Hail Emma...Blessed Among Women?

Every weekday morning, we at Ascot Life Church have a twenty-minute Zoom prayer meeting, starting at 8.30. This makes prayer life so much easier. Before the pandemic, I always avoided weekday morning gatherings. Such meetings would have included a five-mile slog on a bicycle to get there and then cover the same distance to return home. All that, just for a twenty-minute prayer meeting. Zoom is a positive spinoff from the lockdown brought about by the Coronavirus pandemic. Now, at last, and in addition to the morning prayer meetings on Zoom, we can meet in person each week for our main Sunday service, after sixteen months of virtual "worship" in front of a laptop. 

However, even when we meet each Sunday for our main weekly service, it would be much easier to find an oasis in the Sahara Desert than it would be to see somebody wearing a suit and tie. 

Stock image.

It had never used to be like this. Back in the 1990s, during my earlier years at what was then Ascot Baptist Church, there were always several men wearing ties at our Sunday services. And not merely confined to the older ones. There was at least one young man, quite likely on the Autistic Spectrum, who never showed up without wearing a tie. He disappeared around the year 2000, and he had never been seen since. I have wondered what happened to him and what had motivated him to leave.

Therefore, it took just one man, one of our elders, to appear on Zoom on Thursday morning, looking smartly dressed, when there was something akin to a gasp of surprise among the rest of us on screen. After the prayer meeting ended, a discussion arose on why this particular person appeared on Zoom wearing a jacket and tie. I was surprised that such a discussion arose, but I chipped in by suggesting, tongue-in-cheek, that the tie is a status symbol, representing snobbery and Englishness. Their response was a quiet giggle which was quickly followed by one frame vanishing off the screen, followed by another before I clicked off my screen as the meeting ended.

It's this gasp of surprise, the need for a discussion, the out-of-place appearance of smartness among a group of casually dressed adults that has reminded me of an incident one morning at the YHA Backpacker's Hostel, located in the heart of Sydney, in 1977. There was only one assistant serving at the reception desk. Whilst the other two or three seats behind the counter were unoccupied, this staff member was busy serving a customer. I stood behind him in an orderly queue until it was my turn to be served.

Just after the fellow in front had left, I was about to approach when a smartly dressed man pushed in front of me. Immediately, I felt enraged as I saw the assistant turn to him as if in reverential respect. With no light words, I told him to get behind me and wait his turn. He too became angry and protested his case on why he was in a hurry. However, realising that I was in the right, the clerk turned to me, and I proceeded to ensure my bed reservation, as I was to spend the following night at a hostel in Katoomba, the base town for the Blue Mountains National Park.

Despite my anger against this man, his smart dress consisting of a business suit, shirt and tie, made him look well out of place in a hostel full of casually dressed backpackers and visitors. But worse than his dress mode was his rudeness, his wanting of special privileges, his right to be treated with priority over and above the rest of us. This has added credit to what a colleague said to me some twelve years earlier -  there is a change in the person's character as soon as he ties the fabric around his collar. And the change is not always for the better.

All of this does make me wonder: It wasn't that long ago when wearing a tie whilst outdoors was the proper norm for the male gender. I recall from my school years, watching the Beatles rising to fame and parading themselves to a mostly female screaming public. The Fab Four each showed off in their business suits and ties. Nothing odd back then! 

Could this connection between smart dress and snootiness be the reason for the decline of neckwear? For instance, news reporters no longer wear their ties except when reporting from the studio, scientists and researchers working in the laboratory haven't worn ties for years, so it seems, neither do many medical doctors. Neither do many office staff either. All I had to do was sit inside the large shopfront window at Costa Coffee and watch the world go by on a typical weekday. Seeing a man walking by, wearing a suit and tie, has become such a rarety, he would stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd, just as that smartly dressed fellow did at the backpacker's hostel. Fortunately for them, the coffee house is directly opposite an estate agency. Outside its doors, up to half a dozen suited men swarm like bees around a beehive during their lunch break.

I have grown up with the question of why a business suit generates greater respect from society. I remember a conversation with my father many years ago. He once said that if I was, for example, enquiring about renting an apartment whilst dressed in casuals, their response could quite well be, Sorry sir, but they're all taken. But walk in smartly dressed, even with just a tie, then their response would more likely be, Yes, how can we help you? 

Even I subconsciously feel a greater sense of confidence in doing business with a suited man than a casually dressed individual. As for visiting a GP, I need to be honest with myself here. Would I be able to trust someone with shoulder-length hair and dressed in a tee-shirt under an unbuttoned denim jacket? Or would I feel far more at ease sitting in front of a smartly dressed individual whose job is to correctly diagnose my ailment and then prescribe the appropriate medicine?

Both might have gone through vigorous training. Both might have flown successfully through their final, all-important exams. Both might be fully qualified as GPs. But one looks to be serious in his profession, while the other, as far as I know, might be on illegal drugs and whose home might be a tent in the midst of a group of hippies. How can I, therefore, trust his judgement if I were to present my ailment for proper diagnosis and treatment? Yet, he could still do a good job. But I still don't have the same level of trust or confidence as I would with the smartly dressed doctor.

A visit to the GP's surgery. Stock Image

However, there seem to be many younger doctors who have shed their ties. Yet I feel no less confident than I would if they had remained formal. Rather, by him not wearing a tie, I actually feel more relaxed in what otherwise would have been a more tense environment. Even if the GP is wearing an open-neck shirt without a tie, nowadays, I still have full confidence in getting my diagnosis correct and prescribed the right medicine. My experiences with doctors in smart-casual clothing and more of their relaxed state of mind have allowed me to ponder whether there's a connection between the necktie and the British stiff upper lip. Indeed, I would prefer to be consulted by someone warmly, without any compromise of his expertise, than to be with someone formal but cold and unfeeling.

I have to admit, my attitude towards the tie had never been positive. Not only does it seem to enhance snobbery, but my negative attitude was further enhanced after looking at newspaper and TV pictures of the racist gang who murdered Stephen Lawrence in 1993. They were smartly dressed and sneering at the cameras as they walked out of Court after their acquittal due to a lack of police evidence. Then, more recently, a group of professional footballers were snapped on camera as they urinated over a balcony for a laugh, and their picture of them was published in national newspapers. All of them wore suits and ties. 

Also, the Mafia, and many other criminal gangsters, went about their business in a suit and tie. Most noteworthy were the Kray twins, who terrorised East London during the sixties. In the street, they were always smartly dressed. And not to mention the long line of defendants appearing in court in a suit and tie over the years, in their hope to have their sentences reduced or minimised, or even to receive a Not Guilty verdict. Maybe it came as no surprise that I once read that Hollywood filmmakers love to star their villains in a British-style business suit.

Yet, this culture of regarding a smartly dressed man above one in casuals remains ongoing. But even this distinction is dwarfed by the adoration of the nation towards celebrities. As someone once said, the religion of the UK is not Christianity but celebrity worship. One eighteen-year-old female shot into prominence within the last few days, the British tennis player Emma Raducanu.

According to the Media, Raducanu is the first-ever British tennis player to have won all the matches in straight sets to succeed in reaching the final in New York, still to be played at the time of writing. However, the moment I read her surname for the first time, immediately I became aware of her non-English background. A quick check revealed that her father is Romanian, her mother is Chinese, she was born in Canada, and was brought into the UK with her parents while she was only two years old. Therefore, not a drop of English blood in her. Yet our Media screams with pride for Britain having such a talented player to represent the country.

