A Job with Glamour...?

Alan was one person I always admired. Although I have changed his name to protect his identity, his real name had made it into our local newspaper. And not for any negative reasons, but for good reasons. For Alan was one of the lifeguards at Coral Reef Waterworld. Yes, the same venue which was the main subject of my last blog, Down the Tube. But Alan's time at Coral Reef, long before the renovation, was probably around the years 2007-2010 or thereabouts, according to memory. It does not really matter precisely what years Alan worked as a poolside lifeguard. What matters to me more was his achievements.

Coral Reef Leisure Pool

Alan was exceptionally good-looking with a slim but superb physique, to which I was called to attention by Alan himself as he was taking a shower following further training and prior to going on duty. I said to him that I looked just like that during bygone days, as I made my way to Sauna World, housed in a building of its own reserved for the over-18's, but still fully attached and accessible to and from the main pool. But despite our huge age difference, I could not help myself going weak at the knees in reverence. As I had always perceived, there is an element of glamour in being a lifeguard.

Alan was friends with a colleague named Scott, a fellow lifeguard whose employment at Coral Reef Waterworld began some time after Alan's, but by overlapping, enabled him to be on duty at the same time as Alan, at least for a short while. It was after the end of another Saturday sauna session during one mid-afternoon that I had the opportunity to talk to this person whilst he was sitting on a lookout tower overlooking the pool. The height and location of the tower was right next to the upstairs restaurant balcony, thus making conversation not only possible but without any difficulty. After sharing with Scott of my own experience as a poolside lifeguard in 1973, he explained that lifesaving techniques has evolved since then, to the point of being near to the level of a paramedic, and therefore leaving my former life-saving techniques obsolete. In fact, according to his testimony, if a vehicle accident occurred on the main road just outside, the lifeguards were duty-bound to attend to the victim's injuries until the paramedics arrived. They were that qualified.

With such updated information, it was no surprise that Alan's personal achievement caused me to look to him with a degree of reverence - something I cannot bring myself to do to an employee dressed in a suit and tie and sitting at an office desk. Because Alan became Lifeguard of the Year, the highest award and the top rung of the ladder attained by vigorous training and testing, both in and out of the water. And the announcement of this was published in our local newspaper, The Bracknell News, complete with pictures.

However, although Alan does have a Facebook profile, he had never allowed me to be "friends", or to have our profiles linked, which reason might have something to do with our age difference. But he has made enough of his posts set to Public, for me to build a picture - sketchy as it might be - even if he had not posted publicly for the past twelve months. He left Coral Reef Waterworld a few months after gaining his award to take a sabbatical, before beginning to drive a van for a living. Not long after this, he took on a post at Waitrose, a superstore favouring towards the upper-middle class side of the market. Since I cannot imagine such a well-trained lifeguard swapping his profession for a job in shelf-stacking, nor for that matter, for sitting at the checkouts, I can only imagine his role in management or departmental supervision.

It was this sabbatical he took which, I will admit, turned my admiration into envy. Because on that cold Monday morning in January 2010, while I had to take a break from window cleaning in the blowing cold wind, Alan with his mate, also a lifeguard at Coral Reef, along with their girlfriends, were heading to Heathrow Airport to board a flight to Singapore. From Singapore, they would proceed to Australia, then to New Zealand, and then to California, to cover a duration of between five to six months. Damn it! I felt the cold wind eat into me as I sat on a low wall, my ladder lying on the sidewalk waiting to be used. And I envisioned the joy and excitement those four must have felt as they took their seats in the Boeing 747, still parked at the loading bay. But at least I was able to comfort myself with memories of my own Round-the-World backpacking trip in 1997, covering Singapore, Australia, and California. Yet Alan has still beaten me by including New Zealand into his itinerary, as well as a longer duration out of the UK.

Never mind that news came in that whilst Alan was speeding in his hired camper van, he was stopped by the Police Down Under for speeding, and he was obliged to pay his penalty. Never mind that their visit to the Great Barrier Reef did not seem to hold a candle to my own visit some thirty months earlier. Never mind that their photos sent to Facebook were predominately about dancing and skylarking about on the Pacific beach, rather than the more "serious" sightseeing of the corals and tropical marine life, the beauty of nature, the mangrove trees and other exotic vegetation, and of human history. Their Round-the-World sabbatical was still an envy for someone stuck in a mundane outdoor job on a cold January Monday morning.

