Travel Biography - Week 15.

California Dreaming.

The name California seems to have a romantic or a paradisal ring to it. For example, the Mamas and Papas' 1965 song California Dreaming reflects the narrator's desire for the balmy climate of Los Angeles whilst enduring the cold, winter months in New York. Also, Scott McKenzie's hippy song, San Francisco (be sure to wear flowers in your hair) of 1967, and California Girls, which was a 1965 hit by the Beach Boys, along with up to a hundred other songs were related to California. These, together with dramas such as the above-mentioned Starsky & Hutch, Pulp Fiction, L.A. Story, The Graduate, Sunset Boulevard, and many others were all stories based in California.

Lombard Street, San Francisco. Stock photo.

Aside from Starsky & Hutch, was I the only one who had a strong curiosity over this "fabulous" State? Apparently not. When I was in Italy, I came across some Italian lads who became good friends, especially in Naples where I first met them. One of them, a student named Valentine, had a strong desire to visit California, with San Diego his greatest wish. In 1976, a few weeks after returning from Israel, Valentine stayed for a few days in my apartment before moving to London in readiness to fly home. After that, his father dispatched him to a family home in Walnut Creek, a small town east of San Francisco and Oakland. Once there, he invited me to where he was staying if ever I wished to visit the USA. This had given further motivation to cross the Atlantic Ocean.

The Greyhound Americruiser left the Los Angeles terminal late in the evening for a 382-mile, six-hour journey, for a morning arrival in San Francisco. However, after arrival, instead of looking for a hotel as was my norm, I managed to phone the student from the terminal. He instructed me to take a BART train to Walnut Creek. I would meet them there.

Arrival at Walnut Creek.

Back in 1977, being in America, I thought that BART was the name of a man who owned the railway or one who originally founded it. It was later that I discovered that BART stood for Bay Authority Rapid Transit, and is apparently State owned. Like the Picadilly Line on the London Underground, the BART line passes under the city and under the bay itself to emerge at Oakland, and then overground for the rest of the line heading east, just as the Picadilly Line also passes through the suburbs above ground. The journey took just over half an hour to reach Walnut Creek Station where Valentine and his host, Mrs Carson, were waiting for me. After much greeting and hugs, I climbed into their car, and Mrs Carson drove us to her house, where she offered to accommodate me for four nights. 

Whether the Carsons were childless or whether they had grown up and flown the nest, I was never told. But I was offered a bed in one of their spare rooms, where both Valentine and our host were to escort me around the city and then a day later, to Stinson Beach where I had a swim in the Pacific Ocean, and then to Muir Woods National Monument, a forest of Redwood Pine trees. Indeed, had it not been for the hospitality offered, I would have missed out on these two natural venues.

Cable Car, taken 1977.

As for the city itself, on the day I arrived, the two of us, Valentine and I visited the famed Golden Gate Bridge. Or at least, we tried. When we got there, we saw that the whole bridge was wrapped in thick fog that covered the bay and the Golden Gate inlet that connects the bay to the open ocean (and from which the bridge is named) and we both felt disappointed, and I wondered whether the bridge was permanently shrouded, or whether I had chosen an unlucky day.

Fortunately, when Mrs Carson drove us into the city the next day, the fog had cleared to reveal the splendour of such civil engineering. Valentine was teasing me, thinking that because I took delight at seeing such a well-known crossing, I was worshipping it. Rather, I felt privileged to be there, to see the structure for myself rather than just on TV or through another person's camera.

Other attractions included Lombard Street, known as "the most crooked street in the world" as it descends the rather steep Russian Hill in eight switchbacks. The inside of each curve is occupied by a small garden, thus adding aesthetics to the route. From the base of Russian Hill, as seen from the summit, the street runs dead straight as it crosses a wide panoramic view of the city.

Then there's Fisherman's Wharf, perhaps the most famous of the kind in the world. Here, there were many stalls selling wet fish, a variety of shellfish, fruit and vegetables. Indeed, it was a very lively harbourside market with a very cheerful atmosphere. Looking north along the bay, the isolated Alcatraz Island prison stands on an isolated rock. Nicknamed The Rock by the inmates, it eventually ceased to serve as a penitentiary when the last of the inmates were transferred elsewhere in March 1963.

