A Maverick in Oxford.

As I walked into a newsagent, I could not miss the page-size photo of Prince Philip occupying the front page of each newspaper stacked on the shelves. And not just one newspaper but at least three: The Sun, The Daily Express, and The Daily Mail, three of Britain's highest selling media. These newspapers, all of them supporting the Conservative Party holding the keys to 10 Downing Street, just poured heaps of praise to this elderly gentleman, the Duke of Edinburgh, husband to her Majesty the Queen. Just think of it: the national applause for seven decades of hard work with loyalty to his wife. Men and women across the land doffing their hats, so to speak, and taking a curtsey bow, "Well done, Sir. Your retirement is well deserved."

No doubt, at age 95, he deserves a restful retirement. True enough, in 1939 aged 18, he joined the Royal Navy and served through World War II, and remained in the Navy after the War ended in 1945. He then wound up his active service after thirteen years of military action in 1952, then aged 31, after marrying Princess Elizabeth in 1947. After this, his work consisted mainly of shaking hands with dignitaries and keeping a few paces behind his wife wherever the couple were out together in public. Not for him would "hard work" consist of lifting heavy boulders, bricklaying, cement mixing, pushing a wheelbarrow of concrete, pneumatic drilling of a hole or trench across the road, nor for that matter, rewiring a house or installing plumbing. Perhaps this could be the key to his longevity, by contrast to many labourers in the past who stepped off this planet before ever reaching seventy. Then to add to this, it takes only an infection within part of the Prince's anatomy, and the whole nation would seem to be in a grip of panic! But good for him, he has reached the middle of his tenth decade of life. A very good achievement, may I say. After all, if it wasn't for the skills of a cardiac surgeon just over two years ago, I would have considered myself very fortunate ever to reach seventy years of age, and at this time of writing, I still have over five years to go before my seventieth birthday.

Philip during his days in the Navy

The Duke of Edinburgh about to retire.

I see something of an phenomenon here. Here is a mortal who is held in very high respect, if not actually worshipped by much of the nation. So it is not much of a surprise that news of his retirement is splashed across the front pages of newspapers, such an announcement has gone far and wide across the globe. In the meantime, an unseen, anonymous luggage handler, who spent his working life ensuring that all your departing airport baggage are safely stored within the hull of the correct airline, finally reaches his moment of retirement, and yet not a single passenger would ever be aware of his special day. Elsewhere, someone may indeed bow in obeisance to the Prince, then once alone behind the wheel, inwardly curses the workman with his noisy pneumatic drill for being the cause for crawling traffic and journey delays. And just to add here, if I was present before the Prince or even the Queen herself, I would willingly bow in obeisance, as instructed by the Apostle Peter in his letter:

Show proper respect for everyone: Love the brotherhood of believers, fear God, honour the king.
1 Peter 2:17.

But as the apostle himself has instructed, the honour given to the king should never be at the expense of disrespecting men of all other social standing, or not loving fellow believers.

Yet there is this uniqueness about the human heart. After all, we may have a high regard for the Royal Family, as well as contrasting opinions for Government ministers. And as politics go, there are those who love the Tory Party and its leader and despise the Labour Party and its leader, accusing them all of incompetence. And there are those who feel totally opposite, having a preference for the Labour Party. And there are devoted Labour voters who are at present disillusioned with its leader. The same can be said about the Conservatives. Then again there is nothing new about all this. It is said that ancient Egypt, for one, exalted their Pharaoh to deification, and the divine ruler ordered his people to build a pyramid as a lasting memorial to his reign. The men who built the Pyramids were not slaves, as once thought, but paid workers. And I wouldn't put it past any of them that while Pharaoh was alive, many of the builders adored him, whilst others actually despised him, accusing him of being an equivalent of what we call a nerd or a prat today with his cruel, bullying dictatorship, as they scorned at any idea of him being divine. But these dissenters had to keep all this to themselves whilst carrying on with their work, in order to stay out of trouble.

Yet despite the mixed feelings among the ancient Egyptians, the work put in towards the king's tomb was felt generally by Egypt as a source of national security, taking in social coherence, military strength and economical stability. The presence of the king was their salvation, especially among the Pyramid builders, but also for everyone else too. As the Egyptian Pharaoh was the intermediary between the people and the heavenly realm, so it was with the Roman Caesar who was regarded as divine as well, the Emperor of Rome being the mediator between the Romans and the heavenly realm. Therefore as I see it, it cannot be a mere consequence that the Queen holds a threefold role of Head of State, Head of the Church of England, and Defender of the Faith. With being the head of the national church, history books tell us that she is the replacement of the Roman Pope as intercessor between her people and heaven. Little wonder that I have heard churchgoers say that our God is the God of England. Indeed, from Ancient Egypt, through to Rome, and onwards towards modern Britain, the need for an intercessor between the human heart and the divine realm has never seemed to have changed over the millennia.