Then as I thought of my long-lost friend, I began to look through his profile timeline. And as I did so, I begun to feel my emotions sink. I began to feel very sad for him - and that despite his apparent present success in raising a family of his own and looking to be doing well for himself. Because of the casual use of foul language in his posts depicting the vanity of life without a real purpose for living. That alone tells me a lot. A lot more about himself than he could possibly imagine. Because, as one author wrote many years ago:

I told her to get lost. She replied, "You're the one who is lost." She was right, I was lost. The word screamed in my head. LOST! LOST! LOST!*

And that is exactly I can perceive this magnificently-trained lifeguard. Lost. His Facebook posts can be so revealing. Little wonder I felt sad. Very sad for him. And it was a similar set of circumstances which caused me to cry out one night, Lord God, why, oh why did you create us?

It is the sort of question I do ask: How can someone like Alan, who has been trained up to save other people's lives, be in the same fold as Adolf Hitler, who is guilty of the murder of six million Jews? And again, where is the reality of God reconciling the world to himself in Jesus Christ without counting their trespasses against them, according to 2 Corinthians 5:19 - if all I can see around me is a lost world unable to find itself?

At least I can say that there is no record of Alan ever disliking me. I do recall him having a level of respect for me as a customer at Coral Reef Waterworld, and maybe even as a kind of father-figure, but definitely no dislike. But as I read down his timeline column on his profile page, and see how he sees his own life as so futile, I can't help feeling that my heart goes out to him. I would very much like to see his life perfectly fulfilled in Jesus Christ, and for him to know that he has eternal life.

This is distressing. Because it all boils down to this: We as true believers in Jesus Christ, are the living letters from God to the rest of the world, along with the beauty of Creation, and of the Bible itself. I suppose there are three witnesses - the Church/Israel, Nature, and the Word. How the incorrigible human heart rejects Creation for Evolution, turn the Bible into a myth, insist that Israel shouldn't have a place in the Arab land of Palestine, sees the Church as something of a standing joke, and perceives salvation, if it exists, as something to be worked for and earned. As for the churches, what went wrong?

So horribly,

Horribly

Wrong?  

Could it be l lack of love for each other? Already I have said, not everyone in my church loves me as a person and a brother in Christ. This grieves me, it grieves me badly. I'm disliked - not because I deny Christ. I don't deny Christ. That is something I will never do. I doubt whether this is something I'm able to do. Neither am I an imp of Satan, although I'm seen as wicked. Instead, I'm disliked because I don't present myself as an ideal Englishman - well educated, stoic, self-reserved, refusing to hug, holding a profession, a Conservative voter and a Royalist, a lover of the Queen and her family members. Oh yes, I can add: Good at team sports and ready to go to war for his country. As a result, I tend to be shut out from social circles. Like the time in 1978, when I asked a group of my own age if I could join them on a week-long boating trip. I was told flatly, No. Or the occasions I was told with quite an angry tone, Someone is sitting here! - which might not have been necessarily true. Or the viscous snide, You're not sitting at this table! Or more recently, at the start of the church Men's Curry Club one evening a couple of years ago when I was told to move in a threatening manner. And this comes from an Arminian who insists that a believer, after Christ has cleansed him from all his past sins, can only hold on his salvation by hard work and keeping of all the Commandments.

Just a minute! As I'm reading through the book of Acts of the Apostles, and I can hear the leaves of the trees rustling. After Paul the Apostle returns to Jerusalem, he is fervently persecuted by his own fellow Jews. His own brothers, all sons of the same Abraham, are baying for his blood. And the reason is simple. It's not that complicated. Paul believed in salvation through faith in the risen Christ alone. The Jews believed that salvation can only come through obedience to the Law of Moses, including the need for circumcision. I can see a parallel, a chilling parallel in the unholy attitude among the Jews towards Paul and among those who has taken a dislike to me. In the case of the latter, it is my failure to think, feel, say, and act like a proper Englishman. Or at least that's how it looks. Instead, I hold diverse opinions, rebellious opinions, and I guess I get a thrill in lowering my head and pushing hard whilst kicking against the goads of national and cultural hypocrisy. 