California's wildlife.

There was one day when both Mr and Mrs Carson were out when Valentine and I went to visit a private lido in Walnut Creek, to which he had access. As a guest, I was able to swim in the pool and relax and sunbathe on one of the sunbeds provided. Later that day, I borrowed Mr Carson's bicycle and set off on it, until Valentine yelled at me!

You're on the wrong side of the road! What are you doing?

Then I realised that this is America and over here they drive on the "wrong" side. Not to worry, in Europe they do the same. Fortunately, there was no other vehicle and I corrected my mistake, feeling strange as I rode on their correct side which is on the right of the road.

Eventually, I approached my friend who was holding a stick. 

Look, here's a tarantula.

"Where did you find that?" I asked.

On the side of the road.

The large black hairy spider was perched on the end of the stick my friend was holding. It wasn't as big as an African tarantula as it was a different species. I felt tempted to stroke its furry abdomen, but Valentine advised me not to touch it, so I didn't. Looking at it, I felt sympathetic for anyone suffering from arachnophobia - a fear of spiders. They are fast runners and one can suddenly appear unexpectedly, making someone jump. I'm not immune from being startled by one. Then again, it wouldn't feel nice to wake up one morning to find a tarantula like this one nestling between the sheets or making contact with it with your toe whilst slipping into your shoes, or in the case with my brother many years ago, seeing a big house spider nestling inside a teacup after taking it down from the shelf.

At Chinatown, San Francisco, 1977.

Should I give a false impression of being some kind of fearless Hercules or Apollo, then I much prefer to admit that I have fears of my own. Like the time I was in Singapore. I was in the hostel elevator going up when it stopped unexpectedly between floors. I was gripped by panic and punched hard at the alarm which, to my relief, got the lift moving again. I refused to use the lift thereafter. Instead, I used the stairs, as I still do at times in some buildings. Or if I have to use the railway station lift to use the platform crossover whenever I take my wife Alex out in her wheelchair. I always make sure the presence of the alarm.

On to Portland, Oregon.

Eventually, after a few days with my Italian friend and his hosts, it was time for me to move on. When I found out when the next bus for Portland, Oregon was due to leave, Mrs Carson drove Valentine and me to the San Francisco Bus terminal, where my friend and I were locked in a long embrace before leaving me alone to board the bus to my next chosen stop. After the bus pulled out of the terminal, it took the same route as when I arrived, by crossing the bay on the imposing Oakland Bay Bridge, which also passes over Yerba Buena Island, out in the middle of the bay. I was sorry to leave San Francisco and I felt that I hadn't spent enough time there. But would I ever be given another chance?

The journey to Portland was another overnighter, a ten-hour, 635-mile journey north along the Pacific coastline, exiting California and entering the State of Oregon before eventually ending back in Canada after passing through the State of Washington.

After arriving in Portland, it wasn't difficult to find another hotel where I was offered a room. All I could see was that it was a nice town, with pleasant streets and squares. But unlike the other cities I stopped at, Portland did not have the attractions which in themselves attracted touristic fame. That was one major disadvantage of being a lone backpacker. Had I known better, I would have walked to the bank of the Williamette River that flowed past the town. Back in the seventies, I wasn't aware it was there. However, one building that I have found very intriguing was an office-block edifice facing onto the main square. On its roof was a massive billboard with huge letters spelling out the words, JESUS THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 

Those words made my spirit rejoice. However, there is not a chance on Earth that I would ever see anything like this in the UK. And those were the times when it was quite common to see a poster with the verse of John 3:16 fastened on the wall at any railway station or High Street. Looking back, I'm now wondering whether political correctness, woke, or whatever crazy line of thinking had forced the banning of these posters so as not to "offend" people of different ethnicities or faiths.

