this puts paid to any idea that modern grads of the present are any way academically superior!

For everybody who exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted. The trouble with the Western world, including Britain and its church leaders, is that those who have exalted themselves would be exalted even more. Great institutions such as Oxford and Cambridge Universities, two of the finest centres for education in the UK, if not the world, provides a constant pool of candidates ready to take on the mantle of full time church leadership. It does not matter whether the graduate is a true believer or not. If he had passed his exams for a doctorate, then the churches would be more than keen to thrust him into leadership.

Am I pursuing church leadership? By no means, as I have never testified of the Holy Spirit leading me in such a direction. But I have exhorted others in home groups for quite a number of occasions. To be realistic, church leadership is not for me at all. Rather, what I really need is for the Holy Spirit to fill my soul with agape love for others. And it is here that I fail, along with everybody else. There are a few believers who has taken a dislike to me. Not many, just a few, and a few too many. One example is when a request a friendship connection on Facebook with another believer, and in response he blocks my request rather than simply say "No." This leads me to search my conscience, to see whether I might have created some issues with him. Nothing. My conscience is as clear as crystal.

I ponder whether I am even an embarrassment to these middle class believers. For example, my wife assures me that "I look gorgeous" - and I know for sure she means it wholeheartedly. But as I see it, both the mirror and camera disagrees. I also have a peculiar accent in speaking. Therefore I would shy away from hearing my own voice recorded on tape or video. This gives the impression that I'm a very slow learner, having a low I.Q, incredibly gullible, easily fooled, therefore making me an easy target for potential fraudsters. Furthermore, I am aware that I have mild autism, which impares my verbal communication skills, leaving other believers with difficulty in fellowshipping with me.

I have a need which I'm fully aware of. Not a need for a higher level of education, status, fame, or riches - but in need of God himself. The agape love of God, and such divine love flowing out to others. Not at all easy when I don't think highly of myself. But the need is there. The Lord God - Majestic, Almighty, my Rock and my Fortress. Indeed, in my flesh I shall see God. With my eyes, my own eyes, and not with the eyes of another, I will see Him stand upon the mount. I think this is true humbleness - recognising my own emptiness and seeing how much I need the Lord for everything, including salvation, and then giving credit to him for all the strengths I do have. The same as Abraham referring to himself as dust and ashes, David seeing himself as a flea, and Isaiah crying out, "I am undone".

And how much I long to see this same train of thinking and believing sitting in the hearts of everyone, especially in the household of God. If everyone becomes aware of this need, then all criticism, rejection and judgement would melt away. It's called, standing under the shadow of the Cross. I am in desperate need of it, along with everyone in my fellowship, and in all churches worldwide.

If that was to happen, I can guarantee that the BBC's The Apprentice would vanish like a dream does when the sleeper suddenly wakes up.  

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.