What does Alan sees in the church? After all, he was brought up in a country which Constitution was borne out of the Christian faith. So he is most likely Church of England, or possibly a Roman Catholic. But without the revelation that God loves him unconditionally, he will forever have that veil across his eyes. The deceptive veil of a truculent God who always quick to judge everything he does, right down to his innermost thoughts. A divine being who is never satisfied, but insists on works, impossible works, in a failed attempt to bribe for his love, whatever love that is supposed to be. The very same problem I still suffer myself to this day, due to Roman Catholic upbringing. The difficulty in accepting God for whom he really is. A God of Love, who loves us unconditionally. The love God had for Barabbas to the extent that he allowed his own Son to take his place in Pilate's execution. At Pilate's Court of Justice, God loved Barabbas. He loved him so much that he was set free instead of executed. No, it wasn't the baying for his life by the crowds below which had released him. Rather it was God's LOVE which released him!

God is love. It was his love which satisfied his justice which demanded an accounting of every sin committed. Jesus Christ, nailed to a cross, has fulfilled that justice. In his love, God wants to give us eternal life. Eternal life through his Son. To believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead. That is all. It's about time every church drops it's national heritage and advocate God's love a lot more. Preach it, act upon it, live it! There is absolutely nothing wrong in a man giving a tight, prolong hug to another man! It will make him feel loved, accepted, one in the family. It lifts the spirits, it also enhances health. And furthermore, there is no work required to earn it. It cannot be earned. God's love is higher than the highest mountain, deeper than the deepest ocean, wider than East is from West. And it's free, unconditional, and has no national or cultural limitations.

Oh, how I wish I took advantage of the opportunity I had during Alan's employment at Coral Reef. My failed attempt to be pleasing to all men, an ethic which can only lead to death. My heart goes out to him. My greatest hope is that someone else will open his eyes to what tremendous love God has for him.

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*Doreen Irvine, From Witchcraft to Christ, 1973. 

Self-Imposed Exile - a Blessing.

When I wrote last week's blog, it had never crossed my mind just how controversial it would so quickly become! Within a couple of days after posting, it has collected more hits from readers than most of my recent input. I suppose that every one who had read it came away with his own conclusion, but again, it would not surprise me too much when the matter of health becomes an issue. Let's face it, nobody wants to be ill, unwell, or age rapidly, and like any other human in his right mind, any elixir promised that would promote health and longevity would, without doubt, attract attention.

So I had made a suggestion about hugging, as part of bromance, as being beneficial to health, and according to recent research, this form of natural affection between two or more people causes a hormone, oxytocin, to be released from the pituitary gland, which among other benefits, help beat depression, one of the greatest emotional causes underlying various physical illnesses and diseases. With men of faith such as Joseph, his brother Benjamin, David, his best mate Jonathan, and even the apostle John, all living without ever having to make an appointment to visit a Doctor's surgery, I have wondered how they have existed without the need for medicine - although long before John's day, the great medic of the ancient Greeks, Hippocrates, was already dispensing medicine from a hospital, then known as the Asklepeion, on the Greek island of Kos. This brilliant scholar had correctly connected physical illness with emotional imbalances, while the general theory of his day was that diseases were punishments bestowed on erring mankind from the plethora of bickering divinities populating Heaven. Such an achievement Hippocrates made towards modern medicine, along with the respect and care shown to each of his patients, that right up to this day, I believe, the Hippocratic Oath is taken by just about all medical students, and every Physician treating you at present has taken the modern version of the Oath, which is secular, omitting the vow promised to the ancient deities. The page header photo of my wife posing among some restored Roman columns was taken at the Asklepeion.

But we did not have to fly out to Kos to learn about Hippocrates in order to conclude that natural affection had always been beneficial. Rather, I was already aware of this years before I even met Alex my wife. One far more recent medic, Dr S. I. McMillen, wrote a book, None of These Diseases, which emphasised that obedience to the Bible as the Word of God leads to a happier lifestyle which is the key to better health. And the central theme of obedience to God is to love one another. In fact, Jesus emphasised that the whole world will know that we are his disciples if we love one another. (John 15:12-13) and that is the commandment given to all believers, which was meant to set us apart from the rest of society. 