Portland, Oregon

My stay in Portland was short compared with Los Angeles or San Francisco or should I say, Walnut Creek. However, on the second day there, late in the afternoon, somehow I found myself caught in the Church of Scientology. Actually, although it calls itself a church, it was anything but a church. Rather it was a brainwashing centre where psychological trickiness meant paying them hundreds of dollars to receive mental and emotional liberation, to be set free "to be the person I meant to be, freed from the restraints imposed by society and past aches." The surprising thing about all this was I was very nearly convinced, and almost ready to pay out the huge expense for the so-called treatment, itself as quackery and as far from mainstream psychiatry as it gets. In the end, I was glad to get out of there with my funds intact. 

Relaxing in Portland.

The next day, I took a greyhound Americruiser for a day trip to Newport on the Pacific coast. Although this journey was short, just 2.5 hours each way, the Ameripass was valid for the day trip. After arriving there, I explored the quiet and deserted sandy beach but the air was cool and breezy and the grey ocean uninviting. So I didn't swim. Instead, I remained dry and I also kept my leather jacket on - a contrast to how lightly I was dressed whilst in southern California.

After returning to Portland, that evening I made plans for a six-hour overnight journey to Vancouver in Canada, some 360 miles north along the Pacific coastline.

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Due to attending a Convention, I won't be able to write next week. But in two weeks, I'm in Canada, where I begin my journey back to Toronto.

Some Challenging Issues to the Faith

I always recall my earlier days of church life. With each of us holding the Baptist Hymnbook with its characteristic green hardback cover, all our heads were slightly bowed as we sang with gusto:-

The perfect redemption, the purchase of blood, to every believer the promise of God,

The vilest offender who truly believes, that moment from Jesus a pardon receives.

Then the song burst into its chorus:-

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, let the earth hear His voice!

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, let the people rejoice!

Oh, come to the Father through Jesus the Son and give Him the glory, great things He has done.

It's a beautiful song, a classic, written by Francis J. Crosby in 1875, and unlike most modern songs, it's still sung in churches to this day, over more than a century after publication.

Francis Jane Crosby

It's without a doubt that Crosby felt excited over her redemption. That was why she wrote the hymn - to express her feelings by thanking and praising God, and that despite she was blind! And as one not long after becoming a believer myself, I felt my own spirit rise with encouragement as I too sang with gusto.

But looking back into history, I can't help thinking of the anomalies such songs would cause me to think, such as looking back into British history, for example. One issue is to come to terms with the possibility of Jack the Ripper having believed in Jesus after murdering several London prostitutes and yet not only escaping legal justice but his identity remaining a mystery to this day. If this character heard the Gospel whilst on the run, and believed, how does it make me feel about him entering Heaven while his female victims are languishing in Hell, not having had the opportunity to hear and respond to the Gospel before their demise?

Then not to mention other serial killers who were active in the UK: John Reginald Christie, Dr Harold Shipman, Peter Sutcliffe, Fred and Rose West, all of them targeted mainly women, then there were Ian Brady and his partner, Myra Hindley, who in the mid-sixties, having killed five children just for kicks, While she was in prison, it was said that Hindley became a Christian sometime before her death. Only God knew the state of her heart during her latter years. There were even female killers too, such as Mary Ann Cotton who poisoned more than twenty victims, Amelia Dyer, who killed young children in her care as a nurse and then as a Victorian baby farmer. Then there was Beverly Allitt, also known as the Angel of Death, who killed four babies and attempted to kill nine more.

These are just a few of many British serial killers, any one of them could have "truly believed, that moment from Jesus a pardon received" - despite the possibility of the souls of many of their victims remaining eternally lost.

I have read at least two books on ex-gangsters who, later in life became Christians and even entered the ministry. Nicky Cruz, in his book, Run Baby Run, tells of his life as a New York gangster who harmed many victims. Whether any of them died in his hands, here I can't say - it's a long time since I read his biography. But he was remarkably saved by God and should enter Heaven in his afterlife. Unfortunately, his victims may not be so fortunate. The other book I read was Hell's Angel by Brian Greenaway. According to his biography, after causing much trouble and harm to others as a Hell Angel, he became a Christian while serving at Dartmoor prison, and retaining his long hair, he too entered the ministry.

