Wow! A Fossilised Pocket Watch.

As the plane soared above the stunning Scottish mountains, I sat there by the window with a sense of astonishment of the view as the airline soared some 35,000 feet 10,670 metres into the clear sky, with the sunshine contrasting the land with the almost black sea and lochs. But with the stunning beauty way below, I also felt a sense of apprehension on what would lie ahead, for this particular 1977 journey from London to Toronto was my first long-haul flight I had ever taken. 

Not that I hadn't flown before. The last trip I took was only a year earlier in 1976, a flight to Tel Aviv. But was that particular flight the longest short-haul flight classified, or the shortest long-haul? After all, a flight from London to Amman, only a small fraction longer, was - and I guess still is - categorised as long-haul. The two preceding flights out of London, one to the Spanish airport of Girona in 1972, and the other to Milan in 1974, were indeed short-haul. Even though I was already nineteen years of age when I first ever boarded a plane, due to my late father's averse to flying combined with his love for the steering wheel, I had never flown with any of my family members.

Therefore sitting alone inside a sealed capsule among complete strangers, I felt a need for divine assurance. And so, during the in-flight meal, I took the bread roll, broke it, and quietly proclaimed,

This is the body of Christ broken for me. And I ate whilst meditating. Then I took the glass of red wine and said,

This is the blood of Jesus Christ that was shed for me. I'll shall drink it in memory of Him, which I proceeded to do.

I did ponder whether I had bestowed a blessing on myself, or whether I had committed a deadly sin, for according to the Catholic Church, I have violated a sacred sacrament by taking it without priestly authority.

And if all that was not enough, a year later in 1978, once again I found myself on board a transatlantic flight, this time from London to New York. And during a mid-flight meal I repeated the sacrament of eating a piece of bread and drinking red wine symbolising the body and blood of Jesus Christ broken and shed whilst hanging on that cross.

Dripping with sweat, inside head of Statue of Liberty, 1978.

I'm glad to say that no harm had ever came to me as a result of these mid-flight self-administered Holy Communion meals, despite what the Church of Rome might think. So far I didn't die and then finding myself tumbling into the eternal fires of Hell. Rather, on both these backpacking trips I felt as if I was blessed. Being close to God, feeling his protective presence where ever I went, never coming across any difficulty in finding a room at every hotel reception I called at.

However, as I sat in the aeroplane full of strangers, there was another important reason on why I self-administered a Communion meal other than for seeking assurance. As a son of Adam and Eve, I was unfortunate enough to inherit original sin from them, which has caused spiritual death and separation from God, with physical death to follow, and a lost eternity spent separated from God's personal presence. But because of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ, through faith in him I was acquitted from the penalty with all my sins forgiven - past, present and future - and the Righteousness of Christ was credited to my account, and I was adopted into his family as a son of God.

The righteousness credited to my account was Christ's righteousness, not my own! As the Scripture says, 

Now when a man works, his wages are not credited to him as a gift, but as an obligation. However, to the man who does not work but trusts God who justifies the wicked, his faith is credited as righteousness.

Romans 4:4-5.

Therefore the truth of Eternal Security of the Believer, or Once Saved Always Saved, must stand with this truth of justification by faith because such emanates from this truth of the Gospel. Therefore the eating of the Body of Christ and the drinking of his Blood by means of bread and wine attest of eternal salvation gotten through Jesus Christ - a glorious truth in the face of the uncertainty facing me after landing.

But to take Holy Communion mid-flight with such conviction on both trips - surely such a sacrament must be based on factual history. Did Jesus Christ really exist some two millennia previously? Did the Last Supper, on which my in-flight Communion was based upon, itself actually took place? Furthermore, was it him who was crucified and died while still fastened to the cross? After all, Islam insists that it was Judas Iscariot who hung there. And after burial, did he actually rise from the dead? According to one national newspaper, it was thought that Jesus Christ did not actually die, but instead fell unconscious, and was buried in that state, as if he was suffering from catalepsy. Then after waking up, somehow with unimaginable strength, he managed to move the stone covering the mouth of the tomb, and then walked away, probably to a remote desert, never to be seen again.

If any of these things occurred, all which differed to what is recorded in the four Gospels, then really, our faith is in vain, remaining futile, there is no salvation, and all that time spent in church - even if I enjoy singing, praising, praying to God, and listening to sermons, as well as trying hard to love one another despite our different opinions - it would have turned out to be a total waste of time and effort. If I attend church for up to two hours every Sunday for fifty weeks of the year, that would be as much as an annual top up of a hundred hours, or four full 24-hour days where I would be better off spending at a luxury hotel by the seaside. Furthermore, those sacraments taken whilst mid-flight would serve no other purpose but to make a fool of myself in view of anyone watching.