But it is a terrible misfortune in the western world, and particularly here in the UK, to associate any affection between males as homosexuality, and that despite such a term only began to exist in the early twentieth century. We live in a world where the sight of two men giving each other a prolong hug as something rather distasteful, even abhorrent, and assuming to involve sex or any other perversion. Yet we happily read our Bibles and expound it every Sunday at church, yet not give a moment's thought that a number of saints are recorded as greeting each other in precisely that way. Let me make one thing clear: Bromance is not Homosexuality, it only becomes that if such an interpretation is read into it. Very much like reading Hell-fire into James 2:17 when nothing of the kind was meant, but rather how one's faith would be evaluated by another person or group of people. 

Therefore, ever since my conversion to Jesus Christ as Saviour back towards the end of 1972, hugging another adult has always been my norm, as it was from a hug in a disused jam factory at an East London district of Bromley, that has helped change my course of direction to follow Jesus Christ. This, I believe, was a link which came just a few months after I was dumped by my fiancee, and finding myself on board the train home literally weeping with shattered feelings. How that hug benefited me! But afterwards, learning to embrace and not to embrace was something which took longer to learn. For example, I quickly learnt how not to hug an unwilling recipient, and that was when he crossed his chest with his forearms and pushed outwardly. It was a very embarrassing moment, and one I was eager to avoid repeating. But it took me much longer to learn not to hug another willing recipient, and that is really cultural - the possibility of others seeing it as a perversion and bringing the reputation of the church to ruin - instead of others longing for a hug as well, especially the lonely, the broken-hearted, or the destitute. I wonder how they would have thought of God's love if they were warmly embraced? But then all this is just an issue. Most churches tend to be middle class, a well-educated gathering of worshippers, who have prosperous careers, have families, and lacking for nothing, together with a high percentage of senior citizens. Not much room for the lonely and the destitute.

But issues with reputation, the possibility of Social Services intervening, or some other scandal percolating into the fellowship was the cause of going into temporal exile. It wasn't any dispute with the Elders that was behind my decision. Rather it was what came afterwards, in an email sent to me by one of the Elders. In it, I read of behind-my-back reports to the Elders about my hugging warmth, delivered to them secretly by anonymous members of the church. In other words, I was under secret surveillance without any word of it coming back to me. This made me feel very uncomfortable, and virtually impossible to worship freely. So I went into temporary exile until I feel ready to return.  

Did my faith fail as a result? Not a bit of it! Instead, every Sunday I have visited a different church. Such included a Pentecostal church, a couple of Anglican churches, and a couple of evangelical Baptist churches. And what I have found so striking in particular, were how similar the two Anglican churches had become to the more charismatic evangelicals. No longer with the image of stuffiness, if you know what I mean, such as dismal-looking and befuddled men dressed up in suit and tie, and with each of the ladies sporting the finest dresses while matching a rather sour countenance, or  for that matter, a small group of mainly elderly females huddling together in otherwise a hall of vacant pews. No, it was none of any of that! Rather all the churches I visited so far were vibrant, and filled with people of all ages, even if the elderly made up a large percentage. At one Baptist church in Guildford, I wasn't alone for long, as there was always someone interested in me as a newcomer. But furthermore, the preach was about the Sovereignty of God, and that God knows best when we hit troubled times, or when prayer remains persistently unanswered. This was a sermon which struck home in the midst of my heart, and by believing, I felt blessed. And at an Anglican church, the subject was about Romans chapter eight, which I consider to be one of the most encouraging chapters in the Bible. In both Anglican churches, I was greeted warmly, and had people approach to find out who I am, and about my spiritual health.   

I also discovered that my own fellowship was not unique after all when it came to casual dress. Rather, in both Anglican and Baptist churches were the ties worn by the men seldom seen, as I have always thought that my own church was the only one so casually dressed, as if in full rebellion against tradition. Only the Pentecostal church had more men wearing ties, and many of the women had their heads covered with a scarf. And this was the church with the smallest congregation I have seen, with no more than about thirty people in all. Indeed, visiting different churches, one for each Sunday, was certainly a eye-opener.