Indeed, according to Jesus' own words, the tax collector and prostitutes may enter the Kingdom of God before the Pharisees, but that doesn't calm my concerns about all those born in a Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu or even a Catholic country. Is it really more fortunate to be born in a Christian country where the Bible can be expounded in churches without any opposition? Is it true that a baby born in the USA, Canada, Australia, or Great Britain has a far greater chance of receiving salvation than one born in India, China, Iran, or even in Catholic-dominated Mediterranean lands or a baby born in South America? These issues I have found to be challenging to my own faith.

It's believed by most Christians that if a baby dies soon after birth, or even stillborn, its soul would be immediately with Jesus in heaven, although not as a baby but as an adult, yet devoid of any memory of its earthly life. But if the doctors fought hard to save the baby's life, so it grows up to see adulthood - but also brought up by unbelieving parents to become an atheist, would he had been far better off having died in infancy? And so, such questions circulate my mind.

Talking of atheists, how would I answer if one of them came to me with his knowledge of God ordering King Saul to have his army slaughter all the Amalekites just so God can have his vindication? But here, it's not just the men, but women, children, and all infants must also be killed, along with all their cattle, sheep, camels and donkeys - 1 Samuel 15. I would find my answer - that the children would have still gone to Heaven - a very weak and pathetic excuse to justify the love and goodness of God. This, I honestly admit, is one of the "crunchers" in the Bible with which I can't look an atheist in the eye.

And, oh yes, that very obscure verse found in 2 Samuel 12:8. Here, it's God who, through the prophet Nathan, said that he gave to David his master's house and all his master's wives into his bosom (KJV) and if that wasn't enough, he would have given him more. Of all that the Bible says about marriage, this is indeed the oddest verse to be found therein. In Genesis 2, God assigns Eve to be Adam's wife, and apparently, this is upheld throughout the New Testament that the man must be the husband of one wife only. And so, the churches endorse this, even in some cases, threatening Hell for anyone who divorces and remarries. One well-known itinerant English preacher, the late David Pawson, taught this quite clearly, and one year in the 1990s, during Spring Harvest at Butlins, Minehead, he almost sent an entire auditorium into a near-riot after announcing that to marry a divorcee will cost them their salvation.

Spring Harvest Bible Festival, Minehead, UK.

Too bad for poor Abraham, who slept with his maidservant Hagar while his wife Sarah was still alive. Or Jacob, who had two wives, Leah and Rachel, as well as sleeping with two other maidservants. And there was Elkanah who also had two wives living concurrently, Peninnah and Hannah - 1 Samuel 1:1-2. Peninnah had children, but Hannah was barren, that is until she prayed fervently for a son and promised to dedicate him to the services of God for life. After the birth of Samuel, Hannah sang a song of thanksgiving and praise to God, a song that was also sung by the virgin Mary in the company of Elizabeth the mother of John the Baptist.

If these modern preachers such as Pawson and his ilk were right, then all these men and women in the Old Testament would now be eternally lost. But it looks far more plausible that they are now all in Heaven. I, therefore, conclude then that it's okay for me to sleep with other women as long as I still have my wife Alex. But if Alex and I were to divorce and I marry somebody else, then it will be Hell for both my new wife and me, and perhaps for Alex, too! However, most churches would be quite likely to accept a divorced person into its congregation, even one who has remarried - but if a male homosexual who has "come out for honesty's sake" - was to join the church, or attempt to join, then everyone would look at him with suspicion - even if that person abstains from any sexual activity for the sake of the Gospel!

But for the gay person, as for those who are mentally distressed, or physically ill, there is always the healing ministry. While I'm writing this (on a Saturday) I am aware that at tomorrow's service, the preach will be about supernatural healing performed by Jesus during his ministry, recorded in the Gospel of Mark, and part of the sermon would include how willing for God to heal today. Indeed, I have heard of numerous tales of people of every calibre receiving healing. But that is often for very mild ailments. However, even the healing of the more serious illnesses, such as kidney failure or even cancer, such testimonies usually stay within the church and never find their way even to the local newspaper with the Doctor's official endorsement, let alone on TV or on a national scale. 