I am wondering just how the general public feels about her. Unlike all those excited England supporters we came across while we were passing through Central London on the eve of the European Cup Final, everyone around just got on with their business. There were no group gatherings on her behalf, no English or Union Jack flags waving about, no singing, no mass chanting, as there were as we passed through the crowd of cheering football fans. Rather, just this morning, I was standing in the queue waiting to collect my wife's prescription from the in-store pharmacy. Everyone else in the queue just stood and waited, perhaps looking a little morose and giving every indication that our star tennis player was far from their minds. As I stood by the shelves, I saw a notice which read: Taking items from this shelf without paying makes you a thief.

Oh, what a revelation! Of all the years I have lived, how could I have not known that the taking of items that aren't mine and walking out without the intention of paying for them is stealing? Well, I never!

But if an average Sainsbury's superstore thinks that we're all absolutely thick, then what a fascinating contrast I am when compared with the likes of Emma Raducanu. On yesterday's morning news bulletin, she was the headline, and her educational background was mentioned, if not emphasised. We now know that she attended Newstead Grammar School in Orpington, Kent, and attained an A* in maths and an A in economics. And so the nation glorifies her, or at least, the media does.

And so, this young woman shoots to fame because of her talents and her sporting supremacy, along with her academic achievements. This also makes me wonder: What if the player was male, did badly at school and was from a working-class family? And he too won all the matches in straight sets which brought him to the throes of the grand slam final victory? Would the nation cheer more loudly? Or would he be deafened by the silence of apathy?

Ex-Grammar schoolboy Fred Perry was one example. His father was a cotton spinner turned Labour politician, so I read, and as such, as working-class one can be. After winning the men's singles final in 1936, it's said that the officials refused to present him with the trophy. Instead, he had to lift it himself. After this, he switched to representing America after feeling ostracised by the All England Lawn Tennis Club after he turned professional.

Scotsman Andy Murray fared better, himself coming from a middle-class background. But even after winning the grand slam at Wimbledon in 2013, and again in 2016, although he was hailed by the media, I couldn't help but feel a sense of silent apathy here in England. None of the street chanting that had hailed England in the 1966 World Cup victory against Germany. Could it be because he has Scottish blood?

As for Emma Raducanu, indeed, our media will glorify her, especially if she wins the Grand Final. She may even be deified. By the media, that is. Not by the public in general. In a way, the Press may regard her as a source of salvation for the nation, the raising of hope after confusions with Brexit, the pandemic, the political turmoil...the one to turn to for hope, for something wonderfully positive, uplifting, even a form of salvation.

Emma Raducanu

However, I very much doubt that this tennis player would ever be exalted to the Virgin Mary of Catholicism. The one to whom faithful Catholics pray:

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord be with you. Blessed art thou among women and blessed be the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

No, Raducanu will never reach such status for adoration. Neither would she intercede on our behalf. But one thing will be certain. If she wins the Women's Grand Final tonight in New York, then Joe Public will ignore the smartly dressed man in a suit and give all their praise and glory to the young tennis player.

In Him We Have Our Being.

Another working week done. The apocalyptic weather the Met Office had forecasted for Friday did not arrive until twelve hours later than predicted, allowing me to complete the week's scheduled round of work and finish for the weekend. Then earlier today (Saturday) I was off for my weekly dose of the sauna, a wonderful antithesis to the stresses of the week.

 

Such as when my General Practitioner (medical doctor) decided to reduce my wife's prescription. Whether this is normal procedure in the treatment of patients or, as the Media has been suggesting, a money-saving scheme as a result of National Health Service reform imposed by our present Government, I cannot say. However, an appointment with the doctor for next week should, I hope, clear things up. A normal procedure to wean the patient off drugs should, of course, be the norm for any doctor to carry out. However, with a reduced intake of prescribed medicine, my dear beloved has suffered relapses in her illness which I have found particularly distressing - and wondering whether she will end up being taken by ambulance back to Accident & Emergency at Reading Royal Berks Hospital once again.

 

No doubt, the NHS was, and is, a brilliant idea. For the benefit of readers outside the UK, it was started by the Labour Government in 1948, it is funded by National Insurance, a tax paid by every income earner to form a national public purse to enable those who cannot pay for private hospitals to receive treatment. Over the years, both my wife and I have much to thank them for. Yet, with her present prescription reduced, together with her relapse, I have been wondering if they were putting money above her welfare as a patient. This, after reading the papers as well as watching news bulletins that certain types of drugs are withheld or have limited use to save money. And what I find so annoying is that a rich person can make just one call to a private hospital and he will be instantly admitted and given hotel-rate accommodation, not to mention all the constant attention from the medics. Likewise with any celebrity, whether sportsman, actor, singer, writer, performer, or a member of the Royals, they will always be given preferential treatment.

 

It is with these things that I can feel discouraged and down-hearted. This, I think, is why I let out a blast at the English class system so often in these blogs. Preference. The bestowing of greater importance on one person over another. In our language we even have the initials VIP - very important person, and I couldn't help feeling bemused a few years ago when I walked past the entrance of London Zoo at Regents Park, and I saw the VIP entrance separated from the main entrance used by everyone else, and I have wondered whether if any of the animals in captivity would be any more impressed if, for example, the Mayor of London was gawking at them as he sauntered by! 

 

Although I have wished I have done a lot better at school, and found myself working as a microbiologist in a research laboratory instead of as a self-employed window cleaner - I am thankful to God that he has given as all magnificent brains with not only to make decisions and solve problems mathematically - various things no other species of animal has the capacity of doing - but with the ability to store up information long after we had left school and passed our final exams. I have to admit my gratefulness to such academics for making the results of their research and discoveries public. One of the branches of science I find so intriguing is the study of the cell, particularly its nucleus and the genome.

 

We have discovered that the nucleus of every cell in the human body (except the red blood cells) has a nucleus containing 46 chromosomes, 23 from each parent, each one containing deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA, which resembles a long winding ladder with each rung, or nucleotide, consisting of pairs of nucleobase - guanine, adenine, thymine, and cytosine - with adenine pairing up with thymine, and guanine with cytosine. In a human cell, Chromosome 1, the longest being over 80mm in length, has nearly 247,200,000 nucleotides, that is the "rungs" of the "ladder." Each nucleotide must be arranged in a certain order in very much the same way as a binary code runs a computer program. If one of the nucleotides is malfunctioning, or at a wrong place, the cell will die.

 

This is a very simplified version of what is otherwise a lengthy study. But the reality of DNA which contains the genetic code inherited from our parents is absolutely staggering! It is a vastly complex structure, each nuclotide being in its correct order and sequence that is needed for the cell to live and function. I, for one, can't help but give glory to God our Creator. Surely, evolution by chance coming up with such a vast complexity as this would be a stretch of the imagination, not to mention that the age of the entire Universe cannot wait for such a structure to develop without divine intervention. This, I think, why God has given us the capacity to learn about ourselves -to recognise that we have a Heavenly Creator whose will is for us humans to partake in and enjoy the love existing between Father Son and Holy Spirit.

 

It looks to me that our very cellular makeup with its highly complex genome system testifies of God's love for us as individuals, and as we are all equal in his sight, yet everyone of us is born with a sinful nature which deserves judgement, yet he commands everyone of us to repent, that is to say, to change our minds about Jesus Christ, and believing him to be our risen Saviour and Lord. The Gospel is here at one with science. Just as the complex genome system found in all human cells have no respect for social class or status, so likewise the Gospel is the same for all classes - to believe in Jesus Christ as Saviour and be saved from the penalty of our sins.

