Dealing With A Difficult Neighbour.

As I write this, both my beloved and I have to endure a noise coming from next door, at number 49.* It's hard to describe this noise accurately, but I can come as close as possible by saying it's a cross between a whine and a hum. The annoying sound can continue for a long time without interruption, before a relieving quiet break lasting anywhere between a couple of minutes to several hours.

Moreover, the noise can have an effect on my wife, being in her present state of health, the noise, which itself isn't very loud, can still generate a penetrating annoyance which leads to a headache. Then her resort to Paracetamol, Ibuprofen, or even Co-Codamol if the pain is unusually severe. I thank God that we have access to these painkillers. Because had this happened only two or three years earlier, her throbbing headache meant an ambulance ride to the nearest Accident & Emergency for blood-pressure tests and even an X-ray scan to ensure there is nothing serious going on, such as internal bleeding or even the possibility of a tumour.

In addition to those tests, she was given intravenous feeds of such drugs until she was well enough to be sent home, normally between four to five hours after admission. And to avoid another such experience, the Consultant ensured that she had access to these medicines at home, prescribed by our own General Practitioner. How wonderful is our National Health Service!

When going through such stresses, it is tempting to bang on the neighbour's front door and to let him know that the noise is driving us up the wall! It's not that the noise was confined to just one or two days. Rather, we had to endure such nuisance for over a week and there's no sign of it ending. Eventually, with my curiosity spilling over the source of such noise, I knocked on his door.

By asking whether his wife still needed the old toys once owned by our daughters, I made the issue of the noise more of a side issue than the main one, hence allowing him to fill me in with the facts without anger. Since the couple runs a school-term childcare business in their own home, the issue of unwanted toys is a good icebreaker, to start a conversation without the need to zero straight in on what's on my mind.

He's that type of working-class Englishman who loves DIY for its own sake, and whenever there is no school, as in this case due to the Coronavirus lockdown, he will always take his tools out of his shed and start work. Most of the time, what he does is well within toleration and any unwanted noise, such as using a handsaw on a piece or a sheet of wood, this can be easily drowned out by playing soft music on the laptop. Ah! Thanks to YouTube, despite those annoying ads slotted in between videos.

And it was only yesterday when a card dropped through our door. It was from the neighbour from #45, the house on the other side of ours. They had just moved out. On the card was written a thank you for being such a patient and a considerate neighbour. They thanked us for our patience with them when they played their loud and deep-sounding music centre which can be heard across several back yards. They also thanked us for our patience with them when their lively children often kicked their football and even their other toys into our garden when they fought among themselves. Either Alex or I tossed the items back into their garden without a fuss. And I will never forget the little girl say with some hesitation, "Thank you" and my response of, "it's a pleasure" in a reassuring tone.

I have always got on well with the family at #45. He was a black African married to a white Englishwoman. When their third child was born, a daughter, she had the pleasure to show the newborn to me, and I wished them all well.

That is until one day when their son's football flew over the high fence and landed in our garden, I gently tossed it back over. Suddenly there was this angry, vehement torrent pouring out at me. But it wasn't spewed out by the African. Instead, I was told off by the wife's brother who had called in to visit. It was he who upbraided me for letting the returned ball fall on their coffee table, on the other side of the high fence.

Sometimes I just can't win.

These set of events has made me think back to my domestic window cleaning business. Throughout the years I received hospitality from a few of my customers. Let's for argument's sake, at any one month I had a hundred clients (actually I had more than that, but to illustrate, this will do.) Of the one hundred, ten of them offered me a coffee. Also, five of the one hundred were from an ethnic minority. Of these, two of them offered me coffee. With a bit of number crunching, of all my clientele, 10% of them were generous. But the percentage of those of an ethnic minority, a staggering 40% of all non-white customers were generous, compared to the actual 8.4% of hospitable Caucasians.

Going back to my next-door neighbour at #49. My main reason for knocking at his door was to find out how long this noise is to continue. But I had to make the main point a side issue. If I hadn't, he could have answered with a frown. Instead, I was told with a level of apology that since there is more gloss paint to be stripped off, he needs to use that machine for "a couple more days". Well, so far, it was longer than that.