The truth is, after watching my beloved suffering a neurological disability for the last eight years, and even our church elders and I praying over and over again for her, throughout the whole of my 69 years of life, I had never seen any form of supernatural healing with my own eyes. Or, as I have admitted during a Zoom prayer meeting, throughout the whole of my Christian life dating back nearly fifty years, I have heard about but never seen any supernatural healing. Surely, real healing - such as that of a lifelong paralytic - would impact the church so much that the Media will want to know more about it. How much of a greater impact would a literal raising of a dead individual make?

And so, around 1998, one of our church members died of leukaemia. As the body lay inside our church building, a charismatic pastor from another church several miles away and who has guest-preached at our church several times already, arrived to try to raise him from the dead utilizing prayer through faith. Nothing happened. Instead, the fellow remained as much dead as before. Eventually, this preacher stopped visiting us. But had he been successful, alas! I wouldn't have been there to witness the miracle.

To the atheist, along with most unbelievers, our present tales of healing are lacking enough substance not to convince them of the presence and the power of God. Even in Jesus' day, when he performed miracles of healing, including raising the dead, word spread rapidly across the whole of Israel, and beyond. Apparently, people as far apart as Egypt and Sidon became aware of them. Nevertheless, the greater majority of the Jews refused to believe in the demonstrated power of God, even rebuking the Lord for healing on the Sabbath instead of acknowledging his divine being. Supernatural healing doesn't necessarily result in mass conversions.

Listening to the atheist express his opinion on a YouTube video can be quite enlightening on what he believes in, what he doesn't believe in, and why. And one ex-Jehovah's Witness who has turned to atheism list five animals to prove that God doesn't exist. Yes, I have already discussed this in a previous blog which was recently posted. However, these five animals include the box jellyfish, the snake, the bed bug, the mosquito, and the human. On the box jellyfish or the sea wasp, as it's also known by, he asks why did God create such a creature that has the potential to kill an adult man if its sting is left untreated, let alone a child first screaming in pain! Yet, according to the presenter, there is no benefit for such a creature to exist. 

As for the human, he asks why, if God is so perfect in his creation if childbearing is such a strain to the mother. This includes morning sickness, pain in the lower abdomen, a general feeling of discomfort, miscarriage or spontaneous abortion, the possibility of stillbirth, premature birth and needing intensive care for the baby, labour pains, bleeding... If God had created everything so lovingly perfect, then why so much distress in childbearing? Rather, isn't this the result of the imperfections picked up during the process of Evolution, and that in its last explosive stages, Evolution had skewed in its upward progress - a theory fully in line with proper scientific thinking?

And another atheist asks why, if God is so loving and merciful, then why are some animals created to be carnivorous? He then chooses the crocodile lunging at a zebra as it tries to cross the river to reach better pastures. He then describes how the mammal suffers prolonged pain as it struggles to escape the reptile's jaws as they penetrate the flesh and bleeds, staining the river water with blood. And then the sorry sight of a newly-hatched chick, a favourite snack for some preditors. The scene is filmed by the camera crew as the fluffy hatchling struggles to escape the jaw of its attacker while it was waiting for its mother to return with its food. And so, in the African grasslands, herds of peaceful herbivores suddenly panic and flee from the advancing lions or cheetahs, and the meat-eaters go for the cub, struggling to flee as it's caught up and subdued by the hungry predator. 

Such is the real world created by a loving, merciful God. With such mountains of knowledge so easily accessible, to share my faith to win converts would be nigh impossible. Even with the raising of the dead right in front of them, they would find some scientific proof that the deceased wasn't dead after all, and all he needed was a nudge to wake him up. 

Yes, I have some issues against my Christian faith. But will all this make me an apostate? Will I turn atheistic after picking up so much knowledge and revelation?

No, for at the end of the day I will never lose my Christian faith. And Part Two of this blog, which will deal with defending my faith, will be posted next week.