As for hugging, only in the first church visited did I receive an embrace, and that was from an old friend I knew for many years. But with the other four churches I visited afterwards, nobody came to hug me, and guess what? Neither did I approach anyone to hug either. Being a newcomer at every church meeting, I felt a newness of worship, fresh and untainted from any form of bias, surveillance, or monitoring. It was a wonderful feeling - the freedom to worship God with joy and thanksgiving, and to receive his message without any trace of hangups, in the way I felt bound up with in my own fellowship prior to my exile. By being a newcomer in every church visited, I have found it much easier not to hug anyone, unless they come to me for a hug. I'm not the one who would cross my forearms over the chest and push away. For going by my own experience, I'm aware that such a motion would crush the spirit of one who may need an embrace.

But as I see it, maybe hugging is not necessary in this part of the world. For example, one Anglican church I paid a visit to is set on the outskirts of a small town, barely larger than a village, among a gated residential area with beautiful roadside gardens boasting healthy Mediterranean palm trees. This area spoke volumes of wealth. It would not be the kind of area where down-and-outs would loiter, let alone enter the church. A brisk handshake was all that needed, but at least I wasn't ignored. The Baptist Church in Guildford fronts a lovely garden park, which through the River Wey tumbles over a weir, as it winds its way to join the River Thames, the park itself being the added enhancement to a historic city with a high reputation of wealth and prosperity.

Meanwhile, my exile continues for a few more weeks, with more churches on the list to visit. Then when I feel that I'm ready, I'll will return to my home church, I hope with a fresh start.

End of a Wonderful Sabbatical...

The past three months was one of the nicest periods of my life, other than holidays and long haul backpacking trips. These three months, although rather turbulent at first, began to quieten down as the days and the weeks progressed. These weeks made up the time of convalescence, following a major cardiac operation back in early February. The procedure was having a new tissue aortic valve replacement, as the one I was born with had a problem with regurgitation - that means that instead of the valve slamming shut and totally preventing the blood flowing back into the heart cavity, the aortic valve kept failing to shut properly, allowing the blood to seep back into the left ventricle. Eventually, my heart was signalling to me that it has had enough, as the problem was known to be very long term, with the likelihood of having been born with the condition.

Such signals consisting of waking up in the middle of the night, finding myself literally gasping for air, like an athlete who had just finished a race. Alongside this gasping, there was a sense of drowning, caused by the presence of fluid in my lungs, which was also the cause of my chest rumbling while breathing. Night after night this went on until my wife, alarmed at the phenomenon, begged me to visit the G.P. I had to overcome my masculine pride as I submitted my symptoms to this highly educated female professional, young enough to be my daughter at least. But it wasn't long, after a series of tests, that valve regurgitation was diagnosed as the bottom cause of the symptoms, and I was in need of open heart surgery.

The operation itself came early February. For details of the procedure and of the days which followed, click on to one  of my older blogs, In the Darkness, posted February 14th, 2015. But in the weeks to follow after discharge, I was told to rest for three months by the medical team, as my job as a domestic window cleaner involved lifting heavy ladders. And here is the rub. Had my occupation consisted of office or clerical activity, chances that I could have returned to work only after a month of convalescence, maybe six weeks at the most. I had enough financial reserves to have seen through such a short period of rest. But a duration of three months was rather different. So we (my wife and I) decided on a temporary State handout to help us through the period. The mountain of form filling, attending interviews, and receiving unexpected mail asking for more details, or to settle a query, were humiliating enough to make us feel like criminals, which was rather upsetting, as well as ironic, when considering that our politicians had their snouts in the trough where State-funded Expense Allowances were concerned. On the other hand, when even our church elders offered some financial help in the beginning, we felt right to turn this down in favour of State benefits. Eventually, after the first month, the incoming benefits started to arrive at last.

There were hardly any hiccups after this, and I began to see this time of rest as more of a sabbatical rather than a period of post-op convalescence. There remained, however some concerns. One is that, while before the procedure, I was told by the Consultant that the op was the "be all to end all" concerning symptoms, like one of my clients, older than me, who had exactly the same procedure for the same cardiac problem, yet his cheerful disposition testifying that he is no longer on medication. With me, when I complained of continuous shortness of breath, I had a electrocardiograph and an X-ray, which confirmed an irregular heartbeat, which means that I have to be on medication, including Warfarin, (an anticoagulant) for life.  And then my nearest and dearest, who is also on medication. The sabbatical has allowed me to take her to hospital for an appointment, renew her medical prescriptions, as well as having to take her to her G.P. without all of this to have eaten away into my working hours. In short, I was free to nurse her to the full.