All these things came to mind while we were watching a television documentary about the Jurassic Coast, presented by Dan Snow, Lucy Cooke, and wheelchair-bound Niall Strawson. This three-part series occupied an hour-long slot on BBC Four, therefore down from peak evening viewing of BBC One. As we were watching the third programme, I felt my spirit sink into sadness and hopelessness as the words evolve, evolution, and evolutionary were constantly repeated. Throughout the entire three hours of broadcast, not one word about God, Supernatural Creation or Noah's Flood was mentioned. However, it was Lucy Cooke who, with a moment of hesitation, used the word designed in her description of a fossil with intricate detail.

Perhaps the Lord, with a sense of humour, does allow the presenter to let her guard slip on occasions. And no doubt, as I see it, the Jurassic Coast is a testimony of the Biblical Deluge, which stretches from Old Harry Rocks which are the chalk stacks east of Swanage, all the way west to Exmouth, on the River Exe estuary. The resort of Lyme Regis, where many fossils are displayed and sold, lies on the Dorset side of the border with Devon, itself midway along the Jurassic Coast.

And so the public is fed to the hilt with how these fossils of mainly marine creatures, are out-and-out proof of organic evolution - despite that these lifeforms look to all have died together at one instance. And how my spirit sank in very much the same way those creatures sank to the bottom of the ocean. Because, like the newspaper testimony above, if evolution is a scientific fact, then my faith in Christ is a sham and the Christian faith is a worthless ideology. For Darwinism is a direct denial that Jesus is the Christ who atoned for our sins.

While Dan Snow dealt mainly with human history around that stretch of coast, particularly of wartime tanks and submarines, Lucy Cooke narrated on the fossils so frequently found here. A fossil expert who was with Cooke picked up what looked like a large rounded limestone pebble. He then struck it with a hammer, and the two halves came apart to reveal a beautifully-detailed fossil ammonite. When asked how he knew that this ordinary-looking pebble contained such a intricate fossil, his answer was that by looking at the surface, some detail of the edge can be seen. I guess this can be referred to as a ham-roll effect. Only the edge of the ham at the outer surface can reveal its presence between the two bread roll halves.

The ammonite remains represent the ideal fossil of a creature which lived in the Jurassic Period somewhere between 145,000,000-200,000,000 years ago. That's pretty old, and such remains found embedded in limestone are classed as a true fossil, a thought-view which carries the notion that it takes millions of years for a dead organism to fossilize. And this theory of tremendous longevity is essential for Darwin's evolutionary theories to hold true. And such theories are spoon-fed to the public which in turn accept without any ado. And furthermore, no one in his right mind would dare throw a challenge. If the challenger is a man in the street, he would simply be ignored. If a graduate or a university professor and civil engineering, such as the late Henry M. Morris, then its likely that he will be ostracised by the scientific community, who will write papers debunking his Creationist stance. 

It was within the first fifteen minutes of the second show when something I consider to be very remarkable. Here stood Lucy Cooke talking to an expert about some sealed bottled perfumes, together with a couple of china vessels and statuettes, all of them around a hundred years old, found at a shipwreck off the coast of Dorset. And next to the porcelain was an insignificant-looking lump of rock. And fully embedded in the rock was what looked like a man-made artifact. After thorough cleaning and examination, the artifact turned out to be a pocket watch, almost entirely entombed in solid rock in virtually the same way the ammonite was entombed in a limestone pebble.

The rock featured on the BBC: A watch "fossilized".

A pocket watch embedded in "crud" - solidified mud.

Interestingly enough, Cooke remarks that it will take a further 130,000,000 years before the watch will be a "proper" fossil. But going by the hardness of the rock, isn't it a fossil already? What is the real difference between it and that of the ammonite? Except for its age and of different rock composition? The rock in which the watch is embedded is given a name "crud", which is mud consolidated into rock. What I find so fantastically remarkable about this exhibit is that if a man-made artifact of little more than a hundred years of age can be entombed in solid rock at an amazingly quick time, then why does the ammonite need millions of years to achieve the same result?

It is as if God is desperately trying to tell us something, and just by looking at all the fossils found around the coast and elsewhere, one obvious conclusion can be drawn, and that is all fossilised organisms - whether its marine life, plant and trees, birds, or land animals including Dinosaurs, must have died very quickly, were buried and preserved as fossils over a very short duration. At is as if God is saying, Hey, look guys. What I have written in my Book is historic and true. There was a universal Deluge in the days of Noah, and you are looking at the evidence right now. Oh, so you want more proof that fossilization is quick and recent? Well there you are, a watch preserved in stone. There you have it.