Never mind that old paint can be stripped off using a brush and Nitromors paint stripper. Or better still, to rub-down with wet-and-dry the old interior paintwork to a smooth, matt surface then repaint. A job I know can be done in one or two days without all that noise, effort and the use of power, taking up to two weeks to complete, as well as bringing unnecessary stress on the neighbours. 

But my fear of making enemies of my neighbours stem from past experiences, especially from working-class men. On one occasion, I was passing by when this customer up on a ladder looked to be in distress. He called me over. When I asked what was troubling him, he pointed to a bolt which held the old TV aerial in place, and he was trying to turn the bolt to remove the aerial, and he felt ill-at-ease up on the ladder. He gave me the wrench and with it, I turned the bolt with apparent ease. On the following month, when I approached to clean his windows, in no uncertain terms he angrily told me to take a hike and never come back.

Or at another time and place when I left my own ladders overnight concealed in a narrow alley near the back gate of this volatile fellow's garden. As I lowered them into place, it was the clanging of the metal against concrete which set his dog barking. He came to the gate and angrily challenged me for leaving my ladders on his property, causing all the dogs in the street to bark, along with a threat that if he saw the ladders there again, he would take them and throw them across the street and ensuring maximum damage to them. I replied that the ladders were not on his property but outside, they were concealed from view and their presence cannot cause the dogs to bark once I'm gone. I then thought better, picked up the ladders and carried them away, despite that it was that time in my life, nearing retirement when carrying such heavy equipment around became more tiring.

Then there was the time, more than fifteen years ago, when a loud birthday party in the apartment above ours was threatening to wake up our baby daughter at two in the morning. So for the second time, I knocked on their door with a request to tone the music down. A young blonde woman whose birthday it was, arrogant and partially intoxicated, answered and rudely told me to beat it. I answered back. Immediately a group of men whom I knew to be England football fans shot out of the door to beat me up, but I ran into my own apartment and closed the door. The angry mob, all partially drunk but all were aware of what they were doing, tried to beat the door down but the lock held well before retreating back upstairs, leaving a strange silence through which my daughter slept peacefully without waking up.

In point to note: If it looks as if I had a very turbulent life, then the reader must consider that all these events occurred over 35 years when I was self-employed. This means there were long periods in between when I enjoyed peace.

But as the whine from next door continued, Alex asked me to turn the music on, which was very helpful for both of us. Then as I pondered:

Why do many English working-class men have such volatile temperaments?

That, according to my experience, I once put to a good friend of mine, a fellow Christian who graduated at Loughborough University and held a successful career in computer programming. He agreed with me that a working-class man is subject to physical violence at a level greater than the middle-classes, and suggested that he has a greater need to reassert himself. Then today I was asking myself:

Instead of feeling angry, anxious or frustrated, how can I love this guy in the same way God loves me?

That is where I need the infilling of the Holy Spirit. For only he can work out within us the situation as a means to strengthen our faith and to enable us to persevere. And in this area, I'm not totally without experience, having learned from my previous mistakes.

I have discovered, especially with the family living on the opposite side, not to knock on their door when their music centre is playing loudly, which is usually during the day rather than in the evenings. Instead, I turn off my own music, whether from the HI-FI or from the laptop, and allow their music to entertain us. It's free and I don't have to contribute towards their energy bills!

When one of their children throws or kicks a ball over the fence, all I need to do is to gently toss it back over. No reprimanding. Rather, no matter how many times the ball may land in our garden, just toss it back without any ado. If I hear a "thank you" - then I should regard this as a bonus and not out of expectation.

The same applies to the neighbour living on the other side. Knocking on his door whilst busy at work would only aggravate the situation and could make an enemy out of him. Instead, if my curiosity throughout his project needs to be met, as already happened, to greet the fellow and to turn the main issue into a side issue seem to have brought more positive results.

Often I see him standing in his front yard smoking when I enter or leave our house. I found that greeting him a good day with a smile goes a long way, even if we don't have much in common. On one occasion, after Alex called the ambulance at my absence, the crew had to call the firemen to let the ambulance crew into the house. The door was repaired shortly afterwards while I was still out. When my DIY-loving neighbour saw everything that happened, he afterwards approached me with an offer to keep one of our spare keys. After agreeing with Alex, I allowed them to keep our back door key for the sole purpose of letting the ambulance crew into the house if I'm out. This building of trust will go well towards having a good relationship.