With all that aside, I'm not hesitant to admit that I have thoroughly enjoyed the long respite, and I can't help feeling sad over the thought that this is the final weekend before I return to work on Monday (i.e. May 18th), together with the long-range forecast predicting cool, lousy weather as well. Let's face it, there is something about not having to get up early each morning to face the day. But on the other hand, bone idleness has always been far from my liking. During the earlier days of the sabbatical, I went out on walks, starting with short distances, then increasing them each day, as exactly instructed by the Physician. So every day began with a long walk. Then by the afternoon, I set my mind upon one of those challenging 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzles, the one I had to piece together without the master picture on the lid, because there wasn't one. Then quite a considerable time browsing the Internet.

But way above all this, is having the time to take my wife out in her wheelchair. Being lame rather than totally immobile, we were able to get about without too much hassle. One including a walk along the river Thames passing through some woods. The weather was sunshine and warm. Being together in such a lovely environment was as close to paradise as we could get. And I guess that's the main gist of such sabbaticals - for us to spend time together on a daily basis over a period of prolonged time rather than just on weekends and comparatively short holidays. It seems to have added extra goodness into our marriage.

And sabbaticals were far from being unbiblical. On the contrary, the regular sabbatical was part of Old Testament law delivered to Israel by God himself through Moses. In Leviticus 25:1-7, God instructs Moses to tell the whole nation of Israel that on every seventh year, every landowner must allow his fields to rest from growing of any crops. This includes ploughing of the ground, as well as sowing, reaping, and harvesting. As Israel was mostly agricultural, this means that every landowning family must cease from working his fields of one whole year out of every seven years. Before the operation, I have often wondered what all this means to the household. Would they get crushingly bored or frustrated over twelve months of enforced idleness? After all, day trips to the beach was unknown to them, let alone international travel. Neither did they have anything remotely like all the commodities we take for granted - TV's, music centres, computers, even sports equipment - all were unknown.

But God must have known the human psyche enough to usher in such a law without it being detrimental to any of the families. In fact, musical instruments were known, along with the ability to read, write, and possibly with a reasonable knowledge of math. In addition to the land enjoying a full years rest, it was most likely that God also intended rest and recreation in the home. Just as I have found ways to avoid boredom during those three months in convalescence, so it was more than likely that the ancient Israeli farmer took that year as a time of rest, recreation, and rejoicing.

The fact that by the time Israel had become a kingdom with King Saul being the first monarch, the practice of the seventh year sabbatical was all but abandoned and forgotten, most likely due to a lack of faith in God's provisions. By the time King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon had sacked Jerusalem in 586 BC, there had been 490 years of kingdom rule where the seventh year of sabbatical rest was never observed across Israel, and therefore the land owed God seventy years of sabbatical rest, hence the seventy year Exile which the King of Babylon unwittingly ushered in.

Rather than getting into deep Bible study here, it is worth mentioning that taking a sabbatical sometime during one's working life is psychologically healthy, endorsed by God himself, and I believe that to this day, every working family, couple, or single person should take a sabbatical. Yes, I'm aware that you as a reader me throw up your arms in horror and ask, "What about our finances, our bills to pay, our food and drink, and our general welfare?"

I bet those early Israelites must have gasped the very same kind of question. "How then are we going to eat? Or trade our goods if we don't plough, sow, and reap our harvest?" But that's where their trust in God comes in. If he is not able to meet their needs, surely he wouldn't have passed the law in the first place. As King David said to the two criminals who thought they were doing him a favour, he declared:
As surely as the Lord lives, who has delivered me out of all trouble...2 Samuel 4:9.

This was not my first sabbatical. Back in 1997, I took eleven weeks off work to do a little travelling, and flew to Singapore, Australia, and California. And I can declare, without an iota of exaggeration, that not only God watched over my window cleaning business as it lay fallow, which is to say, no loss of clients - but my bank accounts remained stable, my apartment wasn't broken into, and while I was away, I remained healthy and free from any illness, I didn't come to any harm, neither was I mugged or robbed, and actually returned home with some change, and remained free of debt, except for a credit card payment for a bed at a hostel, and that was due to shortsightedness on my part when the Queen's birthday meant a bank holiday in Australia, and I had forgotten to cash a traveller's cheque.

