Lord Sugar at the Kerith? Thanks, Ascot Baptist...

Jeff (name changed) appeared suddenly at Bracknell Baptist Church during late summer, 1978. He was tall, extraordinary good looking, had longish hair, wore a orange satin silk shirt which was open at the neck to display a silver cross on his chest, and played his part well as a proud strutting peacock. He certainly performed well as a group of young ladies, including his future wife, swooning over him and baying for his attention as any female fan of a well known pop idol such as David Cassidy, Englebert Humperdinck or Cliff Richard, would have done a decade earlier.
In turn he boasted of his university degree and his prospective career as a Computer Programmer at a high tech company, one of several that had set up office to trade in what would become the Silicon Valley of Britain, straddling across the M3 and the M4 motorways (freeways) branching out of London.
But Jeff did not only attract the unmarried ladies in the church. He also caught the attention of the Elders, or Deacons as they were called in those days. In next to no time they were swayed by his charm, confidence and high level of education. He became the only unmarried house-group leader, a status looked with seriousness in those days, with conditions that the leader should be married and have full control of his children. (For those not in the know, a house-group, sometimes called cell-group, or as today, life-group, is a group of church members who meet at a private home during the week. Usually the leader is the host himself, but that was not always the case. We hosted house-group on several occasions, and allowed the guest leader to continue in his duty as normal.)
But the bane of all this was during singles evening, when we all met at a deacon's home on Sunday evening, after the service. This particular elder, who moved away from Bracknell during the late 1990s and no longer at the church, was a devout Englishman and a Tory, and I believe, a devotee of, or at least sympathetic with the school tie and the class system. It was through him, in the late 1970s that my delusion with Englishness has had it roots, along with a rotten sense of self-esteem.
Activities were organised at his home to strengthen fellowship and our spiritual health. One activity was tennis. Who arranged it? Jeff. And who learned the intricate switching of the church heating system? Jeff. And who organised other group outings or activities? Jeff.
When I offered to take on a responsibility, I was told that I was not capable of it. How did he know?
"You don't look confident" was his reply. "You're not even sure of the task, aren't you?"
And not to mention that my speech and accent in no way convey confidence!
What a put down! And how all this made me feel small and insignificant.
And that despite that on one evening Jeff was actually called a big-head by the Pastor himself, right within earshot. More than once as well.
All this was the theme of my last blog, Come on, Lord Sugar... where I demonstrated the consequence of the British class system and how it could influence the local church back in the '70s and '80s, a period when I was still looking for my personal destiny.

Kerith Centre

But in this blog, which could be considered as a follow up to my last one, I want to portray the positive side of having fellowship with Christian believers. Most of my friends were and are Christians.
But should the reader get the impression that I was a castaway in the fellowship, this wasn't true. There was Derek, who told me that he was impressed with my knowledge of the Bible and the faith I had in it. A lovely complement. After moving to Milan as part of his employment contract, he invited me over twice, in 1981 and again in 1982. He hosted me for a few days both before and after a stint of backpacking around Italy, including Sicily.
Also in 1981 a new friend, Geoff, arrived at Bracknell. He took up employment at the same company as Jeff. He also took up residence with two other graduates, Jon and Tim. Geoff was keen to learn to play squash, and it became a custom that every Tuesday Geoff and I would pair up and play squash together. After this, we walked back to Jon's house, where he lodged, for a coffee and toast. It was here that Jon, Tim and Geoff became good friends, much to do with teasing each other. Jon came down one late evening with a hot water bottle, a specific Englishman's companion when bedding on a cold night. It became the butt of constant joking and laughter, but it bonded friendships.
Tim was to play an important role in my life. In fact, I can credit him for changing my life altogether. An accountant, he played rugby, became a coach then team manager of a football club and a devout Christian, Tim was the one who directed me to my destiny. In more ways than one. Aside from wrestling with each other and trying out our physical strength, he also become my house-group leader, and he was the one who would open the door to let a little of the Alan Sugar in me to come out, after being shut in for so long after being told many times of my incapability.
Tim eventually left Bracknell Baptist Church, the forerunner of the Kerith Centre, and joined Ascot Baptist Church, of a town three miles from Bracknell. But by then he was already Chairman of Bracknell Saints Football (soccer) Club, consisting of players both from Bracknell and Ascot Baptist Churches. While still at Bracknell, Tim became involved with a hospital therapeutic broadcasting station, Radio Heatherwood. (Heatherwood being the name of the hospital.) In truth, it was a cable service, not a proper radio. But after become team leader for the Friday Crew, in Spring, 1981 he invited me up to give it a go as a Presenter. From that first Friday evening I became hooked, and I was to be presenting for the next five years, during that time Tim had moved on, mainly due to his temporary work location, and team leadership was thrust into my hands by the Chairman of the League of Friends (which owned and ran the station).
It was on one occasion that Radio Heatherwood began to run low on funds. So I made the decision to run the 1984 Bracknell Half Marathon, collecting sponsors from both Bracknell Baptist Church members and window cleaning clientele. As a result, the funds were raised which restored the station's financial balance.
It was also then I began to get to know two more Christians, Keith of Ascot Baptist and Gareth from Warfield Parish Church (of the Church of England). Gareth, who worked in a Bank, moved into Tim's house which, like Jon's, was also near my bachelor's apartment. All committed Christians, we had something in common between us.
So there were times when Tim, Gareth, Keith, sometimes Paul (another Christian from Ascot Baptist) and I went out cycling together, both in the UK and abroad. One of the most remarkable trips we did together was Holland, Belgium and Germany, one long circuit which linked all three countries.

With my Christian mates

Then in 1986, I completed another half marathon, which in the same race was a friend from the Reading Life-saving Club. He was the one who introduced me to the sport of Triathlon, a multi-discipline race of American origin, consisting of swimming, cycling and running, normally in that order.
I handed the reigns of leadership of the Friday broadcasting crew to my successor, another Christian, this time from Bracknell Baptist, and joined Thames Valley Triathletes, one of the UK's largest triathlon clubs which was based in Reading, and soon after I was training with them and competing in triathlons across Southern England. Venues included Swanage, Bournemouth, Winchester, Newbury, Farnham, Arborfield, Reading, Hampton Wick, East Grinstead, Romford and Eastbourne.
It was at Winchester of Summer 1986 that while competing in one event, something of a vision took place in my mind. There was no triathlon in my area, whether in Bracknell, Ascot or any other locality.

