A Tough Learning Curve.

His boyhood environment could not have been more English in gentility. At a predominantly wealthy, middle-class southern county of Kent, sometimes known as the Garden of England; young Adrian Elms was the only dark-skinned student at an otherwise all-white Huntley School for Boys in Tunbridge Wells, a prosperous town close to the border with Sussex. He was bright, did well in class, and on the field he was a very talented footballer. He made every effort to be popular among other students. He was a source of good humour, attended reggae dance nights and enjoyed life to the full. He was often referred to as "black Ade" as it is said that all the other pupils at the school had never seen a black child before coming from Tunbridge Wells.

Despite his extroverted exterior, I have wondered what effect all of this had on the boy. Perhaps rather like an exhibit in a museum, he attracted attention, and so put in an extra effort in both academic and sport alike to equal them in their acceptance. But the mild racism he felt was a victim of, slowly ate into his soul. Because no matter how well he did at school, no matter how high a standard he managed to achieve, somehow he felt that he wasn't really one of them. He looked different, he felt different, and as such he was convinced that he was different. And within his subconscious, he was aware that he was not fully equal to them. A bright and clever academic? Therefore he might well have been aware of the history of prejudice shown to non-whites by the "noble" Caucasian. Centuries of Negro slavery in the New World, the presence of the Ku-Klux-Klan in the USA, Apartheid in South Africa, decades of white aggression by the Far-Right at English football stands, and various other acts of discrimination, including the murder of Stephen Lawrence by a gang of white racists in South London in April 1993. Such discrimination is present to this day - the latest being the aggressive xenophobia which has experienced a surge straight after the Brexit referendum. And that niggling feeling that being dark-skinned has made him trail behind his white-skinned colleagues on the Darwinian evolutionary scale, seeing himself as still closer to the ape than the more-advanced Homo Sapiens he shared the classroom with.

Little wonder that he was viewed with a level of suspicion by everyone else in the school, so he believed.

And throughout his school days, he had no interest in religion, especially Christianity. He might have been repulsed by the idea of a white, unloving English God, whose Son might well have indeed "walked upon England's mountains green, and on England's pleasant pastures seen" - despite this Son of God being Jewish, and therefore a potential, could-have-been victim of Adolf Hitler's pogrom to "solve the Jewish problem". And no doubt, a boy's school such as Huntley had based its entire curriculum on Church of England liturgy to be a good British subject of Her Majesty the Queen and of her entire white-skinned Government. So little wonder, some years after leaving school, whilst drinking in a pub, he responded to a racist snide with violence, slashing the perpetrator's face with a knife.

And so led up to the events of the past few days. A terrorist attack in the heart of Westminster in the name of Allah, taking the lives of four victims and injuring many others before he himself was shot dead by the Police. 

In the name of Allah? Or is it more to do with his rage against the British establishment, from which he had always felt some kind of exclusion, simply because of the colour of his skin? And using the name of Allah as a cover or excuse. Adrian Elms, or should I say Khalid Masood, never loved Allah - at least not in the same way as a Christian believer loves his Lord Jesus Christ. Instead, for the terrorist, Allah was a power source for hatred, disguised under a "holy" name of Jihad. To love the Lord Jesus is intertwined with loving both believers and unbelievers, and doing good to all, even to God's enemies as Jesus instructed in his hillside sermon (Matthew 5:38-48). The vivid contrast of attitude and behaviour between a devout Christian and a radical Muslim seem to enforce the idea that all religions leading to God cannot possibly be true.

And the hysteria which ensued after the London incident. As one English patriotic newspaper journalist wrote: "We as a nation is lost. Loss of hope, loss of the spirit to fight." And yet let's face it. The London attack was a minor issue - a tragic one, sure - but still comparatively minor. Yet I can't help sense a national panic on a giant scale. Day after day, the aftermath of the incident makes for headline news on both television and newspapers. A comparatively minor incident? In the London attack, only four people died, five including the terrorist. On 13 November 2015, 130 people died when a terrorist struck a nightclub in Paris. Then on 22 March 2016, 35 died when a bomb went off at Brussels Airport. But those two European attacks are minuscule when compared with the combined Twin Towers and the Pentagon attack on 11 September 2001, when up to 2,996 lives were taken. All three of these incidents were carried out by radical Muslims. Now imagine what state our nation will get into if a plane piloted by an Islamic terrorist was to slam into the Shard, Britain's tallest skyscraper, or into the Gherkin, a prominent building in the City, or for that matter, into the National Westminster Bank tower, also in the City? Imagine the giant plume of black smoke rising heavenward for hours on end. Indeed, how would our media react? And how long would it go on for? Food for thought, perhaps?