 

Although the English in particular generally adore their Majesty the Queen, and no doubt, if anything happens to her health, the doctors will rush at her aid without delay - yet it may be surprising to some that God allows the monarch to exist because of our sinful natures, as well as establishing authorities as a means to keep evil in check. The truth is, after existing for several hundred years as a Theocracy - that means under God's direct rule - the whole nation of Israel approached the seer Samuel to ask for a king to lead them and fight their battles (1 Samuel 8.) God was actually displeased with Israel's request, but after bidding the prophet to warn the nation of the consequences in having a king, at the end God complied, and Israel became a kingdom for the first time in its history, with the annointing of its first king, Saul. 

 

In later years, Israel's kings were particularly hard on their subjects. King Solomon, the son of David was very demanding, according to 1Kings 12:12-16, when King Rehoboam, Solomon's son and heir to the throne, announced to his subjects that he will be much harsher than his father was. Israel's period as a kingdom was a trying time, which pushed further home their distrust in God as their King, and towards their eventual ruin by exile into Babylon under their new pagan ruler Nebuchadnezzar.

 

Our Queen, of course, is nothing like Solomon, Rehoboam or Nebuchadnezzar. Instead, for the last sixty years since her enthronement, she has served her country well, earning the respect the nation owed her. But although she had served the country well, as a nation, the attitude of her subjects shows the same lack of trust in God as ancient Israel demonstrated. For centuries, the British had always looked to their monarch as not only the nation's leader, but also as an intercessory between the nation and God, very much as the Pope is the in-between before God for the Catholic Church. I believe that it is having the Queen as Head of State, and the pageantry that follows every time she steps onto the street, or is seen in public sitting in her coach, that acts as a base rock for the social class system with its pecking order of preferences.

 

But our intricate body structure, with our magnificent cell and genome system, our health and wellbeing testifies of the universal creation and love of God, who has no favouritism, no pecking order, no national or cultural class stratum. This is endorsed in Scripture which says that whoever despises a poor man despises the God who made him. Jesus himself had always respected the poor and needy and had no hesitation to minister to them and to meet their needs - as well as proclaiming to them the Kingdom of God, and their willingness to enter.

 

And also knowing how much God loves the church as a corporate body, each congregation making up the body and bride of Christ. Therefore isn't it most important that every individual believer within the Body of Christ should treat each other as equals, without any pecking order of any kind. In the church there should be no snobbery, no academic preferences, no social class, no nationalism, no preferences for any political party, no greater respect for those in the professions. We as a body of believers are as equal to each other as each cell is equal to each other in our bodies, regardless to what part of the body the cell is serving.

 

And maybe it's time for the NHS to learn the same thing about discrimination between patients. After all, their doctors and staff know about the workings of the genome than most of the rest of us.

 

 

 

 

I'm Coming Home.

Remembrance Sunday has come round again. Across the nation the BBC will broadcast the ceremony of our Queen laying a wreath of poppies at the Cenotaph at Whitehall, along with the rest of the Royals, Government ministers, war veterans and other noted personnel, together with the marching sound of the military band. The time will be 11.00 am, the exact time Armistice was signed, ending the Great War on the 11th November, 1918. Also at our church, at 11.00 am, I will be standing in silence with the rest of the congregation, showing my respect and thanking those who gave their lives for our freedom during those two world wars.

 

 

 

What would go through my mind? Possibly the mass deaths at sea, such as on board the ship HM Lancastria, when one afternoon on June 17th 1940, she was bombed three times by a German warplane, and sank with approximately 2,800 men on board who lost their lives. It was said that while the men stood on deck, they sang two songs while the ship went down: There'll Always Be An England, and Roll Out Red Barrel  - about the very English brew; Watneys Ale in its trademark barrel, most popular at the time in all British pubs and bars. Then there was the tragedy of the submarine HMS Thetis which went down during trials in the Irish Sea a year earlier in 1939, with 99 hands who died of asphyxiation. Not to mention many, many more deaths on the battlefield and among prisoners of war.

I think of how each mother must have felt when news came in of her son's death at war. Was she proud that her son died a war hero? Or did she break down in tears at his demise, remembering the day she gave birth and suckled him on her breasts, then watched him grow through all the stages of boyhood and adolescence? Then the men who went off to war. How did they really feel? Despite all this English bulldog bravado and stoicism, I heard through TV interviews with veterans that many had a longing to be at home under the loving care of their mothers. There were some who had only just married, and were called to war soon after their marriage was consummated. As they marched off, did they have the vivid image of their bride looking sadly into their eyes, as if pleading not to leave? I wonder how many cheeks were wet with tears as they marched on stoically? Never mind that the British constitution claimed to be Bible based, with the Law of Moses declaring that no groom should go to war for a year after their wedding, this was not considered by the British military. Grooms must have departed with broken hearts, realising the possibility of never to see their brides ever again.

And so it happens. Imagine, for example, being trapped inside a sinking submarine. The power shuts down, all the lights go out, and you are in this thick impenetrable darkness. You grope for the door locking wheel and unable to locate it, the icy sea water rises to your neck, you tread the water to keep your head above the surface, only to hit the solid metal ceiling. As the water covers your face, once again you are seeing yourself vividly comforted by Mum, running around in the garden, or you feel the kiss of your beautiful bride on your lips before passing away forever.

All for the freedom of England and the continuation of the British culture you gave your life for. You were a hero. So as I think about as I stand in silence for those two mere short minutes. For the continuance of British culture - a pecking order we call the class system, in which this week I felt myself once again at the sharp end during my normal window cleaning rounds.

Why such a hostile look from one daughter of a client whose windows I cleaned on a routine schedule? Or the curt answer from her sister, after knocking on the door, as she keeps her mouth as if glued to her mobile phone, while her parents were out? Why am I such a pariah to them? All I was doing was earning my own living in a honest manner. Then at another house in the same street the girlfriend of one of the residents recently moved in. Before then, I served a brother-and-sister residence owned by their father, whom I got to know reasonably well. For the past year or so, I got on well with the two offspring, even served with a cup of tea by the sister. When the brother's girlfriend moved in, it was she who terminated the agreement, therefore losing a customer, vital for the business.

Her rather bureaucratic explanation for the loss was because her landlord no longer wish to pay the fee, despite recalling his daughter digging into her own purse. Then again, I was wondering, could it be that difficult for three professional pen-pushers to pay a single-figure monthly fee? I have customers who willingly pay more than double that amount, and are grateful for my regularity in calling. It is also interesting to note that some of the most generous and kindhearted clientele have non-British origins. But with this house, it was not the money, nor the lack of it. Rather, the loss of it was due to social status - as if in this land of homeowners, there is something distinctively shameful about being tenants. I, for one, have been a tenant to the borough council since 1976, the year I flew the nest. I'm very happy to hold this status. Did you know that if the roof begins to leak, it would not be my responsibility to pay for a private contractor to repair it? It would be the responsibility of the landlord, the borough council, to fund the repairs, as long as I don't let the rent go into arrears, something which had never occurred in the past 37 years of tenancy. Furthermore, I have no shame whatsoever in being a tenant and bypass the many headaches involved in ownership, when in reality, the real ownership would be in the hands of the creditor whose mortgage I'll be paying.

What is it about the obsession with home ownership, the sense of low status as a tenant, the adoration of the celebrity, the respect due to the well-educated professional, and the contempt towards those with humble occupations? Not long ago, while I was sitting in the sauna, I heard a story of a female office worker say with a degree of contempt to a colleague; Oh, he's just a cleaner. This attitude has brought cleaners like myself to the brink of tears. Is this the Britain those men of war had sacrificed their lives for?