Winchester Triathlon, inspiration for the Bracknell Triathlon

As I was pondering on this, the penny dropped. Do I need sponsors to finance a triathlon? No! It's paid for by the competitors themselves, but capital must be available to kick start in the organising.
And that's when I raised the issue with Tim at his home. He was at first sceptical but he did suggest holding a mini event over at the nurse's pool at Heatherwood Hospital.
But I preferred the idea of an event for Bracknell, based at the pool at the Sports Centre. When Gareth arrived home, I shared the vision, and he was more keen, but equally cautious, and suggested we share the idea with Keith.
So a few days later, all four of us were at Tim's home. When we told Keith our prospective vision, he jumped with enthusiasm and began to spout that we must get this and we must get that and this and the other...
Whoa! We have the biggest obstacle to tackle first, hiring the swimming pool.
I turned up at the Sports Centre Administration Office without an appointment one weekday morning during the Autumn of 1986. I had to wait as a man in a suit was being seen to, amidst a group of faces all smiling and nodding of approval. Luckily for me, it was an issue which had nothing to do with pool hire. When it was my turn to sell my idea of a triathlon in Bracknell and that we would like to hire the Competition Pool for the occasion, I was told flatly, no. But I suppose "No" really meant "Wait" and I explained with detail how the event would be organised, the details of the cycle and run routes, and any other connecting matters would be submitted in due course. The Administrator then called in the General manager. The three of us talked and discussed the idea, and eventually the Manager offered us one lane of the pool for a certain Saturday in June of the following year. I was excited! Single lane feeds are possible if the field is very small or the swim leg is short. Arborfield Triathlon used this method. But the deal would be signed only after I submitted everything they asked for.
Soon afterwards, I contacted Tim and Gareth and told them the news. Tim, Gareth, Keith, along with Dan and John and I met at Tim's home, and a Committee was formed, of which I was Chairman. I began to draw up what could be called a constitution - all in the Committee must be born-again Christian believers and each attend a church of their choice. Tim, Keith, Dan and John attended Ascot Baptist, Gareth at Warfield Parish and myself at Bracknell Baptist. All members of the Committee, except myself, were members of Bracknell Saints Football Club, hence we named the Triathlon after the name of the Committee - Bracknell Saints Triathlon.
We targeted the field to 300 competitors. I also drew the plan for the cycle and run routes, both highly complicated, easy-to-get-lost circuits, the run route being the one used by the Bracknell half-marathon. I contacted the Police to submit the routes to them, and I received their approval. The St John Ambulance was also arranged, the officer of this came to visit me at my home. But most important of all, the event had to be sanctioned by the British Triathlon Association (BTA) a move which would make the difference between success or disaster.
When entry forms were dispatched, using the BTA-affiliated club master list, together with our event listed in the BTA annual event guide, entries began to come in, which I registered on Tim's desktop Computer. Soon I had to return to the Sports Centre Administration, and by explaining the situation, they were willing for us to use the whole pool, which was divided into four lanes, with six swimmers per lane, giving a feed of up to 24 swimmers in the pool at any one time.
The entire Committee - all Christian believers - sacrificed a day's holiday from their jobs to help me set up the two courses the day before the event. Along with the colour-coded swim hats, direction arrows, trophies, finisher's medals, tons of paperwork and everything set for the event the next day, we were so excited that we failed to see that a disaster was looming! We were short of volunteers for stewarding, or marshaling.
And sure enough, when the competitors arrived, about 260 of them, there were no pool marshals, so each swimmer was left to count his own laps in the pool, leaving the door wide open for cheating.
But worse of all, some of the carefully placed direction arrows were torn down, leaving the run route difficult to navigate, some of the runners getting lost and the event would have come to ruin had not a few friends stepped in and saved the day by getting a result.
Afterwards, I went home thoroughly dejected. I lay on the bed for a long while. Utter failure.
Then suddenly, as if by inspiration, I telephone the Sports Centre Administration and there and then booked up the pool hire for the following year, 1988. Hope flooding back into my soul.
I found it so amazing that after the failure of our first triathlon event, all Committee members were raring to give it another go. Some months later, we had our first meeting at Tim's house and each committee member were assigned specific tasks, and I asked them all to be dedicated to their position, and not switch from one to the other as with the previous event. The set up was as follows:
Keith, then a Porter, and Dan, a Financial Advisor - Marshal Coordinators. They were responsible of making sure there were enough stewards to guide the competitors, and to assign them to specific positions along the two routes.
Gareth: Time keeping coordinator. In charge of the three timekeepers.
Tim: Entry tabulator, Programme publishing and Results.
John: Assigned by Keith to be in charge of the drinks station located on the run route.
Myself: Event promoter, take in entries of all competitors, relate to all serving bodies, e.g. St John Ambulance, Police, Commentary Caravan, Market stall, Palmers Scaffolding Hire (for the bicycles to be attached to a horizontal rail by the handlebars, leaving the front wheel just a tad above ground) as with the BTA and Media publishing (Bracknell News, Bracknell Times, Reading Chronicle, national Triathlon and Running magazines, BTA Event guide, national and international.)
All six of us made up the Bracknell Triathlon Committee spanning social class and professions. Not only this being a good model of a church, we also worked together in harmony and even allowed a joke and some laughter during our pre-event meetings.
To cut a long story short, the 1988 event was a flying success!
Two of the big changes were of the two routes. The cycle route was simpler, faster and safer in relation to the traffic. The run route was an out and back system, although I had to make it safe by creating a small circuit after Gareth warned me of a potential danger of tired runners finishing being hit head on by fast cyclists fresh out of the pool.
Also Paul, who accompanied us on our bikes to Holland, took care of the Registration Station we set up just outside the pool changing room.
We staged the Bracknell Triathlon every year for seven years. What I found so encouraging was that the majority of competitors forgave us for the fiasco of our maiden event and despite almost doubling the price of our entry fee, the field swelled in size, reaching more than 360 by 1990. Also the coffers at Bracknell saints Football club began to swell - and that's despite paying fees to organisations such as the Rotary Club and to the charity, Wells for India, for sending volunteers as marshals. One Triathlon club even made our event their annual Championships. News of it spread through the international Triathlon media as far as the USA and Australia.
But what's behind all this?
The love and dedication of fellow Christian believers, mainly from Ascot Baptist, who caught the vision. It took sacrifice, taking time off work, working into the night, even the need to spend our own money if necessary. But most of all, I believe that they lived up to Jesus' own mission:
A bruised reed he will not break, neither will he quench a smouldering flax.
Back in the seventies and early eighties I was a bruised reed or a smouldering flax. I was of average or below average educated among a church of graduates. I felt small. God felt differently. He inspired some of his own people to fan this smouldering ash to a blazing fire. But not merely that I feel good about myself, but rather that I could benefit from his love and on rebound, learn to trust in him more and to honour him better.
Just this Sunday I visited Bracknell Community Church (after leaving it to join Ascot Baptist in 1990). Gareth and Keith were there, and after the service I chatted to them both. With Simon Benham as present Pastor, I can see great hopes for this church for the future. I wish it all God's blessing.
Lord Alan Sugar started his career as a seller of flowers at a street stall.
I would never be like him, but it's good to see a little bit of him in me come alive.
Thanks to the support of other Christian believers.

Come On, Lord Sugar, They're Not That bad, Are They?