As I stand, this revelation is vital for the Christian faith. Mythologize any part of the Bible, especially the early chapters of Genesis, and the Christian faith will go down like a house of cards. But even the reality of Noah's Flood isn't by means all and end all. Rather it's the historical truth of Adam and Eve. For the reality of Jesus Christ can only stand if Adam and Eve were real too, along with Divine Creation and the Fall, as well as the Deluge, the cause of the formation of fossils. Because through their transgression sin entered the world and death to all men. This concept, which is within the very heart of the Christian faith, can only stand if there was an Adam and Eve, and they were created direct from the ground as the Bible teaches, and were not descended from a human line gradually going back to the primates, as all of these must have died already, before the Fall, therefore nullifying the purpose of Jesus Christ and the Atonement he made on the Cross. 

Disaster or Adventure?

Camping is something my heart had never embraced fully. My parents had never tried it, and the opportunity to become a member of the Boy Scouts was missed. As such, sleeping in a tent was totally unknown until well into adult life. Although a friend of mine tried to introduce me to the Great Outdoors, it was I who cut the holiday short from a week to just two nights. And that was in 1983.

 

The very same friend also introduced me to hosteling two years later in 1985. In this, I took a totally different perspective, and I became an avid fan of Youth Hostels, of the Youth Hostels Association, later to become Backpackers Hostels where instead of mixing with children (as was the original intention to introduce city kids to the delights of the countryside with minimum costs) - I mixed with people closer to my age, even an occasional senior citizen, who all had one thing in common: Independent Travel. From that first visit to a YHA hostel at Totland Bay, Isle of Wight, in Spring of that year, hosteling exploded to the furthest corners of the globe, including Israel, Singapore, Australia and the United States. Two outstanding hostels stands out in my memory: The first was New Swedish Hostel in the Old City of Jerusalem. It was here that the main dormitory was mixed gender - courting couples, single males and females squeezed into this 15th Century Crusader-built room with a domed ceiling. And rather than the owners turning people away, they allowed couples to bed down on the wide window ledge while males and females slept alongside each other as normal and as without embarrassment as it got - very much unlike the strict gender segregation of YHA hostels in Britain.

Jews celebrating the Feast of Tabernacles, Jerusalem, taken 2000 with their permission.

 The other outstanding hostel was the  HI-AYAH San Diego Downtown which in 1995, occupied a single floor of a YMCA building on Broadway, before moving to its present Market Street site by 1997, when I paid a second visit. During the first visit in 1995, there was no curfew, compulsory in most other YHA hostels, which allowed me to go to the member's kitchen at two in the morning to warm a cup of milk when I was unable to sleep. My dorm had only two beds, the other occupied by an Australian backpacker and a builder by trade who did some bricklaying elsewhere in the USA before stopping at San Diego for a few days before flying home to Sydney from Los Angeles. It was the meeting and sharing a room with this fellow which set the inspiration to visit Australia myself in 1997, on a special deal Round the World air ticket, stopping at Singapore and California as well. The thing I most loved about hosteling was the camaraderie felt among members - fellow backpackers in the kitchen, where a conversation struck up as we cooked our meals at adjoining stoves.

San Diego Harbour, California, taken 1997.
 

I can ramble on and on about this! World travel is indeed inspiring, and the Middle East in particular, when I first set foot in Israel in 1976, as I stood inside the Dome of the Rock on the Al-Haram al Sharif or Temple Mount, I saw the Bible really came alive, with the reality of the Scriptures hitting home.

 

So sleeping in a tent in those days had no appeal, especially after giving it a try in 1983. Yet when I first met Alex, my future wife in 1998, I discovered the exact opposite when it came to travel. She was repulsed at the idea of sharing a hostel dorm with other females, but she had camped before,  with her church, and she loved it, although she had always dreamt of roasting meat over a campfire. After we married, we started to go camping together, mainly to fulfil her desire and making our marriage relationship stronger. She gave me encouragement and - to a certain extent, I enjoyed the experience too. Yet I recall only a few years ago, on a remote area of Durdle Door Campsite, where I lay shivering in apprehension as the wind outside shaking the tent, yet my wife felt at ease and comfortable.