Much to my surprise, a pattern here is beginning to emerge. Going by experience, it looks to me that young women seem to be far less fair than men of approximately the same age. Over the years as a window cleaner, many a son was more amenable, even making an effort to pay me at his parent's absence. This had been quite a revelation to me! Then again, I grew up believing that the female is more emotional than the male, more compassionate, more sympathetic, more soothing to the hurt than the man, who would more likely say in effect to get a grip on yourself, and man up! Even religion backs this; for many centuries Roman Catholics worshipped and adored the Virgin Mary, asking her to be the motherly mediator between the worshipper and a rather distant, emotionless and disciplinarian male God. Far more shrines of Mary than those of Jesus are to be found in Catholic countries. Even in ancient Ephesius, there was the temple dedicated to Diana, whose threat to her deity by the apostle Paul led to a city riot.

All these things has made me ask what is really going on in the modern office, what kind of a culture is to be found therein. Are women office workers really feeling their self esteem to be under some kind of threat? Is there a gender contest of some kind in the office? Could there be some truth to an idea I had, that God calls Christians to work in the office environment mainly for their presence to keep evil in check? A bit like salt of the earth, perhaps. Having never seen the inside of an office, I realise that these are only speculations, but those based on what I have seen and heard.

To add to such humiliation I felt at work, this has been a dismal week. We had rain, which does not do the business any good, and I have returned home cold and drenched to the skin. Then having changed clothing, I head off to the station to catch a train to Reading, where my wife lies ill in hospital. Within 48 hours there were two signal failures on our line, resulting in delayed and cancelled trains, and frustrated waiting on cold, wind-blown platforms. As a result, much of the week was spoiled by disrupted journeys. It was when I was feeling so low that a thought touched my mind, causing me to look up. I am alive. Let's thank God for the breath of life!

This, for me, is a vital reality. We live in a country where education is king. I have one graduate friend in our church who goes to Africa two to three times a year, and one of our elders, also a graduate of course, had today flown out to India for ten days to help out setting up an Indian Bible festival, similar to Spring Harvest or Newday festivals we have here. Then there is a third member in our church who wishes to be a missionary in Turkey. So he is studying for a degree as a mature student in order to fulfill the post. It looks to me that holding a degree is the door to opportunities abroad. In turn, in the 1990s I once volunteered to teach a class on the Second Coming of Christ, and eschatology in general, after suggestions from others in the congregation. The elder at the time flatly refused to let me give a talk at least. As he said, let a better educated person teach. Since then, this particular elder was defrocked by the rest of the congregation for supporting an adulterer and concealing his sin, and has now moved across the Atlantic to Florida.

There were times in the past that living in snooty, class-ridden England had tempted me to suicide. But God, in his mercy, had shown me that England is not my real home. My real home is in Heaven, where Christ is seated on the throne, and one day I shall be like him, for I shall see him as he is. This is the glory to look forward to, and such a destiny is available to all who believes in his heart that Jesus is Lord and God has raised him from the dead.

This is the real secret and power behind why I don't mind spending the rest of my life as a tenant in a rented property. There is a rent-free, mortgage-free property awaiting me in Heaven. That makes life worth living for.

 

I Have Much To Thank God For.

Both in the church I used to attend in Bracknell and in the present one I now attend in Ascot, I have made friends with, have spoken and associated with graduates of both genders who hold down professional careers. Although I would never ask what their income would be, as such a question would go against the culture and etiquette of our nation, there is really no need for me to ask anyway. It's obvious that their incomes are, and has always been, much higher than mine.

They also have a greater degree of security. With both a high standard of education and work experience to go with it, if the business they are working for goes under, chances are high that they can walk into another job and continue as if nothing has happened. Ditto if the company they work for is bought and taken over by another. Such an employee is likely to keep his post.

A university graduate has, or used to have, much of the world open to him after leaving college, or at least that's how it was in previous generations, including my own post-war baby boom generation. One can choose where to live and work. If a guy fresh out of college wishes to pursue further education or profession Down Under, for example, or even in the States, there would have been opportunities open to him. Then there is, in addition, the Gap Year, where students spend several months gaining experience in a far-away land, often in teaching or engaged in further studies.

By contrast, I'm a self-employed domestic window cleaner. Meaning that I specialise in private homes rather than on commercial premises. There is nothing wrong with such a line of work, as this involves running my own business and offering a service to my clients, which I have done for the last 32 years. But, and yes, unfortunately, there is a "but" - in such a class-conscious country, such an occupation is often looked down upon, giving me a rather low evaluation as a person.

And that hurts. And if I was invited to a party, chances are, and yes, it has happened - that I would feel reserved, hoping that no posh sounding guest ask what I do for a living. Especially when I was single and some young female was eyeing me up. To this day, I am often looked down with disdain, believe it or not, more likely by the daughters of clients who were out when I called. Why teenage girls tend to feel this way towards a window cleaner, I find rather baffling. Maybe I have that gullible "I'm easy to be taken advantage of" kind of expression, or my unusual "foreign" accent whenever I say something. However, I can see a strong connection between this and the catastrophic experience I had in Israel in 1994, described in my last blog, Travels: Rotten Luck? - where one female volunteer led others to turn against me for being "just" a manual worker, Italian, and with a misunderstanding that I was against equality for women (which wasn't true - I have always believed in equality.) In the latter case, I should add, the misunderstanding may have arisen from her belief, false or not, that in Italy the male still dominate.

But to run a domestic window cleaning business involves loyalty and commitment on my part, and trust and loyalty on the client's side. The day-to-day British weather plays an important role. If it's wet, whether I can work or not depends on how it rains. A gentle to moderate rainfall without any wind, I can work and get away with it. But even in such a situation, there are clients who would look out over my shoulder while I'm at the door and say something like, Not today, thankyou. It's not worth having my windows done. Come back next month. If up to three clients answer in such a manner, in a week there is a significant drop of income. And weekly and monthly living expenses remain unchanged. A stormy day with blustery weather (wind driven rain) would cause me to remain at home, as with a layer of snow and ice. Days lost equal loss of earnings. Then there is the housing market. A client sell up and moves away, and the new occupants are not interested in having their windows cleaned. Many younger residents see a window cleaner as some kind of adversity, thanks to the likes of the Media, such as a series of BBC programmes bearing the title Rogue Traders. Also ditto with the death of a client, and in my area there are quite a number of senior citizens, one couple in their nineties, another in their late eighties, while several are already widowed.

Indeed, such a business is like living on a knife edge, or precariously on a cliff edge. I could be jobless within weeks. And the word precarious would not be out of place with a number of homes with which the architect had a seeming grudge against tradesmen. Some of these windows I clean are difficult to reach, and it takes only the ladder to move slightly and I would fall. This has happened a few times, each incident resulting in hospital treatment. One accident occurred in 1997 which not only put me in hospital for five days but also resulted in remaining incapacitated for the next two months. I was very fortunate that I wasn't paralysed from the neck down. It could have easily happened.

But despite these risks and customer setbacks, I press on, fully trusting in the Lord to sustain me. In fact, whenever I arrive home from a full day's work, there is that feeling of bliss when I see my wife Alex walk in from the kitchen with a sumptious meal while I put away the day's earnings. I am grateful to God for enabling me to steward over such responsibility. Just as important, being self-employed has been, and still is, a builder of character. It has helped me to develop politeness and courtesy, qualities I had lacked in my younger days. Trust has developed among clients and I have even provided a shoulder to cry on, in one case literally, in others as a listening board for their sorrows, especially when a couple splits. It is a learning curve, which can be tough at times, to bring to the realisation to see others as better than myself.

Trusting in the Lord is immensely important in a job like this. This dependency covers for protection when at a precarious situation, for an adequate income to cover all regular expenses, for good customer relations and for keeping the clientele numbers up to an acceptable level. It also covers the "silly season" during the summer when many head for the airport. Really, often I have sat down and thought hard. Would I swap all this for working in an office?