Ben and Catherene Mullany, both 31, from Pontardawe in South Wales, strutted along the Caribbean beach of Antigua like two proud peacocks as they enjoyed their two-week honeymoon in July, 2008. They where white, middle class and oozing high levels of education, professionalism and in turn, wealth. Their wealthy exuberance were further enhanced by staying at the £330-a-night Cocos Hotel. This would have added up to £4,620 on accommodation alone. On top of this, there would have been the cost of the air tickets, travel insurance and pocket money. I believe that the total cost of the holiday would have been greater than the annual income of many of the locals, many struggling day by day to make ends meet. Then again, their strutting should not have come as a surprise. Ben was once in the Army, followed by a stint as a Police Officer before becoming a student Physiotherapist. His bride, Catherine was a Paediatrician.
Then in the early hours of July 27th, the day they were due to fly back to the UK, two would-be robbers burst into their bedroom. They were suspected as being 23 year old Kaniel Martin and Avie Howell, 20. They shot the sleeping couple each at the back of the head. Catherine was killed instantly. Her husband Ben survived the ordeal, but died a week later at a UK hospital.
The gang got away with just their mobile phone.
Envy struck again.
Maybe, had this couple spent their honeymoon in the UK - sure, at times they would have been bored, stuck in their hotel while the heavy rain clattered on the window panes from outside, then wrapping up warm as they strolled along the wind-swept shingle beach, watching the grey, murky seawater churn on a strip of exposed sand while picking at the hot cod and chips from the large paper wrapper - then who knows, at present Catherine would have had a child crawling across the lounge floor of their home while breastfeeding her newborn. And afterward, after Ben comes in from work, their memories would have relished on their washout of a honeymoon, how it strengthened their bond between them.
Yes, it can be difficult at times to bury my face into a pillow and soak it with my tears over their fate.
Or the case of Gerry and Kate McCann.
Gerry was a Consultant Cardiologist, while Kate was also a Doctor. They with their three children flew to Praia du Luz in Portugal for a holiday during late Spring, 2007. One evening while the children were asleep, they enjoyed a bite at an eatery, close to their apartment. It was then, on 3rd May, that their eldest daughter Madeleine disappeared, presumed kidnapped.
The Media was on the case for weeks to follow. Both the BBC News and the newspapers spewed out article after article on the case of missing Madeleine. It was not surprising that I felt my sympathy dry up after repeated hearings and readings. Then one evening I was browsing the Daily Mail online, and one of the commentators under the McCann article wrote words to this effect:
If Madeleine had been the daughter of a single mother working as a Tesco Shelf-Stacker somewhere up North, this case would have been long forgotten!
I had fully identified with this writer. The British Establishment have a reverence for the higher standing, don't they?
As in the case of the 2012 London Olympics. Again, according to the Daily Mail article published a couple of weeks previous to this, 250,000 of the UK's public applied for seats at the 80,000 seat athletic (Track & Field) stadium. Of these, 36,000 were allocated, leaving the rest - 44,000 to private sponsors.
In all, these sponsors contribute £1.4 billion to the Games. If this seem a large contribution, it will be dwarfed by the £12 billion of taxpayer's money. (In this article, the Imperial billion is used, which is 1,000,000,000,000.)
Of some of the sponsors, head of FIFA, Sepp Blatter and his colleagues will enjoy a £1,500,000 mega-freebie and at the same time stay at the May Fair Hotel at a much reduced price, while competitors themselves were unable to secure their families with accommodation.
Even the Government is giving freebies to it VIPs and dignitaries. The Department of Culture, Media and Sport had spent £750,000 for 9,000 seats at the stadium. This equals £83.33 per seat.
Newspapers have labelled the ticketing ballot "grossly unfair" to the British public, whose taxes makes up the largest proportion of funding, yet Lord Sebastian Coe, 1980s Olympic 800 metre champion and Tory MP, says that the ballot was seamless.

Track & Field Stadium

Is it another way of showing class favouritism?
Staying with sport, this article was written at the start of the 2011 Wimbledon Tennis season. Our star is Andrew Murray, the only Brit who stands a chance to win the Grand Slam at the men's singles final. Murray may be Britain's only hope, but unfortunately for the English, Murray is a Scotsman. The only Englishman ever to win the Grand Slam was Fred Perry, a son of a coal miner, who in 1934 defeated Australian Jack Crawford.
As the story goes, the officials would not present the trophy to a coal miner's son. So he was told to lift it himself. But the officials were much happier to present the runner up prize to the upper/middle class Australian. By 1936, Perry felt so betrayed by the fierce snobbery within the All England Lawn Tennis Club that he defected to the USA.
Nowadays bankers makes a good example of the Middle classes, the backbone, so we read in the newspapers, that holds Britain together and acts as a power engine for its economy. They are generally hated by the public for their pre-credit crunch greed, but still given adoring respect by the Establishment.
One good example of this was Sir Fred "The Shred" Goodwin, former head of the Royal Bank of Scotland. At his present age of 52, I take it that he was one of the 1980s City Yuppies, and therefore one of "Thatcher's Children". (Yuppie is the acronym for "Young Urban Professional." - now generally obsolete.) Goodwin as head of the RBS brought the Bank to its knees, and it would have gone bust had it not been bailed out by the taxpayer. Yet for this dramatic failure, he was knighted in 2004 for "Services in Banking". He resigned in October 2007 and is the recipient of a £700,000 pension pot.
There were many MPs in Parliament who lobbied to have Goodwin stripped of his Knighthood, but as far as I know, the Establishment had allowed him to keep it.
So it was of little surprise that by watching The Apprentice a couple of weeks ago, that I felt a smidgen of satisfaction when Lord Alan Sugar swore at contestant Jim Eastwood for bringing his task to ruin for the rest of his team.

Lord Alan Sugar

Perhaps what makes The Apprentice so entertaining is the way Lord Sugar takes these contestants down a peg or two when faced with failure. And in view of the whole nation, which I think, enjoys blaming them for the economic mess, the Recession and spiralling inflation with which we all suffer. A man in a suit is an easy target, isn't it?
But it is one thing to point the finger at the Establishment. It is quite another to see class discrimination and favouritism within the churches.
Neither the Establishment nor the public need to be reproved for class favouritism. They don't need such reproof. What they need instead is individual conviction of sin and the need of the Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Salvation is their need, not mere reproof. But Christian believers are very different. They uphold Jesus Christ as Saviour and their Lord, but I have still seen class favouritism among English churches. Plenty of it.
On a personal front, the attitude shown among Christian believers leaves a lot to be desired. Back in the 1970s and the 1980s, I was a member of what was Bracknell Baptist Church, the forerunner of the present Kerith Community Church. Members of my age were very forward with their University degrees, especially when communicating with the opposite sex, or seeking favours or responsibilities from the Elders. They tended to rate class as a more personal importance than their love and commitment to Christ. Youth leadership were chosen by the elders apparently by their level of education rather than of spirituality, as some discredited Divine Creation in favour of Evolution, therefore calling God a liar (for declaring that He made everything in six days when actually to them this was not true). Oddly, I found that nearly all the graduates who joined our church in my younger days believed in Evolution, and held their degrees and social class as high priorities.

We are one in Christ. No class favouritism here

Here I'm in danger as playing the judge. Everyone is accountable to God, and to God only, not to any of us. Therefore I have no right to act as a judge. God alone will judge us all.
But we believers need to take heed of what the Apostle James wrote to believers who were snobbish in his day. In chapter 2 of his letter, he wrote how bad it was to pay honour to a well dressed man who enters the assembly, and then treats a man in unbecoming clothes who also walks in with scornful disrespect. He calls this murder and therefore no better than a physical killing. Snobbery, class favouritism, honouring the rich, showing disrespect to the poor, shunning humble tasks - all these things are classed as murder and should not be seen among Christian believers.
Rather, we should put Jesus before national or class superiority. I would say that being filled with the Holy Spirit will dispose of such attitudes.
After all, we shall all die, and then all these things we be done away with. They are not eternal.
I bet Ben and Catherine Mullany would have wished to have walked along the cold, wet windswept beach in the UK with their raincoats flapping in the breeze instead of the warm, calm sunny tropical Antigua's beach lapped gently by the turquoise blue sea.

