Slain - But Not By George

St. George's Day came and went as expected - without any fanfare, bunting, flags, live bands, let alone any street carnivals, at least, not around my area. As I reclined under the warm sunshine on a sloping grass verge fronting the town's Roman Catholic Church, directly opposite the entrance of the indoor shopping mall, I watched people saunter past in all four directions, with no one, as far as I observed, wearing tee shirts sporting a red cross on a white background. Instead, whether any were in a hurry or not, all had some business to attend, whatever nature such calling would have been, without any hint that this day was meant to be special. Rather it was just another working day.

I guess most countries have their own national days. Even in the United Kingdom, Scotland celebrates St. Andrew's Day; with Ireland it's St. Patrick's; and Wales has St. David - not the ancient King David of Israel around 1,000 BC as I once thought, but a far more recent Bishop of Menevia who was around during the 6th Century AD. But even with these three saints, Andrew, Patrick, and David, a far greater effort has always been made to bring some carnival atmosphere into commemorating their special days. But not for our poor St. George, patron saint of England. As this is being typed right in the midst of a national election campaign to form the next UK Government, all the political parties broadcast their own manifestos, yet only one - the United Kingdom Independence Party, or UKIP for short - promises to make St George's Day a national Bank Holiday.

Not that businesses across England would welcome such a proposal. Unlike Easter Monday, May Day, and Spring Bank Holidays, all which falls on a Monday; St. Georges Day, like New Years Day, would fall on any day of the week. I can imagine employers being up in arms over this. Rue the day when St. George selects a Tuesday or a Thursday to mark his commemoration. Imagine the large number of employees who would phone in sick on the Monday or Friday respectively. I recall once the huge commotion in our national newspapers the week following January 1st a few years ago, when the holiday fell on a Thursday. According to the Press, the nation's economy had taken a nosedive when the Friday was taken off in addition to the holiday, and did not pick up again until the doors of the workplace opened on Monday, January 5th. Although according to one poll, 83% of the English population is in favour of making our national day a Bank Holiday, I can't see this going down well in the business world.

But even if St George became a national holiday, it would have nothing in comparison to the highly festive days celebrated with carnivals and a party atmosphere found in other countries, especially in Asian and tropical regions. Could it be that our conservative self reserve, the stiff upper lip, and our stoicism, along with a large dollop of pessimism, be connected with our lousy, unpredictable climate? After all, a chilly wind accompanied by driving rain is pretty well normal for August, when the kids take their Summer leave from school. Then to add to this, living on an island, cut off from mainland Europe by a minimum twenty miles of sea, does give us a false sense of an ideal society over the centuries at least, along with the delusion of being chosen by God, and his divine approval to go out to sea and conquer the world for him.

Oh, the irony of it all! We have St. George as the patron saint of England, yet this guy, whether historic of mythical, wasn't even an Englishman, but imported from either Georgia east of the Black Sea, Cappadocia in Turkey, or from Libya. Other things we so consider traditionally English includes tea, imported from India. Then the most English of all takeaways, fish & chips, being a convenience meal originating from a group of Jewish refugees, and the traditional pub or tavern was also common throughout the ancient Roman Empire, so according to a recent BBC programme. Little wonder that the English have really, little of their own to celebrate, and maybe can't be bothered to make any commemoration at all.

But come the World Cup football tournament, or any other national or international event, whether sporting, or pageantry, then many St. George Crosses begins to appear across the land - upon bedroom windows, gardens, tied to the aerial of cars, clothing, and even tattooed permanently on the (usually male) body. Yet it was only recently that I have learnt that the red cross of the English flag is depicted from the Roman Catholic crucifix. If there was a time that I wished I had a much keener interest in history at school, I might have learnt about such an elaborate story brought back to England by the Crusaders during the eleventh or twelfth Century. Something about the legend of a brave warrior who bartered with the local pagan population to slay a dragon living in a nearby cave, who had received a young maiden as a sacrificial offering, in exchange for a mass conversion of the people to Catholicism. When the local population agreed to the conversion, George took his crucifix with him, along with his sword, and successfully slew the beast. Afterwards the people were baptised into their new faith.