During the early days of the business, I would have uttered a resounding "YES!" I would picture myself dressed in suit and tie while taking my place at the desk, especially if the weather outside is awful. To be looked upon and treated as equal by both work colleagues and church members, to be invited to countless house parties, maybe given assignments abroad, with flights and hotel accommodation paid for by the company, and to be looked upon with respect by both men and women. Gosh, how I wished I had done much better at school!

The grass always looks greener on the other side. Newspapers have reported about the sheer ennui experienced by many office staff who, while driving to work in the morning and getting caught in traffic, having a crushing desire to head for the airport and buying a ticket for the next 'plane out. I read about cranky bosses, malicious gossip among colleagues, office affairs and unfaithfulness to one's own spouse, long hours, tediousness - and I have wondered if it would have been worth it all, as I lay down the tools and pull out the lunch pack and sit and watch the rays of sunshine filter through the tree tops. I don't have a boss to tell me when it's time to start, when to eat, whether he lets me go to the loo, and when I can go home. Instead, if I want to call it a day at three in the afternoon, I just pack my stuff away and go home. More common during the bitter-cold winter days. The same with holidays. True, any time not working means the loss of income. But neither do I need to jostle for priority when to take time off. Therefore I have concluded that I would not swap my window cleaning business for a desk job, even if one was offered.

- Unless it involves travel. Travel. One of my passions. I have written enough blogs already on this topic, so there is not much more to say here. But even in this area of my life, God has blessed me richly, and I'll give him the glory. One of the abilities God has given me is the will to travel solo. One striking example of this was way back in 1976, when I flew out alone to backpack Israel. In those days I was an employee at a precision engineering factory shop floor, making ball-bearing races (the two rings which in between the ball bearings roll). When I returned three weeks later, I was an icon, not just by my shop-floor colleagues, but also among the office staff upstairs as well. In 1978 I was called "brave" after backpacking the USA alone, and again in 1995 by an air stewardess on a flight to New York. But these people did not account for the mistakes made as a fledgling backpacker in the early 1970s, described in one of my earlier blogs, Travels: Failed First Time? Try Again - published November 25th, 2012. As with window cleaning, travel was also a huge learning curve.

 

Looking back at all these things, I realise that God has blessed me richly. Not only with eternal life through faith in Jesus Christ, but in "earthly" things as well. But it also looks to me that the true idea behind these blessings is to learn to depend on God, to trust him in his goodness, and to do good to one another, especially Christian believers. Romans chapter eight is probably one of my favourite passages in the Bible. Verse 28 reads:

And  we know that all things work together for those who love God, to them who are called according to his purpose...

And verses 38-39 concludes with:

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,
Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord.

Now that is something to ponder over when I'm up on the ladders while a chilly breeze blows.

Travels - Rotten Luck?

Lately I have been writing about my travel history, and over the past week, my last blog When things Go Wrong seems to have scored a sizable hit, making it into the top ten popular posts chart on the side of  the main article, in less than a week. The idea of sharing my personal experiences is to convey to the reader on how these mistakes can be avoided, if only a more proper research was carried out, or for one case, making sure that my money was safely packed away before boarding a packed train where there was standing room only - and not pushing the travel cheques carelessly into a pocket, making this a prime target for either a professional or opportunist thief.

Then one of the two other examples at to know when the Israeli New Year holiday, or Rosh HaShannah, was to fall, so I would have been far better prepared when the entire nation shut down - including every shop, every office, every facility and all public transport except for a few taxis plying the area. And a simple lesson in geography would have informed me that in 1985 there were two railway lines out of Dieppe, both for Paris, but only one passed through Rouen, in which all trains stop, being a principal station. Instead, my ignorance and presumption allowed me to board a train for the other line, hurtling towards Paris with practically no money and with no means to buy another ticket for the Paris-Rouen train after arriving at the French capital. How fortunate that there was a group of compassionate teenagers who literally saved my day by instructing me to alight at Serqueux and change trains there.

 Gare de Serqueux, where a change of trains saved the day

These three incidences were due to the falling short on my part, even if by 1985 I should have had enough travelling experience to have known better.  But there were times when something occurs in a situation which was totally out of my control - or was it? Could a word said out of place bring such catastrophe? Israel 1994 could be one such incident, which I am now happy to share.

But I need to go further back to one ordinary Monday morning in October 1992. The weather was pleasant as I prepared for the day's work. One householder, an unmarried Christian who I had known since 1981, got into quite a rowdy disagreement and he basically threw me out of the door. It was after I started work elsewhere that I realised how much I was in the wrong. I had no one but myself to blame for the ending of a fine friendship, and I felt defeated, hopeless. While I was on top of the ladder, cleaning a window, I had what seems to be a sudden revelation. The vision was for me to go to Jerusalem for a week the following year to pray over the city. As I pondered on the revelation, I prayed if I can have two weeks there instead. A peace flowed into my heart as if the answer was "Yes."

The idea that this was from God has borne out from that very day on, when my financial situation had changed dramatically. Before then, I barely made enough each week to get by. But from that day on into 1993, I was able to put money away, enough to ensure that the holiday to come was fully covered.

Yet I was amazed. I got into a tiff, the other person was right, I was in the wrong, yet it was me who God spoke to, perhaps contrary to the opinion of every church leader, elder or pastor in the country. Maybe the fact that I had been to the Middle East before, in 1976 and having a deep respect for the Jews and for the future of Jerusalem, might have been the basis on why God chose me above the other person. Then again, maybe it was just sheer grace alone.

 Above Jaffa Gate, Jerusalem 1993.

Other than a six-hour delay at London Gatwick Airport due to the need to replace a faulty part on the aeroplane, the rest of the journey to Israel was uneventful. Having booked a bed at Lod Airport for one night at a hostel in Tel Aviv, the next day I made my way to Jerusalem Old City, and found a small hostel occupying a medieval building well within the city walls. It became home for the next two weeks.

I stood on top of the Mount of Olives and prayed over the city, from which I had a great panorama. I also attended Christ Church at Jaffa Gate, the only Church of England in the whole of Israel. While I was there, after the end of the evening service, I found myself talking to a volunteer of I.T.A.C. - the Israel Trust of Anglican Churches. Over here in the UK it was known as the Church's Ministry to the Jews, or C.M.J. It was a Church of England organisation which owned several properties in Israel, one being Stella Carmel Christian Conference Centre in Isfyia, near Haifa. After a long, persuasive talk with the volunteer, I decided to give it a try myself, if I can, the following year in 1994.

Cutting a long story short, I arrived at Stella Carmel in June of that year. If I recall over eighteen years, there was the director and his wife, three permanent staff (making five in all) and twelve volunteers (known as vollies) - seven females and five males. Before jetting off to Israel, I attended a one-day course at a C.M.J. centre in North London. At that centre I learnt that there were strict separation between the genders, the males specialised in general maintenance while the females dealt with the housework, the remaking of beds in each room (the centre was a former hotel) and other domestic duties.

Yet how unlucky was I? The female volunteers had a self-made leader from New Zealand, who I will refer as just J. She was one of the undergrads who went for these gap-year schemes, an extrovert who was respected even by the permanent staff. At Stella Carmel, the duties were not so segregated as was told in London. Alternate days for maintenance and domestics were carried out by each gender.

And that's was when I put my foot in it. During one of our weekly meetings, I made a suggestion that the domestic and maintenance duties should be assigned more to female and male volunteers respectively, after observing that we men weren't quite as good at domestics, or at least I wasn't, neither did the women looked comfortable shifting heavy rocks or involved in "masculine" tasks.