Then there is something which I consider to be the most difficult part - praying for them! This is due to experience challenging my faith that the adult working-class Briton is nigh impossible to bring to Christ for salvation. The sauna is one good example of where this attitude is found. I once asked a bulky, hard-boiled builder what he thought of Jesus Christ whilst alone with him inside the sauna cabin. He burst into a rage and told me how the Catholic Church, in which he grew up, had been a letdown. Another bather, at a different time and place, avoided my question by bringing up something altogether different, then walking out of the sauna. Yet, throughout my Christian life, I had never shied away from insisting that this Jesus of Nazareth is the risen Christ, especially in the workplace.

Now the African neighbour and his family have moved out. I have no idea where they now live. All I have from them is a card thanking me for being patient with them and showing consideration. Now the house stands empty, one in a line of suburban terraced homes which is very common here in the UK. Who will move in?

It is my hope that the new occupants will not be the typical English under-thirties couple, bringing into their lounge massive HI-FI speakers, each the size of a small cupboard, and having the habit of all-night parties. And hostile towards anyone who raises any issues with them.

Yes, with those sort of people I have had my fingers burnt already. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*For privacy, the addresses are changed.

A Duvet at Church...

For some months I have been impressed with the church which meets at Westminster Chapel, a short walk from London Victoria Terminus Station. My first Sunday visit was earlier this year, back in June. I have known Westminster Chapel for quite a number of years. It was here that Alex my wife and I had attended the all-day Prayer for Israel conference one Saturday in 2000, which was led by the late Lance Lambert, a student, advocate, and expounder of Bible prophecy, particularly on the future restoration of Israel as a theocratic nation with Jerusalem as its capital. But equally impressive was a Saturday evening inter-church meeting about leadership, which was held there around the mid 1990's, to which I was encouraged by members of my own fellowship to attend. The place was packed. Not only was the central auditorium full to capacity but also the two tiers of balconies on each side were full. This resulted in a tremendous atmosphere, especially when the more popular or well-known songs were sung during worship.

So with such memories, I made a return visit to Westminster Chapel last Sunday. As I approached its main entrance, I could not help but notice a large day-glowing duvet or sleeping bag lying as if rolled on one of the church's front windowsills, facing the street. Suspecting a sleeping victim of homelessness, I decided to let him sleep on, and entered the building.

Like as June earlier this year, the building was nowhere near full, unlike that of the leadership meeting back in the nineties. Various pews in the main auditorium remained empty, as well as the balconies. I was even the sole occupier of the pew I sat at, not far from the front. It was then that my spirit fell. In a modern cosmopolitan city such as London, how I long to see this building packed out on a Sunday morning! I found myself thinking, if not praying, Lord, I long to see this place filled to the brim on any Sunday morning! How I would love to hear the praises thunder so loudly that even the roof itself gets blown off from its place! The light of Glory right here in central London! This was when I realised how much I loved this church, and had I lived in London, I would have had no hesitation in applying for membership.

Westminster Chapel presents the Gospel and Bible teachings in a fundamental, straightforward manner, which I find very edifying, hence my fondness of the venue. The emphasis of Eternal Security of the Believer can be felt as I listened between the lines of the sermon. That week, before the main preach, there was a children's slot held in the auditorium before the youngsters were despatched to their departments. The children's theme was about hypocrisy. A mini-drama was staged by two London University students, about a "perfect Christian" who boasted about all the good things he does in public on a daily basis, along with his boast about abstaining from evil. "Wow! What a pillar of church society!" - That is, until someone checked his Facebook and Twitter profiles, and discovered that he lied frequently, and was secretly dishonest with his money, particularly on tax evasion.

Whoops. It was at this point when I felt the Holy Spirit point out several things in my life, and gave me an opportunity to confess quietly to God. I thought about the homeless individual I passed as I entered the building earlier. Hypocrite? Perhaps that is a matter of opinion. But seeing someone with a begging bowl sitting on the side of the street doesn't generally stir compassion within. Not to say that I never felt for the beggar. I recall when I was in Jerusalem back in 1993. For days, I could not take my eyes off this elderly gentleman sitting on the grass with his back leaning on the medieval wall of the Old City, not far from Jaffa Gate. His left leg looked as if he was badly injured, and let's face it, his lower leg did look rather ghastly. Out of goodwill I gave him a fair sum out of my funds. He looked very grateful as he took the cash off me. After this, he vanished, and I saw him no more throughout the rest of my stay in Israel.