A very charming story which does not seem to have any historical verification, but I guess it was a good one to enforce the morale of the Crusaders themselves, as well as boosting the credentials of the Catholic faith to the general population of Europe and Britain. However, as one who believe that most, if not all legends, have a kernel of truth embedded within, it is likely that such a character named George did exist, in much the same way as Bishop Nicholas of Myra, a historical figure, known for his generosity and goodness towards the poor, giving rise to the eternal festive character of Santa Clause riding high upon a sleigh flown by airborne reindeer. So in truth, this fellow named George might have been a valiant soldier who had performed an outstanding act of war, or rescued a maiden in distress in similar ways that a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building. He might have even slain a more realistic beast such as a lion. Unfortunately, a lion is far less romantic or mystical than a dragon. But whatever the historical character might have been, he is portrayed as strong, courageous, and brave. And these are the triple virtue every Englishman wants to see in himself, as well as by others.

And maybe that's it. If I was to see myself as strong, brave and courageous, then why the need to trust in God? I would have everything I'll need, not just to survive, but also to prosper, and in a way to be my own saviour. Could this be the underlying factor which has built self confidence in lieu of faith in God? The snag with this philosophy is that it can be very difficult to hold up in the real world. Anger, fear and anxiety are the three harmful emotions which not only are so detrimental to the soul but also to physical health as well. I am aware that most men can keep their emotions under check in public, at least to a certain limit. But I am convinced that keeping emotions bottled up under a stiff upper lip, then be told to man up when things go wrong, is not the solution. Instead, Peter instructed all believers to "cast all your burdens upon him (Jesus, the resurrected Lord) for he cares for you" (1 Peter 5:7).

Strong, Bravery, and Courage, three virtues that are good qualities in a person's character. But if centred on self, as was the case of George and all his followers, than they could be a blockage to having faith in God, instead creating self-confidence and pride, along with a self-set standard no one can honestly keep. When failure comes, the one who thought he had these characteristics may arrive at the point in believing he is weak, cowardly, and timid, resulting in developing a low self-esteem that can last a whole lifetime, even leading to severe depression, and eventually, the possibility of suicide.

King David of Israel was very strong, very brave and very courageous. Whenever there was a threat from a strong enemy, particularly from the Philistines, he led his forces into battle, and always won, bringing victory to Israel. But he did not depend on his own strength to win these victories. Instead, he wholly trusted in God. One of the best examples of this dependency is found in 2 Samuel 7:18-29, where David prays to the Lord after God had delivered a set of promises through Nathan. Another is Psalm 40, where is faith in God is fully testified. David was filled with the Holy Spirit, who came into him at the moment he was anointed with oil by the prophet Samuel (1 Samuel 16:13). Throughout the rest of his life, David allowed the Holy Spirit of God to produce the fruits, including courage and bravery.

But while great men such as King David depended fully on God and has gotten his strength by trusting in him, that is not the case with the natural man, who has only himself to depend on, and is the basis of pride and self-exaltation if success comes his way. This happens individually, as a group or company, and as a nation. While in the past, the English might have had something to be proud of, and to boast about, mainly over imperial success and victory in warfare. Nowadays, there is little to be proud over, and the shameful defeat and humiliation of the England squad in the last World Cup tournament, for example, caused the nation to mourn silently while remaining stoic among other nations.

There is only one alternative, and that is to believe in your heart that Jesus Christ died, was buried, and on the third day rose from the dead, proving to the world that he is the Christ and Lord. By believing, you allow the Cross of Christ to slay the self-controlled Old Man, to give birth to the New Man, born of God with new desires to love and serve God and other people, and to love the brethren, that is, fellow believers. It was Jesus who has shown us how easy it is to be filled with the Holy Spirit of God. Just ask, and his Father in heaven will gladly give (Luke 11:13.) If you believe in your heart enough to ask God to fill you with his Holy Spirit, then he will send him, no strings attached. And that promise is from none other than Jesus Christ himself.

There is a test set out by John the apostle to prove whether you are truly born of God, and is this: Do you love the brethren, your fellow believers in Jesus? If you do, then you are a true believer (1 John 4:7-8.) God's love in us does not allow room for pride, haughtiness, conceit, snobbery, or the feeling of ethnic or racial superiority, neither does it seek for heroism. Instead, it seeks for the interest of the affairs of others.

Without the need to slay any dragons.

England Goodbye...

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

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



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

Farnham Triathlon, 1987

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shades of England.

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

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