My wife Alex at Stella Carmel, 2000 - taken six years after being a "vollie" in 1994. 

I became a pariah from that moment on. I think during normal times, my statement would have been laughed off and forgotten, but instead, J. stirred up hatred among the female vollies, even if the men agreed with me, none had it in them to defend my case. When new females arrived at a later date, J. made sure that they knew I was the centre pariah. Yet the director must have agreed with me, along with the organisation's upper management, because since that day, we were assigned mostly maintenance tasks while the females remained in domestics, with only occasional swaps.

Which angered J. even further. She kept saying that I should learn to be the New Man, the feminising of the male to adapt to domestics while they (the females) go for further education to pursue a professional career and become the main breadwinner. The rest of the females who sided with her also took a stance against me and insisted, more or less, that a social revolution need to take place, with professional women running the country while the men stayed at home.

Exaggerating? No, not at all. Not long after all this, they begged the director to dismiss me as a volunteer, and to keep the peace, the director agreed. I had to go the very next day. I was dropped off at Haifa Bus Terminal and left there alone. I took the Egged bus to Jerusalem, where I booked a bed at the same hostel I stayed the previous year. Even at the Anglican Church, I was looked upon from the corner of their eyes.

During the days that followed, I often lay on the bed while the other backpackers were out and about. If it wasn't for J, I would still be a volunteer, most likely much happier, engaging in both domestics and maintenance and fulfilling what I believed what God called me for. Unlucky, what rotten luck!

This was the time I turned away from the faith. I was sick of the pretence and hypocrisy. All those at the conference centre were Christians. Among the mass of teachings against eternal security, I too accepted that I fell out of God's favour and was heading for Hell. Yet, as I paced aimlessly through the streets of Jerusalem, I remembered God's promise to Israel and to Jerusalem in particular. Gently, I felt the Lord calling me, very, very gently. I responded, and found myself praying. Although I was still to feel devastated for months to come, I was aware of God's presence.

I spent a month in Jerusalem, living at the hostel, and seeing that the "unbelieving" backpackers were far more amenable and humane than those "Christians" at Stella Carmel. Two days before flying home, I stood once more on the summit of the Mount of Olives, looking down at the splendid panorama of the city. It was while I was gazing at the view, when once again I had a revelation, very much like the one I received in 1992. The next year I was to fly to New York. Sure enough, in 1995, exactly one year to the very day after disembarking from the airline at Gatwick airport, I boarded another airline bound for New York from London Heathrow. Thus began my time of travel, covering the whole of the United States, Singapore and Australia.

 San Diego, California 1995- one of several places which for me was so spiritually therapeutic.

I returned to Stella Carmel during the Autumn of the year 2000, after being stranded on the summit of Mt. Carmel during Rosh HaShannah and was given a lift by a taxi driver who was also a pastor of a Christian church in Haifa. With me was Alex, my wife who I have, in the last thirteen years of marriage, to be the perfect partner, companion and comforter. Unlike J, she fully respects my views, which, when properly understood, does not mean that women are inferior to men, as J. tried to get me to say. Rather, I was simply implying that men and women have different roles, both equally important.

Alex my wife prefers not to go to work, instead spending time keeping house, visiting and helping my elderly parents, showing hospitality to visiting church members and taking care of the finances. In turn, my duty is to make sure the money comes into the house in the first place. As a result, I'm happy to say that our marriage is robust.

Paul wrote,

And we know that in all things God works for the good for those who love him, who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

And that was what it was all about. God working in me for the good. All things, not just the good or pleasant. And the rest of the chapter that follows makes tremendous reading. If only the whole of the centre had concentrated on this chapter instead of debating whether we are eternally saved or not, who knows, things might have turned out much better.
 

Come On, Mate, You Can Do It...

While browsing the Daily Mail online, I came across an article written by one of the Mail's bloggers, Dominique Jackson. Her piece was about why in the last year the number of unemployed British young people, aged between 16 and 24 years old, rose to over a million (imperial million, i.e. 1,000,000) for the first time over many years. At the same time, in the past year, 181,000 overseas-born applicants successfully landed jobs here in the UK, which is equivalent to 490 each day.

The general opinion for this phenomenon is that those who have decided to stay out of work are better off on benefits, which means that they each receive from the taxpayer a higher income from the State than one would from a low-paid job. They protest on why should they get up early in the morning to work their socks off at such a dead-end job, and at the end of the day, actually be worse off, with a slimmer wallet.

Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Why work for less money? But this also highlight another attitude among the British unemployed, a lack of the work-ethic.

But it was writer Dominique Jackson who had revealed what might be considered the underlying motive. This is what she wrote, and I quote:

Urged by his parents, both mesmerised by the shibboleth of a University education, young Johnnie will eschew the lowly apprenticeship and fight for his right to a still coveted three years of further education...There remains a stubborn snobbery, in almost every sector of British society, about starting work on the shop floor.
(Emphasis mine.)

And yet, as the author also brought up, the now famous tycoon of Virgin Group, Richard Branson, did poorly at school due to dyslexia, and had never seen the inside of a University. Neither did Lord Alan Sugar, another successful businessman who built his empire from a market stall selling flowers in London. (Alan Sugar is the host of The Apprentice UK, our version of Donald Trump.) Really, as I have experienced, there is nothing wrong with shop floor work.

As I can testify. After leaving school in 1968 with absolutely no qualifications, my first three years of work were spent sweeping the floor each morning of two departments at a furniture-making factory. Additionally, in the wood finishing workshop, each week I had to clean out the two spray booths, the market stall-like structure with an extractor fan where lacquer and other finishes were sprayed on to the woodwork. This created an accumulation of fine white powder, which had to be cleared away. So I ended up literally covered from hair to shoes with this dust, as I poured it onto the bonfire some distance outside. That was my job, I never complained or objected. At least with the making of the teas, (a worker's custom here in the UK - the traditional tea break)- this was done by another adolescent in the cabinet-making department, who had to make tea each morning for the entire workforce, me included.

I personally believe that those years made the transformation from boyhood to manhood. Throughout that time, working in an all-male environment, I learned more smut and filthy talk in the first few weeks than from all my schooldays. And of course I was subjected to teasing. One occasion I was told to go down to the stores for a long weight. Thinking of some gadget essential for the job, I stood and waited...and waited. Then the penny dropped: A long wait! Well, look at it this way, at least I had a free respite without having to answer to the boss. And neither was I subjected to go out and buy a packet of holes, as one of my colleagues had to a few years earlier. Perhaps had I been sent out on such an errand, I might have returned with a packet of doughnuts, and enjoy a good nosh up in the men's restroom! But one very beneficial outcome from this work experience was that it made a man out of me.

In a sense, I never left the shop floor, even after more than 43 years of my working life. Only its nature had changed. I'm now self-employed, running a business cleaning windows at the homes of my clients, which I had been doing for over 31 years. The longevity of the business testifies that I must get some enjoyment and a sense of achievement from my work.

But I didn't stop there. During the last thirty-plus years I attended evening college voluntarily and acquired two G.C.E. "O" Levels, one in English language and the other in Geography. Alongside this, after confessing Jesus Christ to my all-male work colleagues at the furniture factory in 1973, my knowledge of the Bible began to take root and grow.
And may I add one interesting point to this saga. All I had at the time was a pocket New Testament, which was given to me some years earlier by the Gideons at school. When I took it in to work, so I could have a quick read during the break, our foreman looked at it with an element of fear. It also caused reaction from other employees, causing them to blaspheme as well as leading to hot discussions. How could such a little book have such an effect? A couple of months later in 1973, I terminated my employment at the furniture factory to take on a very different job as a pool lifeguard, having qualified in the months leading up to the change.