As I pondered over this fellow and his sudden disappearance, slowly the truth began to dawn. His leg wasn't injured at all, but had a fake makeover, done very professionally, to attract the likes of myself. But rather than feel duped and a gullible fool, I allowed the matter to pass, and gave thanks to the Lord for the privilege for my ability to give. After facing an aggressive female beggar at 5th Avenue New York City in 1995 (and she was young and pretty, not old and looking unwell) I decided to revise what I have read what goes on behind the image of street poverty. One reliable source was Brian Moynahan's book Fool's Paradise, where he interviewed some beggars at the Champs Elysees, Paris. After his research revealed that a number of them congregate in the evening with the day's takings at a bar in a backstreet, and celebrated with champagne. He informs us that the beggars are at work when the public are not. He then reveals the Newspaper Ploy carried out by one, and the Telephone Ploy acted out by another, where each asking passersby whether they could donate towards buying a newspaper, or towards phoning his mother living in Germany. In addition, they always make sure that their clothes, although looking threadbare, are always kept clean, and dress reasonably. Over in Israel, I was the gullible victim of what I could refer to as "the Injury Ploy."

Then I recall when I took Alex my wife up north to Chester, a historic medieval city built on and around a Roman fort. The River Dee flows through the city, making the promenade a popular walkway. One evening, we saw a man lying by the edge of the river, and his companion begging for help. It does look as if the one lying on the ground was seriously injured, and I wondered why an ambulance wasn't called. That's when his companion explained that he didn't have the money for the phone call. Wised up already, I smelled a rat, and said to my wife, "Come, let's leave." We were chased over a short distance. When I turned around to look behind us, lo and behold! The injured person had instantly and miraculously recovered, and joined the chase. Fortunately we kept going when the two gave up on us.

When it comes to street beggars - really, I find it very difficult to discern the true from the false. I have wondered how would Jesus react if he was around today. I don't think he would have tossed a coin into his plate or bowl. Instead, he would give the order, "Follow me." Therefore, rather than give directly to the street beggar, I prefer to give towards charities which deals with the genuine poor. If the charity is Christian, such as Tearfund or Compassion, all the better. But wherever I'm generous or stingy, discerning or gullible, wise or foolish, this I know, without Christ in my life, my own righteousness will never meet God's demands. I live by his righteousness imputed into me, and not my own.

Going back to the homeless person sleeping on the windowsill of Westminster Chapel, he was not actually begging. Instead, he was sleeping. I have wondered what all the other worshippers were thinking as they walked past to enter the building. Was it a common sight, something so familiar that they have became insensitive to his presence? Or was it something of sudden appearance numbing the thinking and decisions of all who passed by? After the service was over, many of us congregated for refreshments afterwards, yet I heard no mention of him. This post-service coffee seems to be becoming common in many churches - the serving of coffee after the service which, no doubt had its origins in America, when in 1978, I had coffee and doughnuts at the First Baptist Church in Portland, Oregon, something still unknown in churches throughout the UK. Another example of Britain harrumphing whenever America coughs?

But as far as I recall, nobody mentioned the homeless sleeper outside. It was as if he wasn't there. Was he deliberately ignored? It felt strange, as I see it, sleeping at a location where just a pane of glass separated him from the message of the Gospel. And yet he slept on outside, while all of us inside were recipients of the Good News. But do I blame the church for making no effort to invite him in? No, I can't, since I have had no inkling of how such a circumstance came to be. How can I prove whether or not he has made this particular window his home, and whether or not had the church invited him in over and over again, and yet he fully resisted? Had any members brought food to him in the past? This is something I would never know. Likewise, if I were to go back to Westminster Chapel this weekend, would he still be there, wrapped in his thick sleeping bag as before? Or would he have wondered off into the horizon, carrying his thick duvet with him, never to be seen again except by some sheer coincidence?