Prayer Is Hard Work

I called round to Tim's house one weekday evening sometime in the 1990s. Soon he served up a meal, as he often did. While sitting on one of his armchairs, I began to tuck in.
"Daddy!" cried his young daughter, "Uncle Frank did not say grace!"
I blushed slightly, expecting my mate to walk into the room scowling, for I perceived as showing a bad example to his children. Instead he had a big grin and said words to the effect, "Saying grace before meals is all religion, isn't it?"
I was relieved. The guy understood.
When I first became a Christian in 1973, I used to say grace before meals at home, before I flew the nest. It was done as an attempt to win my agnostic parents into God's Kingdom. Then on one occasion we all sat at the dinner table and after giving thanks (the only family member to do so) I immediately protested to my mother,
"Mum, you know that I don't like garlic!"
And began to pick them out.
"YOU HYPOCRITE!" My father shouted across the table. "It just goes to show what a hollow sham all this thanksgiving really is."
We both looked into each other's eyes. I knew full well he was right. Religion. After that I never said grace before meals again, except as a guest at a Christian's home.
But grace before meals is only a small portion in what is sanctimoniously called prayer. What is prayer? Truly, it means "Having a chat with God" which is a result of a good relationship.
But as a child, prayer was something quite different. While in English the word carries a religious ring to it, in the Italian language the meaning was more blunt. The Italian for Prayer is Pregare which literally means "to beg." Even in classic English, much now archaic, the original meaning of the word "pray" was used in the context, "I beg you" For an example, a request like this was most likely used,
I pray you allow me more time to repay the loan.
From my childhood days, prayer was about religion. As with grace before meals, we were taught to pray at morning assembly, something which I had to do from age five to 15, when I left school and was able to put all that pretence behind.

At junior school we were told to hold our hands together (as shown in the above illustration) and shut our eyes. Of course, I believed that if I posed otherwise, then it's not prayer. This stayed with me well into adulthood and even after my conversion. During school assembly we recited the Lord's Prayer every morning, starting with Our Father, which art in Heaven... with some feeling that God was not my Father, and in those days he wasn't. We also subconsciously associated our image of God with the strict, cane wielding Deputy Headmaster, who would cane a pupil for just talking while filing through the corridor to our classrooms. Little wonder there were a growing number of atheists particularly among the boys. I was more than glad to ditch this religious stuff the moment I walked out of the school premises for the last time in 1968.
To recap, Prayer was no more than Recital. At the Catholic Church with which I grew up, prayer was more to do with reciting the Lord's Prayer, the Hail Mary and the Act of Contrition. These were set prayers, and I had to be mindful not to get the words wrong. More devoted Catholics had the Rosary, a string of beads with which a set prayer was recited at the handling of each bead.

A traditional Rosary

A silver Rosary opened out to show its structure. A prayer is recited with each bead held.

Recital prayer is the binding force of every religion. Hindus, Muslims, Judaism, Buddhism, Roman Catholicism, even Church of England services. It is relatively easy to recite a prayer at a set time and place. It is easy for a priest to instruct a penitent to recite two "Our Fathers" and eight "Hail Marys" with the aid of a Rosary each day at 10.00am and 3.00pm.
But supposing all recital prayer is removed from our Christian lives altogether? What then? Church prayer meetings?
Going to a prayer meeting is something totally different from a lifetime of recital, especially in non-formal churches such as Baptist or Pentecostal. In these there are no fixed prayers. One imagines sitting for a hour or more, wondering what on earth is he going to pray about. It does not excite enthusiasm.
Dave Rogers, an elder at Ascot Baptist Church and a personal friend of mine, could not have been more spot on. Standing at the front, he unreservedly announced:
Prayer is hard work!
And so it is. The big issue here is what to pray about. And how to keep on praying for a full hour long after you have run out of ideas.
Furthermore, I tend to feel put down when I read or hear of the likes of Martin Luther or John Wesley so patronisingly declare that one cannot be spiritual, nor care much for God's affairs unless he prays for up to four hours every morning! Whew! Fine for a full-time minister living in a much slower, agricultural world than the fast paced service/industrial world we live in today which takes up the greater part of our working day.
Various aids were put out to help us in our prayers. One of them originated from Bill Hybels, Senior Pastor of Willow Creek Community Church, near Chicago. He formulated ACTS, taken from the name of the New Testament book. It is an acronym, and when the code is unscrambled, we get this:
Adoration
Confession
Thanksgiving
Supplications
Although this formula, no doubt have been a help for many in their prayer lives, it is a formula. Therefore there is a tendency to turn this aid into another religious format by believing that this is the way to go about it. And this in particular when it was shown to have worked with certain or even with many individuals.
So what is prayer to me?
Personally, I find spontaneous prayer more functional than set prayer meetings. Spontaneous prayer is turning into prayer a thought that have dropped into my mind. Setting out to work in the morning, often whether its sunny or dismal, it's good to thank God for this new day, thanking him for keeping me alive to see this day in human history. Counting all that I have and thanking God for them. This kind of thanksgiving exceeds grace before meals by a long shot. Along with thanking God for food and drink, I can thank him for good health, a roof over our heads, our clothing, my spouse, my job - without we would not be able to eat - our tax credits, our holidays, and everything we have - computer, TV, cooker, microwave oven, washing machine, tumble dryer and all other utilities as well as niceties which grace our home with little luxuries.
Along with thanksgiving there at times a need to confess my sins. It is this that at times puts me off prayer. Confessing is something I feel I need to "clear the air" before settling down to prayer. Then again there are supplications, asking God for things. I don't feel it's wrong to complain to God that we are hard up and we could do with some financial uplift. Often enough, this problem resolves itself, often with an offer of extra work, or a backpayment from a client just returned from holiday or other absence.
Then there is intercession, to me the most difficult form of prayer. Difficult due to the intensity of love for this other person or group of people. It is much easier to pray for someone I love than it is for someone I don't love.
All these can be spontaneous prayer. I'm lucky enough as a self-employed worker to stop what I'm doing and start praying if such a thought drops into my mind. For those at work for an employer, this could be much harder to accomplish. Although I don't have this kind of experience, maybe jotting down on a piece of paper the passing thought before it's forgotten does not sound a bad idea.
Then my friend Dave Rogers, along with the other church elders, spend time in prayer and Bible study each morning before doing anything else. This requires being shut alone in a quiet room, undisturbed. This is praiseworthy and demonstrates a high level of self-discipline. With me, because I tend to be less strong on discipline, so far I have accomplished the Bible study bit, reading a chapter each morning. Whether this is right or not, I rely more on spontaneous prayer than fixed times.
And I should say here that the will and ability to pray comes from God in the first place. True prayer is a gift of God, not human strength, and therefore not recital. But how one conducts his walk with God is a matter between each person and God. No one in the church should judge or criticize an other's walk with God.
Prayer is hard work. Especially in fixed times. Talking to God in one sense is like talking to a parent or a friend. But when the other person replies straight away, when one finishes prayer, all there is is silence. It takes faith to believe that God has heard (paid attention) to prayer.
But for believers in Jesus Christ, having a chat with God is as essential as breathing.