Later, in the early 1980s, I learned a little bit of computer programming at home, thanks to the good old Sinclair ZX81 home computer with just 1K of RAM, a shoebox cassette recorder for storing software, and a TV set with a spare channel! You see, by then, the church I was attending had attracted a group of young University graduates who worked at one particular computer programming company who moved into our town to trade in our area. During the mid 1970s I began to feel small and inferior in their presence. (See my blog, Alan Sugar at the Kerith? published June 28th, 2011.) The introduction of the ZX81 home computer with which I can actually learn to program was a great confidence booster! I actually believe that God was in this, opening a door to new knowledge, which rebounded in a better walk with God, Bible study and acceptance of my social status. But all this has never made me leave the shop floor, even when there were times I wished that I was able to. Yet I also knew that there was nothing wrong with manual work, unlike the thinking of many of today's younger Brits who believe that the shop floor is beneath them.

The ZX81 Home Computer, released onto the market in 1981

Then again there is a point when one wants to take on a particular vocation. One good example is a man I admire, South Today reporter Allan Sinclair.

On his South Today profile, he tells us that from boyhood he always wanted to be a journalist. But at age 14, he was told by the school careers adviser that he should pursue a trade in plumbing. I think Sinclair felt rather crushed. Why the advisor came up with such an idea we were not told, neither were we told if this student left school with any qualifications. But later in his life he worked as a journalist with various local newspapers before finally being hired by the BBC as a Regional News Reporter. Did he eschew an apprenticeship in plumbing because of snobbery? No, not at all. Journalism was his dream. And I believe that many, if not the majority, of worthwhile professions are held by those who had a passion for their vocation since their schooldays. This is a stark contrast to Johnnie, mentioned above, who only wanted to go to University to escape the dread of manual work he saw as something beneath him.

All this takes me to the Parable of the Talents, spoken by Jesus Christ in Matthew 25:14-30. Here, the Lord tells a story of a master who will be absent for a long time. Just before he goes, however, he chooses three of his servants and he gave one five talents, another he gave two, and the third he gave one talent. I do not know exactly how much a talent is worth, but I believe it to be several thousand pounds or dollars. He told each of them to use the money to trade and bring back a profit. The first two went straightaway to trade. But the third hid the money in the ground. Why did he do it?

I think it was because he felt that his master underestimated his ability, which made him feel resentful. In other words, the servant refused to believe in his master, while the other two believed in him. Now supposing that I was there, a fourth servant. I would approach the master and ask,
"What about me?"
"What about you?" He asks.
"You did not give me any money to trade with."
The master looks me up and down, and with his hand under his chin, mutters,
"Hummmph!"
After a long pause, he disappears, then returns with a small bag.
"Try with this," he says. "Its a quarter of a talent, but let see what you can make of it."

Wheres today I would have no idea what to do with the money, since I have no experience in stocks and shares. But back in those days the servants knew exactly what to do. And I would be no different.

Straight away I invest the cash in two cattle, a bull and a cow, and some sheep, along with their food, especially mandrakes - which is an aphrodisiac. Then I let nature take its course. I also use the cowpats for fertiliser over a field, and invest in some wheat seed, as well as fodder for the animals.

Over a period of time, harvesting yields a bountiful crop which I sell to the markets. The older offspring of the cattle and sheep, after birthing another generation, I would also sell to the market. So it goes on until I have a full talent by the time the master returns.

The first servant invested his five talents to make five more, likewise the second servant turned his two talents into four, and both were richly rewarded. But the master passed a harsh judgement on the one who buried his one talent and had nothing more to show for it. Then, meekly and with fear of the same judgement passed to the third man who had the one talent, I say to him,
"Lord, you know the quarter talent you gave me? Well, er, I made it into one full talent."
The master's eyes widened and sparkled and a big smile spread across his face, from ear to ear.
"WELL DONE, GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT!" He almost shouted. "Because you have been faithful over such a small thing, I will let you be responsible over bigger things. Enter into the joy of your Lord."

So the third man and I both yielded the same amount of money, a talent. But why such a contrast in the master's judgement? It was all because I believed in him, the other fellow did not.

And that's how God sees us. He does not evaluate by social status or level of education. Neither does he evaluate us on our nationality. He evaluates us whether we believe in him and of our availability to serve him. Whether one is a Minister of Parliament or Senator, a Doctor, Journalist, or for that matter, a cleaner or one who sweeps the streets, or clean windows, or empty the dustbins. God will always reward those who believe in Jesus.

If only young Johnnie knew that when his enthusiastic parents were being interviewed. Maybe their son would have readily accepted a "lowly apprenticeship" knowing that his main aim in life was to exalt and glorify God in throughout his life.

Tender Mercy and Goodness of God - a Testimony

William Shakespeare is famed for his writings of theatre plays, for example, Macbeth, The Merchant of Venice and many others. This is a fact which is accepted by the vast majority of the population. But on one BBC television programme, The One Show, a general discussion forum where diverse topics are covered in every region of the UK, the presenters focused on the opinion of several academics who deny that Shakespeare was the writer of these plays. They even attempted the use archaeology within the writer's home town of Stratford-Upon-Avon to add proof that their opinions were correct.

William Shakespeare

Personally, I didn't buy any of those academic opinions. The reason is rather straightforward. William's father, John Shakespeare, was a glove maker. In other words, what we would call a factory worker today, working class, blue-collar. How could his son have developed such a literacy talent?

According to these academics, he couldn't have done. Plays such as Macbeth, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Winters Tale and Romeo and Juliet were, to them, all written by some other person whose parents were a lot more cleverer. And a few very unconvincing bits of relics were found in the archaeological pits to substantiate the opinion of the skeptical academics.

On a somewhat different story but based on the same principle, according to a Daily Mail newspaper report, two female contestants on the University Challenge BBC2 quiz were mocked and severely criticized by mostly male viewers using the Facebook page on the Internet. Having not watched the programme myself, I cannot tell whether the two academic women were on the same team or whether they were even on the same programme. But that is not the point. Rather the point being that they were both harassed on the Internet for being snobby, intelligent and too full of self-confidence, according to their critics. Reflections of inferior complex or lack of self-esteem?

But to be fair, the Reader's Comments which appeared under the main article mostly defended the harassed females. Only a small minority upheld the critic's messages posted online, and they were red-arrowed with disapproval.

And then, looking back, I also recall the murder of Stephen Lawrence one evening at a South London suburb. Lawrence was black, and going by his images, he had that look of intelligence and promising of a good education. The images proved correct. He was studying to be an architect. Then, while waiting for a bus at a stop on the evening of 22nd April 1993, five white English men first threw verbal abuse, then they crossed the road to stab him to death. A clearly racist murder. Personally, I'm not fully convinced that colour alone was the one and only motive. Rather, the victim oozed high intelligence, and the five white men having sensed this all felt their self confidence were under threat. Really, there was no real difference between this case and those of the two females on University Challenge where motives were concerned, the only difference was that one case led to a serious crime, the other two were not considered to be criminal victims.

My own belief that the secondary reason for the Stephen Lawrence murder might have been motivated by a sense of inferior complex, seem to be endorsed by the case of one of the killers, Gary Dobson, who was jailed for five years in July 2010 for drug dealing. The other four, I think, were either jobless or held manual occupations, a good indication of low level of education or low academic abilities. So the very thought of a well educated black man was anathema to them.