Not that I wish any of these things of course! But I cannot help the feeling of deep curiosity for the national reaction and aftermath of such a catastrophe - if our media goes into panic mode after just five deaths. As the aforementioned journalist, Daily Mail writer Katie Hopkins wrote,

Because all the while those forgiving fools in Brussels stood with their stupid hands raised in hearts to the sky, another mischief was in the making. More death was in the pipeline...an entire city of monkeys. Blind. Deaf. And dumb.

She then criticised Islamic London Mayor Sadiq Khan for being the son of a bus driver and called him a fool for praising the efforts of the Police, Ambulance and Medical staff for ensuring the safety of the surviving victims.    

I find such an article incredulous, but it has won support from many in the comments forum which follows. London, a city of monkeys? Or was she referring to Brussels? I think she was referring to both cities. Blind monkeys! Deaf monkeys! Dumb monkeys! And if it was London she had in mind, then the whole city of the blind is led by a one-eyed king, and tragically the one-eyed king is a son of a bus driver. Maybe if his father was an influential banker, a magistrate, or even a royal escort, she might have seen him in a different light. Who knows. But a city of monkeys? Oh yes, of course. The majority of Londoners are Remainers. And also very cosmopolitan. Blame the liberals for allowing large crowds of immigrants into our country and through multiculturalism, practically destroying it. 

Except - that this London terrorist was not an immigrant. He wasn't even born Muslim. Instead he was born right here in England, I believe from Christian parents, as far back as 1964. So this perpetrator was properly British, and not an immigrant. He had the same national status as I have. My parents were both Italian. So biologically speaking, I'm a full-blood Italian. But I was born here in England. In Westminster to be more precise. Both of us were home-born, and therefore having nothing to do with our entry into the European Common Market in 1973. We were both already here before then, and I was even old enough to vote In. Yet I have always been legally British. I hold a British passport, I'm registered as a legitimate British citizen. I worked for nearly half a century here in the UK and contributed towards the good of society which included paying of taxes and National Insurance. Both the English Lake District and the Dorset coast I consider as favourite natural beauty spots, along with being impressed with both Roman and Medieval history. And I have explored the UK from John O'Groats to Lands End, and Wales too. But according to Hopkins, because I voted Remain, I'm a liberal, a fool, a blind, deaf and dumb monkey, lost somewhere on Darwin's evolutionary scale. Indeed, her attitude is an insult to every Londoner and to every Remain voter across the country.

The opposing contrast between this female patriotic and the teaching of Jesus of Nazareth could not be more dynamic! God loves all mankind enough to give his precious Son to suffer a cruel death to atone for all, Muslims included. If it takes immigration of Islamic people into this or any other western country to heighten the chance to hear the Christian Gospel and believe, then I'm all for it. I long to see Muslims come to Jesus for salvation. It is so easy. The only requirement for the Muslim is to change his mind (repent) and believe in his heart that this Jesus of Nazareth is the risen Christ. Resurrected physically from the dead. That what makes the Christian faith so unique. Jesus is risen! Risen from the dead. This cannot be said about Mohammed, nor of any other religious founder or leader. Jesus is the risen Christ. And by believing, eternal life is given, and is saved from an eternity in Hell, separated from God. Only faith in Christ can change the world, not patriotism. If every single Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, European, American - both North and South - the British Commonwealth - if everyone repented and has a heart-faith in the risen Christ of Nazareth - only then there will be a big political and social improvement throughout the whole world.

Instead, Hopkins preaches hate - as much hate as the Muslims hate westerners. Really, in a sense she has become as one of them. She has even admitted that in her younger days she would have gladly picked up a gun and shoot. Really, I can well ask: Is there any difference at all between a patriotic Englishman (or ~woman) and a radical Islamic?