Tut Tut, Naughty

Herodias was ambitious. She was fed up of her husband Philip's domineering attitude. Always had to be submissive to him as Tetrarch, or governor of Ituraea, a region north-east of Israel bordered on the west by the River Jordan, an area occupied by Syria today. To the west of the Jordan River was Galilee, which included the west coast of the Lake of Tiberias, governed by Philip's half brother, recently divorced Herod Antipas, and apparently childless. These two brothers were the sons of Herod the Great, who not only governed the whole of Israel and Judah, but he refurbished the Temple in Jerusalem, and also built a shrine enclosing the sealed entrance of the Cave of Machpelah close to the town of Hebron (see my blog The Stone Bible, 1st February, 2011) - before he died following the slaughter of the Innocents in 4BC.
Where her husband Philip was authoritative over his own household, Herod Antipas had a much more malleable character, a personality she can wind around her little finger. So after a massive bust up, she left her husband, and taking her beautiful daughter, settled into Herod's palace.
For some reason historians cannot seem to agree on, Philip could not gainsay his half brother. Instead he remained at his palace alone and defeated. Soon after, Herodias married Herod and began to rule over his house as well as over the region of Galilee.
Then John the Baptist called out to them as they passed by in their chariot, saying that it was unlawful to marry someone else wife while her husband was still alive.
Herodias was furious! How dare this itinerant preacher tell her what was right and what was wrong. She ordered Herod to arrest him and thrown into the palace prison, to await execution. At least Herodias succeeded in having John silenced, if not her conscience.
I suppose Herod would have wanted a super injunction if the law courts were able to hand it out in those days. Herod rather liked John, and was willing to have him talk in his presence. He certainly would not have wanted the general population outside muttering and tut-tutting over his misdeed. He felt guilty and exposed. But unfortunately, his conviction of wrongdoing failed to result in a conversion. Had it, Herod would have sent Herodias packing, and he himself making a journey to Jerusalem to sacrifice a sin offering at the Temple.
I guess this is the outcome of State religion, in force in Israel up to the Crucifixion. God through Moses had set up this State religion - with the Law, detailed instructions on how to live, along with animal sacrifices and a special set form of worship. These applied to every Israelite, regardless of whether the person wanted to love or honour God or not. It was a disastrous failure. God himself knew this from even before such a covenant was ratified. The Law and state religion does not save, rather, it condemns. It causes one to judge another, and to compare one person's character and actions with another, even if nobody is actually "white" (having a spotless character), if someone else is "black", then even if the one judging is "grey", in front of the "black" person, he'll appear as "white".
That was how State religion was lived out in at the time of Herod, John the Baptist, the Pharisees and soon after, Jesus Christ himself.
The Pharisees were so notorious in judging and finding fault in others that both John and Jesus denounced them for their hypocrisy.
Finding fault, judging and making comparisons gives the person doing these things a sense of superiority, or a sense of self righteousness, with a deceptive idea of reaching Heaven after death by self effort.
It was easy for Israel as a whole to exalt itself on a national level, this sense of moral and spiritual superiority. During the time of Christ, no Jewish person would enter a house of a non-Jew, or Gentile, no Gentile was to enter the Temple area of Jerusalem, and they were made to stay away from the Jewish home.
Even the Apostle Peter, leader of the early Church, had difficulty in direct communication with the Gentiles. With the case of the Roman Centurion Cornelious, Peter had to have a special vision from above before he was convinced that the Roman men who arrived were sent by God. And even at Cornelious' house, Peter said that it was an abomination for a Jew to enter a house of a non-Jew. Charming! Cornelious could have shown him the door.
Even some time later, while Peter was at last settling down to dine with Gentile Christians, he suddenly rose and left the room when news of Jewish believers from James were about to arrive. Paul had to rebuke him, and he did so in public too.
On the national level, England seemed to have taken over from Israel in morality and national superiority. No greater proof of this than William Blake's poem Jerusalem which asks whether the feet of Jesus Christ once trod this green and pleasant land. Despite that there is no historical truth that he ever set foot here, this did not stop the poem from being put to music in 1916 by Sir Hubert Parry to create a patriotic hymn sung as an alternative to the National Anthem.

William Blake

Jerusalem is still sung at sports venues, particularly at Rugby matches, at the Ladies Institute, and at the wedding service of Prince William and Catherine Middleton, in front of a worldwide audience of around two billion viewers. In Parliament there was a debate whether Jerusalem would become the official anthem for England, but nothing of this had so far been declared.
The statement, Our God is the God of England, I actually heard right here at Ascot Baptist Church during the early 1990s. I was the only one who disputed the statement. Most of the others in church at the time seemed to have accepted.
Jeremy Paxman backs this up in his book, The English - A Portrait of a People. In it, Paxman interviews performer George Formby, to which he replied that Englishness is very deep spirit of St. George. The idea of St George is to fight against evil. (P.81)
Paxman discusses how the English believed that they were a covenanted people of God which began to peak in the 18th Century, in very similar pattern to ancient Israel. Sir Edward Hine, for example, in 1879 delivered a lecture in Chelsea advocating the crackpot belief that Britain was Israel (literal bloodline) and America was the lost tribe of Manasseh, arriving into the British Isles centuries after the "Ten Lost Tribes" were led away to Assyria as told in the Old Testament.
The nation as a whole now rejects this idea, but still hold to its form. In my schooldays morning assembly always had a Christian element, and that's despite the rise in atheism, particularly among the boys. I have seen over the years the decline in the belief in God, let alone commitment, yet upholding its Christian roots and morals. Very much like ancient Israel.
One example I would like to quote here is the case of Donald McGill, (1875-1962) an artist who designed the saucy postcards sold at British seaside resorts. In 1953 he had his entire stock confiscated from a shop at Ryde, Isle of Wight, the result of churchy bureaucrats who wanted to keep control of public morality. In 1954 he appeared in Court and was fined £50, a lot of money in those days. He escaped prison by a narrow margin. But soon after, his saucy postcard business began to flourish across the nation. The public found those cards amusing, and refused to have their morals controlled. And the attempted ban did not result in any conversions to Jesus Christ as Saviour either.

Into more modern times, I can name three married celebrities who each betrayed their wives by sleeping with their mistresses. Each of the three attempted to hide their misdeeds by getting an injunction from the Law Courts. This means that they have their privacy protected from the Media. In other words, they can err without the public knowing anything about it.
These were public figures. One was the BBC correspondent Andrew Marr, who actually asked for his injunction to be lifted. In 2003, Andrew Marr traveled to the Galapagos Islands to advocate Charles Darwin for the BBC Greatest Briton of All Time competition, which by public voting, was won by Winston Churchill.
The second was Royal Bank of Scotland boss Fred Goodwin, who slept with a work colleague, and it is thought by many that this misdeed was connected to the banking crisis which brought along the credit crisis and eventual Recession in 2010.
But the most dramatic was the case of Manchester United footballer Ryan Giggs, who ordered an injunction after betraying his wife Stacey to sleep with Imogen Thomas. The injunction was a failure due to the many Twitter posts revealing the footballer's identity. When Liberal Democrat MP John Hemming revealed the footballer's identity to the House of Commons, Speaker John Bercow rebuked him, saying that Giggs' privacy should be respected.
But to me who don't follow football, where Ryan Giggs would have remained an relative unknown, except for those into football, now has become infamous across the nation. It was so unnecessary. For news of adultery among celebrities means little to us now. Giggs should have realised that the nation hardly tut tuts any more.