And here lies the rub, with just a few active, church-going Christians of both past and present, fortunately not many. I am strongly disliked by them for debunking the value of Englishness, including the social class system and culture, and saying that all members of the Royal Family, along with all celebrities, and people of distinction are all mere mortals, and fulfilling all natural body functions as all humans and beasts alike do. And talking about the animal kingdom, I had to smile a couple of years back when our former Prime Minister David Cameron ignored the advice of his associates and went out to swim in the sea infested with jellyfish. Sure enough, he was stung, and he came out of the water looking and feeling like a right fool. The offending marine creature ought to have known that this particular human was the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and should have regarded him with the same respect we fellow humans had for him! But no. When threatened, the jellyfish had no alternative.

It was the same when I noticed the V.I.P. entrance to London Zoo as I walked by. This was separate from the main entrance, where the rank and file have to queue up at the ticket booths. Then I imagined the celebrity, or "very important person" - including the Queen herself, standing at the Primate cage, and watching the monkeys swinging from one branch to another in complete oblivion to her presence. Despite being our closest cousins, according to the Evolutionist, I doubt very much whether the presence of Royalty would have made any difference in the primate's behaviour. The same applies to all the animals in captivity.

To tell the truth, I find the concept of England being God's country very malodorous. There seems to be a bad smell to it. Perhaps its culture with its fanaticism for the class structure is far more tuned into the theory of Evolution, a concept borne out more from denial of God's existence, his creation and judgement, rather than from verified scientific research. Maybe as I see it, Her Majesty is more advanced in her evolution towards godhood than all of her subjects. This has allowed her to advance to the level of divinity where she can be the suitable representative on behalf of her country and its Commonwealth, by being head of the Church of England. And how parallel is all this to the lie in Eden, where the serpent offered a form of divinity to Adam and Eve if they disregard God and follow him instead?

And so as I was born into a family close if not at the bottom of the social ladder, I grew up with an independent mind, rather like my late Italian father, a Republican and devoted Labour supporter and voter, and who possibly had never properly understood why the English were so devoted to their beloved Queen. But he did have a deep respect for university graduates, especially those at Oxford and Cambridge. Maybe in those days of my boyhood, these were the only true institutions recognised for higher learning, and only a small percentage of the student population made it in. And so my father looked upon these venues with the greatest of respect.

And so as I pushed my wife Alex's wheelchair through the streets of Oxford, primarily for a combination of clothes shopping and a day out, I could not help feel somewhat intimidated by such beautiful architecture of these limestone-built colleges. But what has always struck me was that it was difficult for me to see these buildings as colleges. Instead they looked more like churches, or better still, cathedrals. And this brings me back to the Natural History Museum in the London borough of South Kensington. This is one of the most popular museums in the UK, and its architecture is not unlike one of many colleges in Oxford. But walk inside the main hall, and its interior has a striking similarity to that of any cathedral. And enthroned at one end is the statue of Charles Darwin, you could say, literally replacing the Cross of Christ.

As I stand in awe of these magnificent college buildings in Oxford, I can't help feeling small and insignificant compared to the students who are deep into their studies inside. When I was a boy, I had a longing to be a medical doctor or a journalist. Unfortunately, my slow learning at school has forever extinguished such dreams. Nowadays, as I look upon such buildings, my sense of unfulfilled dreams became more acute, and the feeling of weakness in my knees whenever a student is seen entering or exiting the college. How speechless would I have felt if one of these students, say a promising NHS surgeon or a rising writer and journalist, was to extend his hand in a friendly greeting?
 

Many Oxford Colleges resemble Cathedrals.

Today I had attended a men's half-day conference at a local church in my home town of Bracknell. The three sermons were excellent, Spirit-inspired discourses, but I wonder just how much these preaches would really be life-changing, or merely mulled over before slowly passing out of memory as the daily issues of life continues. Because in reality, it was the two breaks between sessions which held the real clue about what life in Christ is really about. Whilst most of the other men formed cliques suited to their interests, I sat alone at a nearby armchair, contemplating the street view outside. This made me think just how would I have been perceived as an individual if I held a degree. Because for some, I was no stranger, but someone well known for years, decades even, but without ever attending Grammar School and gaining a degree at university, there was little to talk about, having practically nothing in common. One Grammar School-educated graduate even felt reluctant to talk to me because, as he puts it, "We are in different circles." And I knew this English guy for as far back as 1978.