Such hate on both sides will not solve anything. Instead, hate will only bring death, and Hell will follow. This is a very serious matter. Eternity is a very long time indeed, and if God has already provided a way of escaping eternal separation, then it would be tragic for one to step into a lost eternity out of patriotism or religious extremism, when one can simply believe in the risen Christ and be eternally safe - not just from eternal punishment but into a loving relationship with the heavenly Father through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, with flawless love flowing between every redeemed saint residing in a glorious new world!  The same offer of salvation applies both to the English and to Muslims, along with all other nationals and hate groups.

Just in case I may have appeared as glib over those five deaths in London (including that of the terrorist), I mourn for them. It was a needless tragedy. But what makes it a tragedy is that all these deaths were premature - each life cut short. It is equally tragic to have happened in London as it did in Paris, Brussels, and in New York. But the truth is that we will all die. Everyone of us. It is a matter of sooner or later. As the Bible testifies:

It is appointed for all men to die once, after this the judgement...(Hebrews 9:27).

But this is so unnecessary. God promises eternal life as a free gift to every believer. Why not take his offer and be eternally acquitted? It's far, far greater in value than patriotism.

HM. Is There a Hidden Secret?

The last couple of days has been quite a time for celebration here in England. First the Queen's Ninetieth Birthday, and now St. George's Day. And oh yes, for those into English literature and the arts, today (that is April 23rd, 2016) also marks the 400th anniversary of the death of William Shakespeare. But there was also a sad side to these past fifty or so hours. That is the sudden, premature death of singer and musician Prince at his home in Chanhassen, Minnesota - on the same day as the Queen's Birthday. Ironic too, that both have royal titles. Coincidence? Maybe so, but surely such a probability of the two, both with royal titles, yet totally unrelated and living thousands of miles apart, arriving at their milestones on the same day must be one chance in a billion.

I was no fan of Prince, although I never had any disrespect for him. I simply didn't listen to or buy his music. Unlike probably his former rival Michael Jackson, whose classic songs such as Got to Be There, Looking Through the Windows, I'll be There, Ben, Ain't No Sunshine, and many more which crooned the airwaves throughout the 1970's and became ingrained within my soul. 

Michael Jackson - great singer and musician

For readers who have been familiar with my blogs for quite a spell, I might have portrayed myself as a Republican. But in truth, unlike my late father who leaned in favour of a President as Head of State, I still believe that the Monarchical system has a stronger uniting power than a republic. But my father's argument was that a President has only the power set by the State's Constitution. If he performs badly, he can be kicked out. A monarch, no matter how cruel he may be, is entitled to the throne throughout his whole life, due to dynastic inheritance. Only a lynching can rid the country of him, as was the case with King Charles the First, in 1649 under the leadership of Oliver Cromwell and his troop of Roundheads.

But our Queen, unlike King Charles I, is - and always will be loved by the nation. Over sixty years of devoted duty, she has never wavered, but kept on with her service to the country. Her stoicism, a lack of public emotion, and her level of commitment as ambassador to the world has earned her respect. As with her Coronation at Westminster Abbey in 1953, it is said that even the toughest captains of industry trembled with emotion as the crown was placed on her head by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Since then whatever Her Majesty did, it was always surrounded with a huge show of pageantry. And it looks to me that no other ruler on Earth has a pageantry so grand as Queen Elizabeth II and her kinsmen. The national feeling, at least by a significant percentage of the population, is that the monarchical system could come to an end after her Majesty's death. By contrast, not only would King Charles reign would be comparatively short, but not so much of a national reverence is reserved for Prince William, second in line for the throne, due to his reputation of being work-shy and his enjoyment of royal privileges without engaging so much in the duties assigned for the role. 

So little wonder that when our Prime Minister David Cameron, while at Parliament, included the words: The Queen is our rock of strength, my head turned. No doubt that this was in reference to the political and national unity of our Constitution. By accompanying these words were: May she continue to reign (implying eternal rule) I couldn't help but believe that such wording belongs to God alone. 

But having said that, there is that possibility that our PM might have borrowed the words from the Old Testament book of Daniel, where the prophet is recorded in hailing King Darius: O King, live for ever! He then followed with: My God has sent his angels and shut the mouths of the lions. They have not hurt me, because I was found innocent in his sight. Nor have I done anything wrong before you, O king. (Daniel 6:21-22.) That, I believe is another way of saying: O king, you are forgiven! (for sentencing the prophet to death against his own will for apparently breaching a sham law.) Daniel did not refer to King Darius as the rock of strength, neither is such reference to another human being found anywhere in the Bible. God alone is the true Rock, Refuge, and a Strong Tower, and through him alone is the Universe, the Earth and all life within sustained.