Andrew Marr, fan of Charles Darwin

Yet journalists such as the Daily Mail columnist Amanda Platell still advocates Britain as a cultural superior nation due to its Christian heritage, despite its departure from anything Biblical or spiritual. In this weekend's paper she criticized First Lady Michelle Obama who, with her President husband Barak, was visiting Britain, and was giving an emotional talk to some students at a London girls school about "Triumph over Adversity". Platell responded with these words:
Perhaps someone should have explained to the First Lady that this is Britain and we don't tend to go for all that schmaltzy, heart on the sleeve drivel.
Wow, I wonder how many people reading this turned to Jesus Christ for salvation?
Now let me get real here. There is only one message all Christians should deliver. That is to repent and believe in Jesus Christ and be saved from separation from God and eternity in Hell. There is no other way to Heaven other than trusting Christ and him crucified.
Enough of this idea that just because one is British or English and was baptised in a church as a baby, one can work his way to Heaven. And don't be deceived by the sight of coffins containing war casualties passing through Wootten Basset after their heroic deaths in Afghanistan. Unless they were converted to Jesus Christ while still alive, they would now be in Hell. War death does not save one's soul.
When in Athens, Paul looked at all the pagan altars surrounding him, most if not all had occult influence. But instead of lobbying the Government to have them demolished, as we would probably have done, he just heralded the Gospel of Christ. It was the same when the Apostle was at Ephesus. He did not talk against the Temple of Diana which dominated the city. He just preached the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and faith in him for salvation.
It is not the adulterous acts committed by celebrities that sends them to Hell, it's not trusting in the Saviour. Lobbying against an occult shop about to open in the High Stret will be of no benefit whatsoever. Rather, such actions would cause Christians to be seen as miserable fun-spoilers, and further alienate the unbeliever from the local church.
We as Christians now have only one message: Repent and be baptised in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall receive remission of sins.
Who knows. If Herod Antipas heard such a message, he might have repented after all. Poor John. He told the governor that this act was wrong and he paid with his life.

Whoops! Not This Time...

Judgement is coming on May 21st, 2011. The Bible guarantees it!
That was the cry of one Californian evangelist, 89 year old Harold Camping, who by means of his followers across the United States, invested millions of dollars in billboards declaring that the Rapture of all Christian believers will take place at 6.00pm Pacific Time on Saturday May 21st. This announcement did not remain an isolated incident restrained within a few streets of a city, but rather spread right across the USA and even crossed the Atlantic to reach us here in the UK. As the radio broadcast was boldly made while I was at the gym, I would not be surprised that it was also broadcast across the Pacific Ocean to reach Australia and New Zealand too. After all, the Rapture is an event of such geographic magnitude, it had to be broadcast worldwide.
So how did this evangelist arrive at the conclusion that May 21st, 2011 was to be the day? By doing some math by deciphering certain "hidden codes" found in the Bible. This has reminded me of the time, not that long ago, when some Jewish scholars have found the name of Adolf Hitler by deciphering the codes, they say, were found in the Hebrew text of the Old Testament, which forecasted the end of the world then.
Yet all this despite what Jesus Christ himself had plainly said just before he was crucified:-

No-one knows the day nor the hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father...Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. Matthew 24:36,42.

But what is exactly the Rapture? It has become quite a common word used these days. Even Richard Dawkins used it in his book, The God Delusion.
There are two passages in the New Testament which seem to teach it, both of these texts were part of Paul's letters, one to the church in Corinth and the other to the church in Thessaloniki. They describe the sudden disappearance of Christian believes to heaven, first the dead in Christ rising followed by the living, "in the twinkling of an eye" which indicates suddenness. Here are the two passages.:-

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed - in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead shall be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must be clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable and, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."
"Where, O death, is your victory?
"Where, O death, is your sting?!
1 Corinthians 15:51-55.

Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede them who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself shall come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord for ever. Therefore encourage each other with these words.
I Thessalonians 4:13-18.

Thessaloniki

There are those, like myself, who believe that this event, known as the Rapture or the Translation, will occur sometime in the future, but nobody knows when. They believe that the Lord has deliberately withheld the date, to make the event always imminent, so believers should expect it to occur even in their lifetimes. This encourages the believer to "keep watch", just as Jesus himself exhorted.
There are other Christians who do not believe in the coming Rapture. Among those there are some who say that the Rapture was coined up by Jesuits Ribera and Bellarmine in 1591, after the Council of Trent. Their aim was to protect the Pope from the Protestant accusation of being the Antichrist, predicted is yet to come, in the Bible.
But which ever the case may be, now that it is at present Sunday morning of the 22nd, and not as much as a sneeze had taken place, it is of my opinion that Harold Camping has done a serious disservice to both the Bible and the Christian faith.
We are living in the days where the historicity and truthfulness of the Bible is constantly being attacked by both evolutionary scientists and atheists, and by general secularism, particularly here in the U.K.- where it has one of the lowest church attendance in population density in Europe. In other words, Christians are being made to look foolish.
This plays right into the hands of atheists. In the USA, I read online, that they were already planning parties to revel in such foolishness.
I can imagine right now Richard Dawkins smirking at the non-event, knowing full well that his scientific theories will triumph after all. And he will draw more and more disciples, eventually turning the majority in this nation into an anti-God and with a strong unbelief attitude.

Richard Dawkins

Dating prophecy is not new but it is dangerous in a way that first, it weakens the testimony of the Christian faith and makes it all the more unappealing to the unbelieving population. Secondly there is a serious loss of creditability to the one who made it, if his prediction did not come to pass by the date he had set.
Californian Bible scholar Hal Lindsey was a case in point. One of his books was The Late Great Planet Earth in which he believed that the future Antichrist was alive and feeding his soul with quests for power and knowledge as he wrote and published his book in 1970. He also believed that Armageddon would take place around 1990. Later he released another book, The 1980s Countdown To Armageddon, in which he documents on the rise of the Soviet Union's nuclear arsenal, overtaking that of the United States, making the USSR a dangerous and threatening world power, with its sole aim of turning the whole planet Communist, especially the United States. That was before the collapse of Communism in the 1980s itself. So far, in 2011 we are still here. And it is my opinion that Lindsey had lost a lot of creditability, especially among the U.S. Senate, where I once read that The Late Great Planet Earth was taken notice of by them.
Then again, back in the 19th Century, a small organisation which was to call itself Zion's Watchtower Society formed in New York in between 1870 and 1875 under the tutelage of Pastor Charles Taze Russell. It began to expand across America very rapidly, and their members, Jehovah's Witnesses, won converts across the Atlantic. In fact, according to William Schnell, in his book 30 Years A Watch-tower Slave, the world was meant to end in 1914. When the Great War broke out that year, fulfilling Jesus' prediction of "Nation rising against nation" the Watchtower Society gained enough creditability to win over the population of Germany to the extent of becoming the State religion, which was only thwarted by the outbreak of World War II.
According to Schnell, the end of the world was postponed until 1924, the year the Kingdom of Christ was meant to begin. When nothing supernatural occurred, the Society re-interpreted Scripture to predict that 1924 was the beginning of "The Last Generation", mentioned by Jesus Christ in Matthew 24:34. Calculating that a generation was to last 40 years, the Battle of Armageddon should have taken place in 1964. It was after this that the "movable prophecy" teachings of the Watch-tower were put on the back shelf in order for the organisation not to crumble.
Dating prophecy in regard of when the world will end is forbidden in the Bible. Such attempts makes the Bible and the Christian faith appear ridiculous. It does not give God any glory, rather it turns agnostics in to atheists, it causes atheists themselves to smirk with satisfaction, and most seriously, it keeps many from trusting the Lord Jesus Christ to save them and receiving eternal life God gives to all who believe in him.
We as Christians need to watch and wait for his coming, which remains an ongoing process generation after generation. The formation of the state of Israel in 1948 gives a clue that the End Times is soon, according to many Bible scholars. But dating prophecy is wrong and no one, Christian, secular or of another religion should attempt at it.