But a stranger did approach me with a genuine interest of who I am. When he mentioned his occupation relating to outdoor activities, by mentioning my hiking experiences at the Grand Canyon, we had stirred quite a conversation between us. Suddenly I felt a sense of belonging, even if he admitted that he is from South Africa. It's through this interpersonal uplift which gave fulfilment to the whole conference, rather than the preaching.

One of the sermons was about not allowing anyone to label us, except by God himself. Thus being a maverick is a good thing, a virtue. A maverick is someone with an independent mind. As I wrote I Stand Alone at Easter, I will always believe in a Thursday Crucifixion rather than on Good Friday. I will always confess the death, burial, and the Resurrection of Jesus Christ to atone for our sins, defeat death, and to give eternal life to every believer. I will always believe in Once Saved Always Saved. I will also stand up and insist that traditional Englishness is not allied with the Scriptures, neither is our national culture a mirror of the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit. On the contrary, going by what I have read and heard in the Media over the past twelve months, our national culture has a tendency to lean towards the occult - parallel to the Lie in Eden, where a false hope of deification was offered to our first parents, as such deception, at present, sending countless numbers into a lost eternity. Furthermore, I will declare the 6 x 24 hour days of supernatural Creation as historical fact, in opposition to the general held belief in Evolution as a theory. I don't care if everyone else thinks I'm a Creationist nerd and not to be taken seriously. I will always stand up for Jesus Christ and the historicity of Holy Scripture.

And I always will insist that there is nothing wrong with a man crying in public. Jesus himself did it at least twice during his ministry, and both incidents are recorded. And there is nothing wrong with two men greeting one another with a hug. Not British? Sure, but it's very beneficial to health and well-being. Yes, the preach I listened to earlier today was a confirmation of what I have suspected over the years - that I am a maverick, an independent thinker, and the consequence of this is that I have made a few enemies within the church as well as a greater number of friends.

A Heart-Touching Story

Going back to an unspecified number of years, there was a medical student from a poor background who was struggling financially, and therefore had to knock on doors to sell merchandise in order to keep up with his college payments. One day, as he was walking along the street feeling hungry, with the last dollar bill in his pocket and unable to afford a restaurant meal, he decided to knock on the door of a house with a hope that whoever lives within may be kind enough to hand out some food.

So as he knocked, and the door was answered by a young woman, he spontaneously asked if she could spare a drink, probably with a realisation that asking for food was perhaps a little over the top. She went back inside and then returned to her front door holding a tall glass of milk.

"How much do I owe you for this?" asked the grateful student.

"Nothing," was her answer. "It doesn't cost anything to be a decent human being."

Some years later, at a hospital ward, this surgeon arrived to discuss a procedure to one of his patients who was in a critical, life-threatening condition. He recognised the patient as the kind-hearted woman who was so generous to him during his student days, and then had her wheeled into the theatre on a gurney to proceed with the operation. Some weeks afterwards, she received her bill. On it, it read:

"Paid in full with a glass of milk."

This story, which appeared in Facebook and which I then shared, reminds me of a song by Rolf Harris which was released in 1980. Its lyrics were about how two boys, each were playing on his own wooden horse, when one of the toys broke, leaving its owner Joe distressed. Then the other boy Jack beckoned his friend to come and share his horse, as there was room for two and he can go just as fast with two riders. 

Years passed by and the War came so fast. During the heat of the battle, a horse dashes out onto the battlefield to arrive at a fellow soldier who was lying on the ground badly injured with his life slowly ebbing away, and urgently needed to be taken back to base. The rider recognised the casualty as the one who offered a ride on his toy horse so many years previously after his own one had broken, and asked:

"Did you think I would leave you dying when there's room on my horse for two? Climb up here Jack, I can go just as fast with two."

Although the first story is actually true while the second is fiction, both I have found heart moving perhaps even a tear rolling down my face, seeing such kindness in action - the concern for the other's welfare above our own as a result of agape love. Just as one of many maxims spoken by Jesus during his ministry:

And whosoever shall give to drink unto these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward.

Matthew 10:42 AV.