But I can testify of God's care throughout the time I was not at work, and this post-op convalescence was no different. True enough, it was very difficult to have gotten the Benefits going, but I had never ran low on finance, neither had we gone hungry, or ran up debts. Rather, under God's loving care, we both enjoyed being together, and as I return to work on Monday, so God's loving care will go on as long as we live. 

Handcuffed!

Earlier this week three police officers burst into our home, pinned my hands behind my back and handcuffed them, immobilising the use of my arms.  Then one of them declared, 

You are under arrest for potential benefit fraud! We are taking you to the station to be detained. You don't have to say anything, but whatever you say will be brought up in Court. My wife flew into hysterics as I was escorted to the waiting police van, an imposing vehicle with a blacked out window on each side. Just my rotten luck that three of my neighbours, one family living next door to my right, and two other families living to my left, happen to have gathered for a neighbourly rendezvous at next door's front garden. All mouths were silent and all eyes fixed on me as I was led to the van.

At the station, I was held at Reception, from where I was told that I had to be kept in custody for two nights rather than the normal one, as the Benefit Fraud Investigation Officer will be taking the next day off to take her kids to Thorpe Park amusement resort. Ah, the effect of schools being out for the Easter break. But again, I could not help detect an edge of sarcasm in the Receptionist's voice, as if such inconveniences would bring a level of disruption to what would otherwise have been a smooth running of legal matters. I then cried in a panicking tone why can't the Officer look into the matter straight away. Their answer to that was, she was busy dealing with the same case with an inmate in the cell opposite the corridor to where I would be confined.

I was led to my cell, pushed in with such force that I ended up sprawled on the floor, next to the dismal mattress lying on a metal spring frame positioned up against the stone-grey wall. Then the heavy steel door slammed behind.

As if..! 

When the dust began to settle midway through convalescence following a major heart operation, all I needed was a temporary benefit to tide us over until I return to work. So how unsettled we both became when an official letter arrived through the post, requesting me to attend an interview, bringing all documents such as bank statements, proof of earnings and outgoings to what appears to be a question mark over the genuineness of our claim. We were both upset and frustrated, and I might as well have faced arrest. How much more do they want from us? On initial application, I attended interviews and filled in enough forms to decimate a forest of its trees. But I am aware that it takes just a tiny clause in the conditions to be overlooked, and this whole system of benefits can go pear-shaped in an instant. I have heard about Court cases and massive pay-back debts, even arrests and imprisonment as a result of benefit ineligibility, or even fraud. 

And that is the point. Claiming benefits can be like walking on eggshells. All it takes is for one faceless clerk at the desk to spot something, and my eligibility is called into question, which can result in a tribunal preceding paying back all what I have already spent on day-to-day living. So off I sauntered to the Benefit Office, a walk of a couple of miles as part of my healing and post-op rehab. The officer I was appointed to see arrived twenty minutes late, but one glance and somehow I sensed that I was in no danger. She then explained that there was a dispute in the office whether I was at a pension status, and if so, would I want the benefit to be backdated well into last year. Had I said yes, then the interview would have proceeded, and I would have had to submit all the proof documents. Instead, I told her that I was working throughout the whole of last year, and therefore I didn't need the extra money. She looked pleased, and the meeting was over, assuring me that the present benefit we were currently receiving will remain unaffected. What a relief!

But now and again, I guess that such incidents are trip-ups which spoils what is otherwise a calm period of convalescence following a major heart operation. I can look at this restful period in either one of two ways. I can either see it as a time of anxiety, fearing whether I still have a window cleaning business to return to, along with the possibility of enduring the last three years of my working life as unemployed, and facing a grim future of being called in to the Job Centre to attend frequent interviews for eligibility in claiming Job-seekers Allowance. Or to see this period as more of a sabbatical than a time of recovery, and enjoy the benefit of work abstinence.