Perhaps fully aware of my own shortcomings, after coffee I exited the chapel, only to see the man stirring in his duvet. Alone, I called out to him, asking him if he was homeless. When he answered in the affirmative, I took out my coin bag containing some small change. I took out the only £1 coin I had and gave it to him. "Here, take this, and have a bowl of soup on me."

Maybe, just maybe, he had a glimpse of the Gospel in action. Who knows.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For more reading of my visit to Westminster Chapel in June 2015, click here

The Other Five Fruits Of The Spirit

Last week we looked at the first three fruits of the Holy Spirit - Joy, Peace and Patience, together with Love, making up our emotional and spiritual relationship with God. These virtues could be viewed as passive, our direct standing with God as a result of being controlled by the infilling Holy Spirit. This week we look at the last five virtues, which are practical - how we treat other people around us, especially our Christian brothers and sisters.

Also in my last blog, I gave illustrations of two real life experiences - delays at an airport departure lounge, and being stuck in a supermarket checkout line by a fickle customer who was trying to redeem a few pence from a voucher. On both occasions I did not respond well. Take the airport delay incident. I was due to fly to Israel in 1993 to backpack the Holy Land for a couple of weeks when our airplane was found to have a technical fault - the hydraulic piping had sprung a leak, and had to be replaced with a new one before the plane can take off. This caused a six-hour delay which activated my panic button and I became very fidgety. Then I prayed for God to help me, and I became much calmer, felt peace and had patience. Nearby, some Orthodox Jews who were to share my flight were very serene and took the situation so calmly, that a couple of them slept through the ordeal. How come? Why as a Christian I had to pray while those Jews were naturally calm?

I think it was Jesus himself who gave an answer to this one. He said that it was not the righteous who needed a physician, but the sick. (See Mark 2:17.) I guess as an Italian, I panic very easily at the slightest threat or mishap, therefore I need the Holy Spirit far more than one who is naturally calm or have that British stoicism!

Now, supposing that during this long wait at the airport, someone cried out in despair, thinking that his vacation is already ruined. After all, that happened in 1978, but from someone sent back to the departure lounge as a result of an industrial dispute. Do I tease or mock this desperate person? Or more realistically, tell him to grow up? No, it's none of these things. The fruit of the Spirit is love, so I would do my best to make that person feel better. I talk to him, assuring him that we will take off soon and once we had arrived there, our delay will be quickly forgotten. One fruit of the Spirit here becomes manifest, kindness.

Then I offer to buy him a cup of coffee and perhaps a bar of chocolate or a cake at the nearby cafe, and he accepts, the fruit of goodness shines through. He opens up and we start talking, and he tells me why he is flying to Israel. He had suffered a bitter divorce and also having lost the custody of his children to their mother, he decided to visit Israel to see Masada, a hill fortress where a number of Jews in AD 70 decided on mass suicide rather than submit to their Roman oppressors, after reading so much about it in a novel. I respond with gentleness, refusing to pass any judgement, and when he begs me that the talk does not leave the table, faithfulness is the fruit of the spirit which would command loyalty.

By then I would feel love, joy, peace and patience, in fact I would have almost forgotten about the delay. He then asks me why I'm visiting Israel, and I answer that as a backpacker, I love the ancient archaeological sites and I feel a special affinity for the City of Jerusalem. Then, if the circumstance is right, I might explain that Jesus Christ was crucified at Jerusalem for the forgiveness of my sins.

The delay at the airport in 1993 was real, but of course the rest of the story was fabrication, but I have given it to point out that the fruit of the Spirit becomes manifest at certain, normally unfavourable situations. In the last blog, I gave the example of Peter, Paul and Silas, all three in prison. Peter was so secure in the love of Christ that his peace allowed him to sleep. Paul and Silas, being in each other's company manifested joy which caused them to sing praises to God, which convicted and saved the jailer and his family.

So taking a brief look at the remaining virtues:

Kindness. A lack of any form of cruelty, especially verbal. This includes teasing or mocking someone when they are in a difficult or adverse situation, or even to say that they don't have time or to declare that they have more important things to do. It also means showing a favour when others are opposed, or not have the time for. A good example of this is found in Mark 10:13-14 when some mothers came up to Jesus to ask to have their children blessed. The disciples scorned at what looked like a time-wasting request, but Jesus had the kindness to bless those children, despite what the disciples thought.