He shall in no wise lose his reward. Maybe the promises Jesus makes here in this life are more true than many assume? But the best reward I can experience in helping someone in distress is the feeling of exuberance, as if freed from all the worries of this world and desiring to skip along the sidewalk like any happy child would. There are many things I come across which I find soul-stirring. One example is an elderly lady or gent struggling as he walks home from the shops or some errand, even with a help of his support stick. Seeing such people, in my opinion, puts to shame those owners of expensive fast cars who purposely rev up their engines and step harder on the accelerator whenever they see a bicycle. If the driver is a man, I tend to smile, pitying his microscopic genitals and resulting frustrations in the bedroom! If the sports car driver is female, they are usually young professionals in their attempt to send out a message that they have graduated at University and at present holding down a high-income profession. Since the female seldom step on the accelerator at the sight of a bicycle, I seldom smile, but woe betide me if I unintentionally stray into her lane. She'll make sure who is the boss.

Climbing the social ladder seldom impresses me, if such success impresses me at all - especially when showing abuse behind the wheel. But on the other hand, I certainly don't believe in the old English edict of "minding your place in Society." However, climbing from rags to riches can only be good if others benefit, even if it's only to hand out a glass of water. Another issue I tend to find soul moving is bereavement. Not so much as the death of a celebrity as, for example, the death of a wife or girlfriend. This image also came up on my Facebook wall and I saved it for easy access on my profile timeline:

I spent quite some time fixated on the image, and at the same time listening to a very beautiful and sad piece of instrumental on You-Tube: BrunuhVille Pirate Love Song - Black Heart, which is fully appropriate, as the music depicts the broken heart of a pirate who has lost his loved one. That's one of the marvels of the modern computer: in addition to Facebook which is already on the screen, I can click on to You-Tube, then click on to the video, and then re-click onto the Facebook image, and look deeply at it whilst the music is playing. It makes me think about my own sweet wife, and how thankful I am for her being here with me. Nevertheless, whenever we go out together, I have to push her in a wheelchair. This for me is a distressing sight - to see my nearest and dearest in such a situation when I clearly remember when she was not only fully mobile, but was able to sprint - she always outran me - jump, and dance, for the first twelve years of our marriage.

Yet her condition has spurred a greater faith in God. Through this experience I have discovered something about suffering, whichever form it takes, and the milk of human kindness which meets with it. What is it about love, the tender compassion shown by one to another, the grieving with someone who is grieving at the loss of his loved one? Or at least being aware of many around the world who are suffering one way or another, say from hunger, warfare, or certain diseases, but will never have the opportunity to meet them personally. I thank the Lord that there has always been a group of Christians who have dedicated themselves to helping out these victims of circumstance. And this is where my privilege of giving lies. If I can help from the distance, the opportunity is there. And nothing could be so exhilarating than to see a distressed child break into a smile and say "Thank you."

The wide, bovine eyes of a frightened child is certainly not far and few between. And I think of the thousands, yes millions who are born never to hear the true Gospel of salvation - simply because they were born in a Muslim, Buddhist, or Hindu country. I was sharing this very matter with a student friend of mine at church. Astonished on how one can perish eternally just because he happen to have been born in the "wrong" country or continent, a matter of no fault of his own. I was stumped for an answer. And here in the so-called "Christian" Britain, children attend school where Darwinism is taught in lieu of Creationism, and will grow up never understanding the truth of what the Gospel really is, and simply pass it off as fables, fictional ideas of ignorant men of ancestry who didn't know any better. And even among true believers, there is that tendency to advocate "Theistic Evolution" to hardened unbelievers, so not to sound like a nerdy ponce in their belief in a literal six-day Creation.

As such, these forces which exist in the air do their hardest to keep the individual from the truth of God's love (Ephesians 6:12) seem to be quite successful in their endeavour. Very successful I should say. And so I was unnerved by an incident which took place at our church last week, which lies behind the inspiration for this post. Near the end of the service, the Elders thought it was wise to sing an old English patriotic hymn, I vow to thee, my country - something I thought to be a sore point considering being at present in the midst of the Brexit-Remain political controversy. However, our Elders dismissed the first verse out of hand which glorifies earthly military might for King and Country, to skip straight to the second verse which aims for the better country as depicted in Hebrews 11:13-16 - an eternal city prepared by God to be the permanent habitation of the faithful.