And I'm honest to admit that I do see this period as a sabbatical, and making the most to enjoy it. I think that the first thought of returning to work would make me feel downhearted, but having similar past experiences shows that once back at work, I don't look back. And what I find so enjoyable about sabbaticals is that they are not only endorsed in the Bible, but specifically commanded by God through Moses to the nation of Israel. In Leviticus 25:1-7, Moses writes that for six years the whole of Israel, who are mostly landowners, may work on their land - sowing, reaping, and harvesting their crops - but on the seventh year, no work must be done on their farmlands. Instead, the land must rest for a year to the Lord God. During that time, the landowner has little to do but to rest and enjoy the experience. So serious God was in this matter, that throughout the whole period when Israel was a kingdom, from the start of King Saul's reign at approximately 1080 BC, to the end of the reign of King Zedekiah, some five hundred years later, the nation disobeyed that commandment, working the land continuously over the centuries. With seventy years of rest the land owed to God, the last of Israel, mostly of Judah, was exiled to Babylon under its king, Nebuchadnezzar, for seventy years (2 Chronicles 36:17-21.)

We as Christians are not bound by this sabbatical ruling, mainly because God has not given any land with specific boundaries to the Church as he did with Israel. Rather, all believers in Jesus Christ makes up a nation within nations on a global scale, without any land of its own. But furthermore, if any Christian believer attempts to keep this law, even in his own back garden, then he is obliged to keep the whole Law, according to what Paul has written to the churches in Asia (Galatians 5:3).

Yet having said that, I think there are wonderful benefits in taking a sabbatical after so many years of work and daily routines. Unfortunately, during this election campaign, if any political party leader suggested giving sabbaticals to every long-serving employee, every business leader would throw up his arms in horror! This was already hinted on when one party leader suggested three paid days off every year for voluntary work for all employees. It was no surprise that company bosses were quickly up in arms over such a proposal.

God commanded every Hebrew landowner to take a sabbatical every seven years. With me, I'm taking one now due to health reasons, and I have experienced the benefit of taking such a long break. The last one I took was 18 years previously in 1997. This was when I had taken just over eleven weeks off work, out of which ten weeks were to backpack around the world, visiting Singapore, Australia, and California. The 1997 sabbatical was carefully planned. I made sure that I landed back at London Heathrow Airport on a Wednesday, exactly ten weeks to the day after taking off from the same location. This allowed me four clear days to get over post-holiday blues, which in my case, was quite severe, before getting out of bed the following Monday morning to start work.

This sort of travel has been something I would love to do, together with my wife. However, at present, Alex being confined to a wheelchair while out of doors makes such a proposition very difficult, but not impossible. While waiting to board a flight from Palermo to London in 2006, we watched two or three passengers in wheelchairs board the 'plane before the rest of us. This was something I had never forgotten, and it offers us some hope for the future where flights are concerned. But as we discussed between us on several occasions, slow travel across Europe by train and ferry has a strong appeal for me in particular, but Alex is happy to go along with it. I recall back in the early 1970's when I boarded a boat train from London Victoria to Rome Termini, alighting at the Kent port of Folkstone to board the ferry to cross the Channel before disembarkation at the French port of Boulogne, from where the easy recognisable Ferrovia di Italia train awaited us for the long journey across western Europe to Rome. Unfortunately, over forty years of rail travel development has eroded the rather awkward yet such memorable mode of slow travel, which no air travel can equal such nostalgic experiences. 

I thank the Lord for living at a time when both advance medicine and the welfare system are in place to help someone with the likes of myself overcome a serious cardiac condition. Perhaps we tend to think of ourselves as the fortunate generation, one of the post War-born Baby Boomers, who perhaps enjoyed the best of things in human history. But as a counter-thought, I also wondered whether we as a society has somewhat became sissified with the advance of technology. For example, while we were happy to play in the street as schoolchildren, today's youth seem to remain indoors, addicted to playstations and computers. We did not mind being outdoors unsupervised, whether playing by a stream or in a more serious game of street-side cricket. Now, what I have heard at least, kids are not allowed out to play without some form of adult supervision. Schoolchildren in my day cycled to school each morning, or walked, like I did, if they did not own a bicycle. No boy at least, would even think about a school run in Mum's car, as that would have been considered wimpish to the extreme.

So likewise benefits. My father who has worked all his life to support us as children, had never claimed benefit throughout his days. Maybe if I had followed the same route as he did, and built a nest egg for a rainy day, I too could have gone through the whole cardiac procedure and convalescence without drawing a single penny from the State. Perhaps I would have travelled a lot less than I actually did, but I do wonder whether I would have made a better achievement in life than at present.

And with no possible fear of arrest.