Goodness. The ability to give from the heart especially to someone who does not deserve it. The Italian word for good is bene, from which we have the English words benefit, benevolent, etc. Generally it the giving of good things which blesses the recipient. A good instruction of this is given by Paul, when he teaches: When your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he's thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. Romans 12:20. Again, Jesus demonstrated this fruit of the Spirit when he miraculously fed the five thousand, some of them could well have bayed for his crucifixion later when Jesus was tried by Pilate.

Faithfulness. Believing what the other person or group of people has to say and staying loyal to them. This is quite opposite to deserting, gossipping, telling other of one's faults and as such, bringing that person to ridicule or to let him down, or to leave him in his dire situation. Moses remained faithful to the children of Israel, despite on many occasions the nation complained, moaned and were ready to desert him and flee back to Egypt. When Korah and his allies had persuaded the nation to question the leadership of Moses and Aaron, they then fell on their faces to plead for the whole nation, and punish only the conspirators (See Numbers 16:20-24.) Luke too, was faithful to Paul when he was in prison, after everyone else deserted him (2 Timothy 4:10-11).

Gentleness. I remember one house-group when we discussed this fruit of the Spirit, the general opinion of the leader was that many believed that gentleness was a lack of rugged masculinity. Having played rugby, the "he-man's game" we knew where he was coming from. We British have a history in loving to think of ourselves as a nation of conquerers, out to establish an Empire, to rule over others with force where necessary. And there are newspaper journalists even today lamenting over loss of Empire. Yet if there was a person with such gentleness, it was Jesus Christ himself, who the British say they follow as a national religion. He was particularly gentle with women, the woman at the well was one of them. He did not upbraid her for her sins, but rather, his gentleness won her heart to the point when she decided that this man must be a prophet. And he was gentle to the woman caught in the act of adultery. While the Pharisees were ready to stone her for her crime, all he said to her was, "Go, and sin no more." (John 8:11.) Yet no one could have been more masculine in human history as the Lord Jesus Christ. Another fine example of gentleness was with Peter, after delivery from prison, kept on knocking while those inside, who were praying for his release, were debating whether it was him or not. Peter's natural character was to have upbraided them for their slowness to believe and answer the door. Instead, when the door opened, Peter simply beckoned them to hold their peace, with the explanation of his deliverance (Acts 12:12-17.)

Self Control. The final virtue, this is the fruit of the Spirit which prevents a believer erupting into anger or other emotional turmoil, especially where self is directly involved. For example, if someone abuses you, how would you react? If by natural means, you retaliate or seek revenge, or even smack him in the mouth. But this fruit of the Spirit gives you the ability to return the insult with either a gentle reply or with nothing at all. One good example of this was when Jesus was slapped across the face by the soldiers just before the crucifixion, the mocking and the pressing of a crown of thorns on to his head. Jesus could have lashed out physically. He could have protested his innocence to Pilate. He could have even called down a legion of angels to slay them. Instead self control, allowed him to go to the cross without a fuss, most likely enough to convict many of their sins, and to declare, "Surely, this is the Son of God!" And I believe that self control is more than stoicism, the stiff upper lip or the bottling up of emotions. Self control involves returning evil with goodness, kindness and gentleness. It involves making sure that your enemy or adversity is fed and well looked after, a virtue that can only come from the Holy Spirit.

These are all the nine virtues which makes up the fruit of the Spirit. Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self Control, to which there is no law. (N.I.V.) Each of these virtues is a strength to meet every need in one's walk with God and alongside others. I believe that the first four are connected vertically with our standing with God, the other five, horizontally with our relationship with other people. Therefore not only do I liken the Fruit of the Spirit as an orange with eight segments within a rind, but also to a cross, the Cross of Christ.

Galatians 5:16 (KJV) says, Walk in the Spirit, and you shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh This is the key verse for all three articles in this mini-series.

Finally, God is willing for every believer to be filled with the Holy Spirit. I actually go further and say it is a command from God. But it is for believers only - those who have trusted in the Lord Jesus Christ for salvation. All he has to do is to ask, and God will fulfill his request.