 

We camped a couple of times since then, until last week, when I booked a place at a campsite at Swanage in Dorset, nearly a mile from the beach. The tent was getting old, having bought it second-hand from the son of one of my clients, and approaching, if not already, thirty years since brand new. As we set it up, the outer door frame ripped from its supporting rod and it was scarcely holding up. There was also a hole in its outer roof, which was temporally fixed by a strip of tough plastic tape used for insulating wires. The first night was awful, with loud snoring drifting from a neighbouring tent, the noise keeping us both awake. Furthermore, moisture had collected on the inside of the outer roof, and although the inner lining kept us dry, there was this constant Plat! Pat! Pat! Plat! - as the sound of constant dripping of water onto plastic sheeting within the outer door but outside the inner lining where we lay. The following night the same set of circumstances were repeated. Plat! Plat! Pat! Plat! - with loud, snoring from next door. I exclaimed to my wife,

This is an absolute disaster! In the morning we are packing up and going home!

And this would have been after just two nights out of the four nights booked, and already paid for. Fortunately, I did manage to grab some sleep, and when I awoke at daybreak, I was determined to see the holiday through and not cut it short at all. After all, I always felt that hard-earned cash thrown away was not an option! When the two neighbouring campers, one on each side of us, collapsed their tents on the morning of the third day, I felt a rush of relief. Perhaps without the sound of snoring, we may get some sleep at last, which for the third and fourth nights, turned out to be true.

Just after erecting of our tent, Swanage Campsite, taken 2013.

Then there was the weather - ah yes, the typical British August - rain. I have found it amazing how such a holiday resort reflects the mood of the weather. On a day when the sun was out, the beach was packed with sunbathers and the sea was dotted with swimmers. Cafes with outdoor seating lining the nearby quayside were busy trading, and if was difficult to find an unoccupied seat. There was a party atmosphere of universal cheer among the bustling crowd - and that despite a chilly north-westerly wind which kept the temperature in check. But on the next day a wet afternoon cleared the quayside of all the crowds, the staff at all the outdoor cafes were standing about idly, just chatting among themselves, the beach was deserted and only determined shoppers, with their young children screaming out of boredom, paced through the streets rapidly to complete their chores.

Then the day arrived when we had to decamp, in preparation for the journey home. Of all four mornings, it happened to rain hard as we attempted to dismantle the tent. Cold and wet, our judgement was impaired and we managed to tear the remainder of the outer door frame to the extent that the life of the tent was over, while at the same time the flattened structure collected pools of rainwater. Afterwards, while waiting at the bus stop heavy laden with baggage, an elderly lady said that it hadn't rained like this in the area for many weeks, and this downpour was out of the usual.

So how were we to analyse the holiday? A disaster or an adventure? I recall clearly of both of us bowing in prayer as we dedicated the break just before leaving home, asking God to be with us all the way. So was he with us? Or was he left standing on the platform as the train pulled out of our home station? I believe that God was with us all the way. To me, I saw this holiday as a mirror of our Christian lives.

I was told many years ago that the Cross of Christ was not easy. Salvation has never guaranteed an easy ride. With our sinful nature still within us, walking by faith is a constant battle, as Paul calls it, flesh versus Spirit, as narrated in Galatians 5:16-24. So in what way did I believe the holiday reflected the Christian life?

When we face temptation, this could be pictured as both the rain and the two uneasy nights in the tent. For example, that afternoon when it started to rain, where did the crowds go? Many either went home or back to their hotels. Others most likely to the pubs to drown out their sorrows or ease boredom, or to the Fun World amusement arcade, where coin gaming machines with money dangling precariously over the edge, tempting many to insert more coins, in the hope of that final push will send the whole pile of coins, even a £5 note, crashing down into the hands of the gambler. Those machines can be very addictive, and before becoming a Christian in 1973, I stood as if chained to those machines, hoping for a quick fortune. Then in the pubs, or bars, one can drink himself silly. Yet I know of many young Brits who fly to Mediterranean islands such as Ibiza for the very purpose of alcohol consumption, even drugs, for the sake of sea, sun, sand, and sex, by means of a getaway from the British wet Summer.

Jurassic Coastline at Swanage area, taken 2013.

Yet living by the Holy Spirit to me is far more rewarding and satisfying. The way of holiness leaves no morning hangover, neither vomiting, admission to a hospital or even ending up in a prison cell after a street brawl. Rather, walking in the Spirit is like hiking to a specific location and taking in views which leaves me gasping in wonder and whipping out the camera. Swanage is the gateway to the Jurassic Coast, with geological features which are unique in the world, making the area a World Heritage Site. Although we have rain, and plenty of it, there are times when the sun shines, and there were golden moments in our holiday when our personal enjoyment reached its peak. Such is like walking in the Spirit. Due to our own imperfections, holiness is not always an easy ride, but it also has heights which no pleasure of sin can match. As an old 1970s song goes:
I beg your pardon, but I've never promised you a rose garden.
Along with the sunshine, there's gotta be a little rain sometime.

A good description of holiness. As with our camping holiday in Swanage - an adventure, not a disaster.