But such references by a British politician is far from new or unique. For example, during the days of the Egyptian Pharaoh Cheops, a pyramid was built for his future entombment, as was with the case of former kings. Unlike that of previous theories from earlier archaeologists, it's now believed that the giant structure was not built with slave labour, but by paid workers who saw the king as no less than divine, that is, a god. By building the pyramid, salvation was not only secured for the king himself, but also for all the workers, possibly for the whole Egyptian nation. It was a classic example of salvation by works combined with mediator intercession, with the king himself serving as the bridge between the divine realm and the Egyptian people. With the king reigning for eternity, they too will have a chance to live forever.

The worldwide broadcasting of our nation's adoration of the Queen through pageantry couldn't have been more obvious than with the celebration of her Diamond Jubilee in 2012 to mark her 60th year on the throne. Not only did the people by the millions line the banks of the River Thames to watch the passing floating procession, but the event was televised all around the world. As far as I can remember, I don't recall any other country broadcasting an event that comes any close to this - except of that of the funeral of former U.S. President Kennedy, after his assassination at Dallas in November 1963, something I recall watching on monochrome TV as an eleven-year-old. As with the Diamond Jubilee, no worse day could have been picked to hold such a celebration. It poured with rain throughout nearly the entire parade, with singers drenched to the skin, shivering as they sang their songs with such unwavering stoicism. Even the Queen and the Duke both looked ill-at ease, refusing to sit at the seats specially built for them, and it is said that the Duke developed a bladder infection soon after the parade.

The inclement weather, rather than being a stroke of very bad luck, has made my ponder whether God was trying to tell the whole nation something, including the Royals themselves. And that is, he is the Rock of Strength to the nation, and not the Queen. But I suppose, like the Egyptians of old, it would be a lot easier to worship a monarch who set no demands on her people than to serve a deity who is constantly demanding holiness through obedience to laws impossible to keep, with the threat of Judgement after death.

In other words, the Queen is perceived, worshipped and adored as our national saviour and intercessor before God, just as King Cheops was before. But in this country such statements is never heard, never admitted. But for our chief politician to come out with such a statement in public must have been acknowledged by the nation, as I have not come across a single jot or tittle against it anywhere in the media, whether it's the Press or TV.

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II is looked upon as a national and personal saviour and intercessor, in a sense replacing Jesus Christ as Saviour and intercessor before God the Father. That is endorsed by her role of Head of the Church of England, a title stolen from the Pope of Rome by King Henry VIII in 1531 in order to divorce his first wife Catherine of Aragon. As with the Diamond Jubilee, the Queen's Ninetieth Birthday came with the pomp confined to Windsor, but the Press was all over her, not just for the day, but for at least two days afterwards. 

One TV programme, which helped inspire me to write this article, is the BBC The One Show presenter Matt Baker. This hour-long daily chat show following the evening News hour invites celebrities into the studio as guests of a chat show. Baker normally presents himself casually dressed in open-neck shirt, although he may appear wearing a tie maybe once to three times a month, maybe not for several weeks during the Summer months. But on the evening of the Queen's Birthday, Matt Baker appears all dressed up in evening suit, shirt and tie. For me that says something. The deep relationship between adoration of the Queen and social class. If there is a country so obsessed with class, its the one which worship the Royals as mediators between themselves and God. This includes the notion that the higher the person's education, closer to the Queen he is, and henceforth gains greater respect. Like in the case of William Shakespeare, perhaps the greatest writer in all English history. Yet he always had his critics, right up to the present, who deny the authenticity of Shakespeare's writings because he did not attend a university. Yet does any reader know who these critics were, and are? No, not me either.

So the majority of the British will adore and uphold the Queen as their mediator.The majority vies to be closer to her by following her example, especially in the area of education, the only acceptable way to climb the social ladder, other than birth privilege. But as they do, many will slide into a lost eternity.

England Goodbye...