Vagabond!

Sitting at the cafeteria at Coral Reef Water World, close to my home, I was at a state of half-slumber after a gym workout and sauna session. Then I suddenly perked up, as if someone had tapped me on the back of the head.
In sauntered one off-duty staff member, who made his way to the buffet to queue up with the other customers for some refreshments.
This bodybuilder actually worked in the kitchen of the very buffet he was waiting at. In a few years he could have a superb, Truly-Ripped physique, if he steers his weight training gym workouts in the right direction alongside a proper, high protein diet.
My emotion started to rise. As I put out my hand to reach his, he took it, and I held it tightly. After a short conversation, all I could say was,
I've been to Santa Monica as well.
For instead of the characteristic blue uniform which distinguishes every Coral Reef staff from the public, he sauntered in wearing a black tee shirt with the lettering blazing across his chest:
SANTA MONICA.

Santa Monica

Why the emotion? Because seeing his tee shirt image brought back memories of this Californian resort which is actually a district of Los Angeles.
There were questions I would have wanted to ask this guy. Did he go as a backpacker? If so, did he stay at the superb H.I. Santa Monica Backpackers Hostel on 2nd Street, close to the famous pier? The same place where I stayed in 1995 and 1997? Did he stroll though 3rd Street Parade, a traffic-free avenue with bushes trimmed to look like Dinosaurs proudly showing off to the crowds? And did he wander through the excellent indoor shopping mall with a wide choice of attractive eateries? And did he stroll to the end of the pier to watch the sunset while the gulls encircle the air above, and then occasionally perch on one of the safety barrier posts, along with a pelican on another? How I would have loved to hear his stories.
But the more I got to know this fellow, the less convinced that he had ever set foot on the Californian coastline. As many of these working men, as opposed to gap-year students, he would have much preferred to fly out for a break in such places as Iberia with a group of mates to what really amount to a glorified boozing session. And the tee-shirt? Either somebody else brought it back as a present, or it was bought at a fashion boutique in the West End or even at a nearby town of Reading.
And that's what seem to be the experience I have seen of Britons traveling overseas. In groups. And booze, plenty of it. I'm not talking about escorted tours here. Rather, I'm referring to an informal group of mates flying out to have a good time. In a group, each feels safe in the company of others. Whether someone falls ill, or drank too much and is sick on the sidewalk, or has picked up a bug from the hotel pool, or suffered a bout of diarrhea, or for that matter had his wallet or bank cards pick-pocketed, in a group there is that assuring feeling that with such support, a crisis overseas is minimal and one can ride it much better in company.
It is very different to what I call travel.
When I say travel, I mean TRAVEL!
One term I came across while browsing an American website, was the word vagabond. It simply means to travel aimlessly, without too much planning, or even no planning at all. It describes a lone backpacker. A lone backpacker is vulnerable to anything that goes amiss. There is no support from others. Just a piece of paper called an insurance policy making him believe that he has peace of mind.
If you click on this page, December 2010, one of my articles, on being single, describes some of my experiences as a "vagabond", along with a later article, Jerusalem which detail some extraordinary experiences as a lone backpacker in the Middle East.
But this sort of travel does carry risks which are not felt so badly by those who travel in a group, whether escorted or informal. These are my experiences:
1976 - Catching a bug while in Israel. I was down with a fever for three days in bed at a home of an Arab family who offered hospitality.
1981 - Having all my travelers cheques pick-pocketed while standing in a packed train on route to Florence from Pisa. When I arrived at Florence, I came across this pensione, a hotel with shared, dormitory-style bedrooms. There was a bed available and I took it. Later that day I noticed all my money gone, and it could not have happened on the worse moment, Friday evening, after all the banks closed for the weekend. So instead of "living it up" in this artistic city, I spent more than an hour feeling very foolish at a police waiting room to register the loss, a necessity before I would be eligible for a refund from the bank.

Florence, Italy

When I told the hotel proprietor of my plight, she was kind enough to give me a panettino for prima colazione, at a hotel which don't normally serve breakfast to its guests, and she gave me a few lire to buy something to eat during the day. Such was a weekend which I had absolutely nothing to live on until the Monday, when I had the bank refund, after which together with the hotel tariff, I had to pay for the bread and repay the loan. Was I pleased to board the train for Viareggio, a random stop on the west coast of Italy.
1995 - I would think that booking a hostel in New York City would have been easy-peasy. After all, it was September, the kids were back at school, the students had returned home. So after being told over the phone that there were no places left, after arriving in New York, I went from one hostel to another, until I came across this seedy hotel on 8th Avenue and West 52nd Street. I had already knew of this hotel, I had spent a night there soon after landing at J.F.K. Airport that evening in 1978, after a good search around.
As before, I looked out across the avenue at a deli, closed for the night, as I was unable to sleep at one in the morning. Outside, a group of young Afro-Caribbeans were having a brawl, their loud voices carried through the street. In my room, the floor was populated with cockroaches scurrying across and under the bed.
Yet I was happy. Another adventure as a vagabond was about to begin, including sleeping at the Huckleberry Hostel in the suburb of St Louis, Missouri, where there were dead 'roaches in the food pigeonholes and a live mouse scurrying across the kitchen. And yet I made friends with someone who gave me a spare Greyhound map of the USA.
It was that same hostel which had toilet cubicles fronted by those Old West Saloon double swing doors. So the embarrassment I felt answering a call of nature and risking having other people looking straight in!!! Door-less loo cubicles I also came across in the San Diego area. Maybe the discomfort I felt in using them shows that I'm very British after all.
And the year 2000. That's when Alex, my wife and I decided to celebrate our first wedding anniversary by doing perhaps the last backpacking holiday in Israel. She was 18 weeks pregnant with our first daughter Rosina when we touched down at Lod Airport. Two days later, we began to make a bus journey from Tiberias to Haifa, then on to our hotel in Ishfya, some miles away on top of the Mt Carmel ridge, which separated the port of Haifa from the Mediterranean coastline.