I turned to see a couple several rows behind me, looking very disappointed, a picture of sorrow. Then after the single verse of the hymn was finished, the wife began to "pray" aloud for the welfare of our Queen. I use speech marks here because her contribution sounded very much like a rebuke to the Elders for daring to dismiss verse one in such a way they did. When considering the short lives of many around the world, living in fear, starvation and illness, the Queen has never had it so good. Already in her nineties, she has outlived a great many, including my father. This English church woman praised the monarch for being "a devout Christian" who suffered nothing more than a cold over the Christmas period. And this female has revealed the true fear within the hearts of many here in the UK - that one day the Queen will die. Such a passing away bringing some Armageddon-like catastrophe not only to Britain, but to the whole Commonwealth, and maybe to other nations too. To be truthful, it has always been my opinion that throughout her entire reign, she has done an excellent job as monarch with a full, whole-hearted and unwavering commitment. But we cannot hide under the carpet. One day the Queen will die. That is certain. The only thing we don't know is when. God alone knows when she will be called home.

Then, after her death, the institution of the British monarchical system will not end for the UK, unless the people want it to be so, which I think, is very unlikely. Prince Charles is ready to claim the throne, and if he happen to be unlucky enough to kick the bucket whilst his mother is still alive, then there is her grandson Prince William. Indeed, as long as it's the will of the people, the British institution remains as firm as a rock.

It's this kind of hypocrisy which had dominance in the Church of England in centuries past which sprouted the likes of Richard Dawkins, Bertrand Russell and Charles Darwin, along with many other "Thought Bombs" who had an impact in shaping our national society to such a level of unbelief I see to this day. It is distressing. Bertrand Russell, in his book, Why I'm not a Christian, aims his guns mainly at the Church of England of his day. With one chapter titled Nice People, he gives a candid description of a typical wealthy female attendee, herself a lifelong spinster but a rather bossy Aunt to her relatives. Each Sunday there she is, at church, dressed in her Sunday Best, and having a respect for the rich and the noble, not to mention her devotion to the King, but also having disdain and strong dislike for the poorer, uneducated class, the pariahs and dregs of society. Such a person can be cruel and disrespectful even to her own house servants, but lavish in her own standing before the King, Country and God himself.

Most likely such an attitude, its existence also endorsed by classic novelist Charles Dickens, can be put down by their central soteriology of Arminianism - the Catholic stance of salvation being decided upon human choice rather than God's sovereign grace, and as such, salvation is looked upon as a lifelong probation rather than as the free gift given eternally to every believer. That is to say - Arminianism, first taught by Dutch theologian Jacob Arminius to counter the teachings of John Calvin in the 16th Century - insists that a believer can lose his salvation if his faith weakens, a condition every believer is seen as in potential danger of falling into, as well as a piling of unconfessed sins. The result of this line of thinking is to ensure that one's faith remains strong, along with efforts to remain holy and undefiled in the presence of God, really, out of fear of eternal punishment. The fruit of Arminianism includes the liability to lead the believer to become judgemental towards others who disagrees with him, together with a greater respect for social class, and an attitude of self righteousness. The aforementioned couple who "prayed" for the Queen are devoted Arminians.

Hence either the diminishing or even the absence of agape love. The milk of human kindness which motivated the householder to hand out a tall glass of milk to a hungry student. The kindness shown by one young boy to another when his toy horse broke. The tears running down the face of the bereaved as he stands at his girlfriend's grave. The sort of stuff which can cause me to shed a tear. Something so wonderful, so endearing, so awe-inspiring. The very thing churches everywhere, including ours, so desperately needs. To see the lifting up of a distressed child, her wide, tearful eyes narrowing as she breaks into a grateful smile, to witness someone come to Christ by faith as a result of seeing love at work. To see hope restored in those who had no hope. To see the real love of Jesus Christ shine out of our hearts.

And the test of real love? It is shown to those who are different. Having different opinions, being of lower social class, having a manual job, being less educated, arriving from a foreign land, unable to speak good English, of a different race, poorly or scruffily dressed, even physically deformed by disease, disabled. True love covers everyone who does not fit the mould, as well of those who does.

God loved all of them enough to send his Son to die for them all. With God there is no favouritism. It is an impossible realm to reach by self effort. Only the Spirit of Christ in us can bring us up to that level. Jesus promised that his Father is very willing to give the Holy Spirit to everyone who asks (Luke 11:11-13) - and no self reformation is needed before the asking for the Holy Spirit. Every human heart is evil, and it is to the unreformed evil heart where God enters in!