This blog I decided to write after numerous patriotic symbols of England were posted on Facebook, on the run-up to St Georges Day.
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Of my travel experiences, most but not all, were done solo, as that was the way I would have preferred to travel, as testified in previous blogs. But it can be exhilarating to share the experience with one other person. And really, this is as far as I would go - since we have committed ourselves to each other, while three or more would have been a crowd. Such was the time Gary (name changed) and I successfully completed the End-to-End cycling tour southbound from one end of mainland Great Britain to the other in 1990.

The traditional route would have been 874 miles long, but since we did not stick to the official route, but detoured at various places, especially looking for our hostels to spend each night, I would have not been too surprised if we covered closer to a thousand miles in less than two weeks. Each daily leg of the journey was different, and each unique in distance, terrain and weather conditions. In all, if we were to average out even just nine hundred miles over twelve days, this would have brought about 75 miles of cycling a day.



This did not come overnight. In preparation for that holiday, I completed a number of cycling "burn-ups" - fast rides done mostly early Sunday mornings averaging between 25 and thirty miles, along with cycling trips to the coast (up to sixty miles) and Triathlons (Swim, Cycle and Run within one race).

Farnham Triathlon, 1987

Many in my church were impressed with our coming endeavour (Gary attended another church elsewhere.) But teasing came in the form of "Downhill all the way" as we were about to cycle from John O'Groats on the northern tip of Scotland, to Lands End, on the western tip of Cornwall - in other words, the whole journey in the southerly direction. One guy, a devout Englishman who loved his suit and tie, got rather serious with this "Downhill all the way" that I got rather tired of hearing it. Even Gary was confused at one point and I recall, during a coffee stop at a cafe, explaining that the centre of gravity was at the Earth's core, not at the Equator or the South Pole - something I had already known from childhood. I guessed that the "Downhill all the way" idea was gotten after watching water being poured over a sphere, and running down the surface to the underside of the sphere and dripping off the South Pole area. With our planet "hanging upon nothing" in space, and its gravity at its core, little surprise that whenever the road headed skyward, we always found the pedalling a lot more difficult!

After spending the first few days cycling through Scotland, we arrived at the border with England. The A7 main road passed two signboards - one was the massive "Welcome to Scotland" sign, which towered well above our heads. The other, almost directly across the road, was a much smaller sign which simply read, "England" which was low enough to be at chest level.

The contrast between the two signs seemed to have reflected the level of pride between the two nations. Whenever Scotland celebrates its annual St Andrews Day, there is that festive buzz in the air, so I read. Last week we had our St Georges Day on April 23rd. Not only was it a working day, but was just as any other working day of the year. Not a bunting could be seen anywhere, people drove to their offices with glum faces as they always do. Traffic congestion build up then dissipates as more arrive at their destinations. Trains full of silent commuters, not a word spoken, far less a greeting. At the office, computer keyboards are at constant use, phones ring and trading gets underway. Just another day. But at least the city of Nottingham managed to put on a street show with plenty of flags and bunting. But then again, Nottingham is somewhere up north, where according to my experience, people up there talk to each other. Here in the South of England there is as much charisma as in a wet blanket.

Newspaper journalists love to boast of our stoicism, the stiff upper lip, our self control over our emotions which are all hallmarks of being English. According to them, to show emotion, or having a trembling lower lip, is a sign of weakness. One Daily Mail reporter even insist that true masculinity had dissipated since the death of Princess Diana in August 1997. We have, according to them, became a sentimental, mawkish, weepy society, especially when TV presenters or interviewees shed a tear on camera over a crisis or tragedy. I often wonder why the English have such an obsession with stoicism, but I came to the belief that it has all to do with our cool temperate climate.

 

A good example was last week. Much of the week was bathed in warm, pleasant sunshine with temperatures soaring to twenty degrees Celsius. Supermarkets reported a brisk trade in barbecue items in preparation for the weekend. Come Friday and a cold front from the north moved south towards the Continent. Behind it, we shivered under a cold blast from the Artic and yesterday I was caught out in a heavy hail shower. In such unpredictable weather and scuppered plans, I think stoicism is necessary for keeping sane. Indeed, there will always be an England, even with such rubbish climate!