My wife at Eilat, Israel

What I didn't realise as we arrived at the bus depot in Haifa was that the Rosh HaShannah or the Jewish New Year was about to start, and with just about the whole of Israel shutting down, the city was like a ghost town. The only form of transport still running were taxis.
As if to echo Florence of 1981, we were absolutely penny-less. But this time not as a victim of a pickpocket, but from my own lack of foresight to visit a bank while we still had the chance. Stuck with a wedge of useless travel cheques, Alex and I made our way across the city, and began the long ascent up the stairs passing through narrow alleyways as we slowly made it to the summit of Mount Carmel, allowing us a terrific view of the coastline below us. But with heavy rucksacks and an unborn child to boot, we made our way along the road which was meant to take us to Ishfya, eventually.
When we realised we still had a long way to go, we sat on a roadside bench, my face in my hands, in despair. Not so much for myself, since I had spent many nights away from home under the stars. But I was concerned for my wife and her condition.
Soon a taxi pulled up in front of us and the driver leaned out and asked in English where we want to go.
"To Stella Carmel in Ishfya! But we have no money on us whatsoever!"
"Get in!" The driver ordered as he got out to open the trunk to accommodate our luggage.
Inside the car, the driver actually gave us ten shekels! He then explained that he pastored a church nearby, and could not pass by two stranded travelers without lending a hand.
Backpacking. There is something about it which no group travel can match.
There are highlights in the experience, like from the bottom of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, after a day's hiking, looking up at the magnificent display of stars in the clear night sky, seeing thousands of stars I was never able to see from above the UK! Or likewise in Australia, looking up at the Southern Cross, directly overhead. And snorkeling above the corals of the Great Barrier Reef. But the most astonishing moment was in 1997, when the Greyhound bus I was on took a service stop between Townsville and Cannonvale, on the East Australian Pacific Highway linking Cairns with Brisbane and Sydney. As I sat alone at a table at the cafeteria, another bus pulled in for the same reason, and its passengers lined up at the buffet counter. Presently, while meditating, a voice calls out:
"FRANK!"
I looked up. I was alone, over 10,000 miles from home. Nobody knew me here. As such, I did not recognise the stranger standing right next to me.
"Yes, I'm Frank, but who are you?"
"You don't remember? I gave you the spare map of the USA in St Louise two years ago. Remember? That dingy hostel?
Yes, I remember that well. Backpacking - or Vagabond. With all its high points, it is an unforgettable experience.
But it's coping with the low points which turns travel into a real, true-to-life adventure.
Oh well, I guess it's off to the boozer...

Royal Wedding, Stoicism And The Great Wedding In Heaven

How I enjoyed watching on television the wedding between Prince William and Catherine Middleton!

The sight of thousands of people lining the route from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey raised my emotions, and the cheers as first the Groom, then the rest of the Royal Family, then the Bride, at that stage still considered a commoner, made their short car journey to the Abbey.
And as the Groom placed his ring on her finger, the Bride's status changed from a commoner to the Duchess of Cambridge and a Royal.
Endless commentaries were given for Catherine's dress, comments like "fantastic!" and "Spectacular!" Everyone loved it. Catherine herself grew up to be startlingly beautiful, and little wonder that she was the perfect fit for the Groom who will one day become King of England.
Equally impressive were the crowds who attended the pageantry. Estimates reckon around two million spectators gathered in Central London for the occasion, a small proportion of the two billion who watched it on television globally.
What I loved about the whole spectacle was how the crowds lining the route cheered vocally and allowed their emotions to show amidst the sea of Union Jack flags waving in the mild air.
I believe too that the prayers of many were answered when not a drop of rain fell throughout the whole occasion. During the last three of four days preceding the Wedding, the Met Office warned that a scattering of heavy showers, in places even accompanied by thunder, would attempt to put a damper on the celebrations. But even if that had been the case, I doubt that it would have spoiled much, with the exception that the journey from the Abbey to the Palace would have had the newlyweds in a closed-in coach instead of the open-top one which made the couple clearly visible to the bystanders and TV audience alike.
And how the spectators cheered as the newly married Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were driven back to the Palace!

High emotions! Does this make Britain less stoic? No, I believe it does not. Stoicism is a reaction, in contrast to panic, in the face of a crisis, whether it's an airline in distress or financial difficulties. Stoicism is about getting to grips in solving the problem instead of running away, flustering or getting tied in knots with panic. The 33 Colombian miners who were trapped for six weeks in a sealed chamber underground were a good example of stoicism. They prayed daily and waited patiently for rescue to begin. The South American disaster was also proof that stoicism is not uniquely British.
As stoicism being uniquely British is the opinion of some newspaper journalists which at times really ruffle my feathers!
Amanda Platell and Melanie Phillips, both Daily Mail columnists, have written articles about "the decline of stoicism in Britain" since the death of Princess Diana in 1997. According to Platell and Phillips, the British have become a sentimental, mawkish, weepy and emotional society, with Phillips adding of the decline of masculinity.
To them, that's bad. Is It? Does it really weaken masculinity?
If so, then the Lord Jesus Christ was a wimp. He wept in public on two separate, recorded occasions. The first was over the fate of Jerusalem, the second over the death of Lazarus.
But it would also mean that today's pageantry would have been different if Platell and Phillips had their way.
Instead of cheering crowds, the route would have been lined with an orderly crowd of stiffly dressed men and women, gently clapping without a single voice heard as the Royal procession passed by. The Queen would have looked ahead sternly instead of waving to the crowds and the newly weds would have also been concealed inside a coach, almost oblivious to the sound of clapping outside. In short, the day's event would have resembled more like Remembrance Sunday than a wedding.
As it was the crowds expressed their emotions of excitement and joy without reserve, as it should be. A wedding is a joyous occasion, a cause for celebration.
Having been to a wedding reception in the Middle East myself, I can assure that the Bible indeed sees a wedding as a joyous occasion. The wedding at Cana was attended by Jesus Christ himself, who turned water into wine, not wine into water as these columnists believe should have been done.
In the Book of Revelation, John gives us a glimpse of the unrestrained emotions of rapturous joy as the Bride is presented to the Groom.

Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they sang:
"Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and
wisdom and strength
and honour and glory and praise!"
Then I heard every creature in heaven and on the earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, singing:
"To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be praise and honour and glory and power,
for ever and ever."
The four living creatures said, "Amen",
and the elders fell down and worshipped.
Revelation 5:11-14.

And also this:

Then what I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like a roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting:
Hallelujah!
For the our Lord God Almighty reigns.
Let us rejoice and be glad
and give him glory!
For the wedding of the Lamb has come,
and the bride has made herself ready.
Fine linen, bright and clean,
was given her to wear."
(Fine linen stands for the righteous acts of the saints.)
Then the angel said to me, "Write:
'Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!'" And he added, "These are the true words of God."
Revelation 19:6-9.

The heavenly Bride of Christ is the Church. We are the Bride of Jesus Christ if we trust in him to save us. On that wedding day in heaven emotions will run high. No British stiff upper lip then!
The wedding of Prince William and Catherine Middleton was a joyous occasion. Everyone there had the right to shout with joy!
After all, in heaven, it would be impossible to hold under restraint any emotion then!
Wishing the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge a happy future together.
HOORAY!!!