But where is the connection between this information and the title of this article? Well, I hope to demonstrate how good and merciful God has been to me over the years, despite the prejudices I had to go through, and to show that what God has done for me he can do for you, if only you will diligently search and ask for his wisdom.

The pinnacle of God's mercy: The Crucifixion

If you read my Blogger profile, you will see that I don't give my nature of occupation. That is because I am a Domestic Window Cleaner, who goes about dressed in casuals, as my profile pic indicates, and not of an elderly gentleman dressed in a suit, wears glasses and sport thinning hair! Among those who know me well, they may think, So what? You love writing, keep up the good work. And yes, I have actually received such encouragement! This shows the value of true friendship.

But others may think: A window Cleaner? How can such a person know anything, let alone writing these articles? Unreasonable? Not what I know of.

And my answer: I allowed the Lord Jesus Christ to work in my life.

Here I begin by stating that at school I received the annual report which stated, Frank tries hard; Standard below average. This was an indication that my poor performance at the classroom desk was not my fault, therefore the report I handed personally to my parents did not merit any form of punishment.

And that applied to every subject, including the subject of General Science, with which at the end of the 2nd academic year, I've literally received 100/100 marks on the exam papers and became the talk of the school.

But I remained in the slowest learning class, in which I was constantly teased by one annoying pupil who was one grade above me: Who is in the dunce's class for science?

After leaving school in 1968 with no qualifications to show, my working life has always been manual. Nothing wrong with that in itself, but I feel that it's a crying shame that here in England, the general mentality is that if one had failed at school, nobody expects or even desires for him to work himself upwards. A manual worker not only stays a manual worker (again, nothing wrong in that) but any thought of self-improvement of his mental capabilities seem to be frowned upon. Could this be because it poses a threat?

Here are a couple of classic examples. The first example being back in 1992, the elders of Ascot Baptist Church, where I attend to this day, gave me an opportunity to give a talk on what Heaven might be like, based on the description found in Revelation chapters 21 and 22. Now at the front row sat Keith, a "devout Englishman" who always condescended on my Italian origins. His sense of national superiority was not unique. I have came across this sort of thing many, many times - among my clientele and fellow church members alike.

After the talk was over and as such, the service as well, Keith went around literally bragging that he had not heard a single thing I was saying at the front. Instead, he said he was deliberately diverting his thoughts away by indulging in some other subject, most likely in his case, football and particularly England's hopes in the next World Cup contest.

The second example took place in 1997 and it was in a very much the same environment, giving a talk about my travels, and bringing up the idea on why in California in particular, there seem to be an obsession with alien life from other planets. Toys, ornaments and inflatable models and balloons of these life forms were on sale just at about every second shop along the street. I then theorised that there might be a connection between this obsession with alien life forms and end-times Biblical prophecy. The issue here was not whether I was right in this matter or not, but rather one man in the congregation, also with the name Frank, suddenly standing up and declared aloud for all to hear, that he too had seen these model life forms on sale where he was, and my description of them was spot on. He then declared that my possible interpretation was worth thinking about.

Afterwards, I asked him why he stood up and made such a public announcement.
He replied that during the talk, he overheard a couple of people sitting behind him mutter words to the effect,
What does he know about the Bible or prophecy? He's just a window cleaner!

And oh yes, I have just remembered another incident which took place in 1989, which I think is worth recording here. It concerned something which occurred at Bracknell Baptist Church. What the incident itself was, I can't recall, but one of the elders asked me to write a report on it, because of my involvement.

When I presented my written work to him, he plainly asked me who wrote it. It took some convincing that I was the author. Meaning: The standard of the written document was above my standing for me to be the author.

God's mercy. In 1 Corinthians 1:18-31 Paul the Apostle specifically states that God chooses the foolish in this world to confound the wise. On similar lines, James instructs not to pay higher honour to the rich man on the expense of the poor man dressed in rags (James 2).

I became a true believer early in 1973. I am convinced that there has been a change in my I.Q. at this turning point in my life. I was immediately interested in the Bible and what it had to say on everything.

I went to a Christian bookshop next to St. Paul's Cathedral in London to stock up books which will help me understand the Bible better. But in the Bible itself, particularly in the Old Testament, I noticed that God was referring to Jerusalem more than any other city in the ancient world. I also noticed that Jerusalem was the place Jesus Christ was crucified, then he rose again near the city, and the first Church began in Jerusalem. I also noticed that this same city played a major role in future prophecy, namely, that Christ is to reign from there in the future.

So in 1976 I decided to visit the place for myself, to see it first hand. I went as a sole backpacker. The details are recorded in one of my former blogs, Jerusalem, City of Peace which was published here on Sunday 13th February, 2011.

Visiting Israel in 1976 was a wonderful experience which added strength to my faith. Then in October 1992, a friend and I had a massive row one weekday morning while I was at his home. The worst thing about it was that I knew that I was in the wrong. So I started window cleaning at a nearby street feeling very dejected. It was at this low point when I had what could be called a vision. I was to go to Jerusalem to pray for the city.

But was this from God? First, the vision came suddenly, quite unexpectingly. Then up to this time I always made enough to live on reasonably well, but I was never able to save up for a proper holiday. From that very week onwards, I found myself saving up quite steadily, allowing me the ability to pay for the entire holiday plus all the other expenses without any difficulty. Then I took off from Gatwick Airport early August, 1993.

What I found amazing was that it should have been my friend who should have received the vision, not me. He was in the right, I was in the wrong. But while I was in Jerusalem, I felt God speaking to me about why the Islamic Dome of the Rock stood where the Temple once was. Alongside this, I watched the crowd of Jewish people celebrate the start of their Sabbath. It was such a thrilling experience. I just felt the pulsating presence of God in the enclosure, which fronts the Western Wall. These Jews were God's ancient people. Their presence in Jerusalem showed me how faithful God was to his people. And if God was so faithful to the Jews, how much more will he be to us? Also I found myself sharing my faith in Jesus at the hostel I was staying at, after being asked by one backpacker why I was in Israel. By the time I had finished talking, I found myself the centre of attention among the other backpackers.

Damascus Gate, Jerusalem

Reading the Bible and books to help me understand the Bible also not only helped in my faith, but by reading both books and the newspaper, I slowly learned how other authors composed their articles, so when it comes to writing myself, I can use some of their techniques. But on top of this, I felt that God himself was teaching things direct to me without human intercession. That means I had answers in my thoughts concerning things I was asking especially in the book of the prophet Daniel, which contains visions the prophet had about the bigger picture of God's revelation to mankind.

This was because for a long time I had a desire to know what is the bigger picture was about. In other words, how did it all begin, why we are here, how would it all end, and why will it end in the way the Bible says. And why does Jerusalem play such a large role, and my visits to this city made such a massive impact on my life, especially on the spiritual.

But on the day-to-day practical side, when things are up, I can thank and praise God for. But when thing become trying, God is there I can trust, and run to. I have suffered some trying moments in my life, and a close friend of mine, who already knew much of what I went through, exclaimed,
I am surprised you have not committed suicide! I would have done!

He got distracted before I could explain that I know of the sovereignity of God in my life and with a degree of peace in my heart, I can ride over all things. God is not only my Saviour, he is my Rock, my Strength and Shelter.
Although this has not happen so far in my life, but it could: Suppose I was to lose everything I had, would I still trust in him? Would I still be thanking him for eternal life and for all the goodness, I have received from him? I hope I will be able, then again, it would not be of my own effort, but the infilling of the Holy Spirit in my life.

And this is the key to everything. I'm writing here to all true believers in Christ who is reading this. Be filled with the Holy Spirit and let the love of Christ flow in you richly.
May God bless you richly.