England, O England! A country which places so much emphasis on social class, higher education, the professionals and the adoration of celebrities. It looks to me that having a university degree is the be all or end all, a must in achieving, or our lives are not worth living. If ever there was a country where personal worth is evaluated by occupation, level of education, wealth, property and mode of transport, then the English seem to have a distinct knack of assigning a slot in the social ladder. For example, as a cyclist (I don't own or drive a car) I need to be weary of the "career girl" the free-spirited professional high-flier driving a two-seater sports car, paying little regard to such a vulnerable cyclist whose presence had forced her to slow down and raise her ire. I don't want to sound sexist here, but I have often found career women in their late twenties and thirties to be more aggressive behind the wheel - maybe having less patience when a cyclist, who shouldn't be there, makes an appearance. Don't get me wrong, a lot of male drivers require a lot to be desired as well when it comes to highway manners. Maybe that is why these days I ride slower, on the excellent cycle path system we have in our area, but even with this, England does not hold a candle to Holland, which to my opinion, have the best cycleway system in the world.

When someone like me has travelled the world, particularly around the Mediterranean, I have found that it becomes easier to compare Englishness to cultures of other countries. For example, in Sicily I have found residents sitting outside their open front doors chatting away with their neighbours. Walk along a typical residential street and I would walk past lines of happy, chattering people and children playing.  Here in England, in the South (i.e. in the Home Counties bordering around London) there are quiet, almost deserted streets under this constant air of melancholy, which is tied in with the well-familiar saying, "Mustn't grumble" as if there was much to grumble about. Our lousy, unpredictable weather certainly doesn't help, making outdoor life a rare thing to be seen. While I was backpacking in Australia, it was not unusual to see public, coin-operated barbecue stoves permanently set up in city parks. Try finding these here. Such an outdoorsy sort of lifestyle would not be suitable in our climate and matching culture.

Yet England does have beautiful natural places which I'm sure, would, delight the eye of the beholder. One of my favourite areas is the Jurassic Coast Path, particularly from Swanage to Weymouth in Dorset. Here dynamic cliffs provide spectacular views of the coast including the famous Durdle Door rock formation.

Other beautiful places visited also included the Lake District National Park, in the northern county of Cumbria. Notoriously wet, taking in such scenery can be quite difficult, even in the Summer. But on one occasion in 1992, Gary and I were climbing Scaffel Pike, England's highest mountain which was shrouded in thick fog. As we carefully hiked the well-marked trail, we were nearing the summit when this fellow was moaning as he was coming back down.

"Several times I have climbed to the top and it was always shrouded in fog!" he declared as we passed him.

We pressed on until we arrived at the summit. Suddenly the fog began to lift, and as it did so, the whole of the panorama began to come into view. With steam rising in cloud columns, at first it looked a bit like a scene from Dante's inferno. Then the sun broke through to give us a magnificent view of the mountainous park, with Sty Head Tarn a couple of miles away as the crow flies.

No doubt, away from the sprawling suburbs, England does have its beauty, and as a believer in Jesus Christ, I have no problem in giving such credit to God's power in his handiwork. Yet also as a believer, our true home is in Heaven where there is not only a mansion being prepared for every believer, but even while we live here, we are already seated in Heaven, and Paul reminds us to set our minds on things above, where Christ is seated, rather than on things of the earth. Celebrating St Georges day is okay, but how much more are we to celebrate our redemption into God's Kingdom.

In Hebrews 11, there is a list of the Old Testament men of faith who has made it into this hall of fame. Within this list, the writer adds that if they wanted to, these guys could have returned to their homeland. Abraham was one good example. He was called out of Ur, in the region of Babylon, to live as a nomad in the desert land of the Canaanites, a people totally foreign to him. Some time ago, I read that in the ancient Babylonian culture, education was high on the list. Astrology along with mathematics were two of the most important subjects. Back there, children was taught the approximation of Pi, the square root, possibly the cubic root and all branches of geometry.

Shades of England.

But instead, Abraham and his fellowmen of faith looked forward to a city whose founder and builder is God himself. His longing for the promise was enough for him to leave behind his homeland and culture, and not knowing where he was going, allowed himself and his family to a nomadic lifestyle while remaining focused on God's promises.

Moses was another great example. With him, the writer of Hebrews emphasised that Moses preferred to suffer disgrace along with the people of God, that is, his fellow Hebrews, than to wallow in the Egyptian culture of the day. He too, was focused on the heavenly city God had promised, and he was willing to give up everything to be part of it. And it is interesting that ancient Egypt deified their monarch in much the same way as the English deify the Queen today. But as Moses and Abraham looked to better things God had promised, shouldn't we too?