End-Time Theology, Trump and the Church

It is a new theology of the end-times in the 1800s that is at fault. This may seem a long time ago, but in history terms, it is ‘yesterday’. The theology proposed a literal meaning to much of the final book of the Bible, Revelation, and linked it to various Old Testament prophecy to come up with a time line – different ‘dispensations’ from which we could grasp a clearer understanding of when Jesus will return for the last time.

This theology is not one that was ever seriously considered by the Early Church Fathers. And there’s a reason for that – it is riddled with assumptions, exaggerations and misunderstandings. Yet because it took off big time in the 1970s and 1980s it is still largely viewed as undeniable truth by many in the Church, especially in America- which is where it took off.

The book ‘The Late Great Planet Earth’ by Hal Lindsay has a lot to do with the recent rise of this theology, supported by a tranche of tele-evangelists, past and present, and by a set of fiction books by Tim LaHaye called the ‘Left Behind Series.’

Too many have based their Christian views of the end-times on this material with little thought to its lack of foundational truth.

I say all this, in order to make sense of the crazy politics and conspiracy theories (a topic for deeper study on another day) in America at this time.

If you believe that there is a timeline, a secret rapture and that Jesus is coming back at any minute, it negates a belief in a triumphant gospel preaching Church. It pretty much ignores all the scriptures about the Church being Christ’s body and being prepared as the bride of Christ. Instead it looks to a geographical Israel and to current world events - and then translates them into end- time dodgy ‘doctrine’.

That’s why we have Christians believing in QAnon conspiracies such as Hilary Clinton killing babies in a ritual underneath a pizza restaurant (yes really!) and there being a secret evil cult running the planet.

That’s why many Christians have made a cult hero of Donald Trump. They have forgotten that the Church is in the world but not of it. They have forgotten that Jesus came to bring a different kind of Kingdom and they have placed all their faith in a tragi-comedy President who has said the right things and done the opposite. It’s why to this day – to this hour – there continues to be multiple conspiracy theories about the election being rigged. It didn’t help that we had a load of false prophecies for the more gullible to swallow wholesale, predicting a Trump victory.

But the victory is the victory of the Church; the body of Christ. It declares the gospel; the real truth - and the Holy Spirit does the rest. Hence, it’s not to do with present day political leaders (though we are called to pray for peace and I would always encourage Christians to vote) but it is to do with the Church at work in the world.

One of the fastest growing churches in the world today is in Iran- where the church is practically banned. The most vibrant churches are often in the hardest political environments.

I’m grateful for peace and democracy, for good presidents and prime ministers, but I hold to a more orthodox view of the end times. There will be wars and rumours of wars. There will be good and bad rulers. But there will also be a triumphant Church that will herald the return of Christ, with a new heaven and earth.

And until then, let’s pray for our rulers, avoid the conspiracies and preach the gospel.

Stealing from the Poorest to Feed the Richest

What do John Major, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, David Cameron and Theresa May have in common? All five former Prime Ministers have condemned Boris Johnson’s decision to cut the UKs foreign aid spending, reduced from 0.7% of national income, to 0.5%.

That’s a reduction of around £4.5 billion a year. It may sound a lot and a reasonable saving to make but against a Covid home spend of around £210 billion and counting, not so much.

But in terms of the effect internationally, it’s devastating.

Former international development secretary Andrew Mitchell (part of Johnson’s Conservative party) estimates the result of the reduced aid will mean nearly a million girls will be deprived of education. It will mean a lack of access to contraception for 7 million people and it will mean 5.6 million children will not get the vaccinations they need. A further 3.8 million people could lose access to clean water. Most tellingly it will mean up to 100,000 deaths as a result.

Under the cover of saving in the time of a pandemic, Johnson is playing politics. His hard talking, non-caring right wing in his party were getting rebellious. So he decided they were more important than the lives of children in poorest countries. He ignored the pleas of the former Prime Ministers and former development secretaries.

The Archbishop of Canterbury has called the decision ‘shameful and wrong.’ The CEO of Tearfund says ‘People living in poverty are already pushed to the brink of survival every day. This decision by the UK government is a harsh, badly calculated decision and could not have come at a worse time.’

Former Liberal Democrat leader Tim Farron says ‘The Government wants to make clear that we are looking after our own. But in doing so it sends a message that Britain is becoming insular, heartless and irrelevant. And it forgets two other vital principles from our Christian heritage. That of grace: a gift of something perhaps undeserved but freely given. And that of service: looking after those less fortunate than ourselves.’

Former Prime Minister Gordon Brown says ‘The UK’s path-breaking commitment to ending world poverty yields far-reaching benefits and its aid programme is one of its most valuable global assets.’

For ‘is’, read ‘was’.

Shame on you Mr Johnson. You have stolen from the neediest to fill the political trough of the rich and greedy.

REPOST: When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say....

 On Armistice Day, this is a repost of a 2011 blog when I visited Kohima in Nagaland, the home of the famous Kohma Epitaph:

Over the last three weeks, I have had the immense privilege of working with some of the most wonderful people in the world. I'm sure there will be more stories to follow, but this seems appropriate with Remembrance Day around the corner.  

During my time in Nagaland, an extreme North-East State in India, I was able to drive to Kohima. Here there is one of the best kept war cemeteries I have seen, a memorial to all those who gave their lives in what was the turning point in the Indian war against the Japanese in 1944. Amongst the thousands of graves, each one recording a British or Indian soldier, usually in their early twenties, there is a poem, called the Kohima Epitaph, and copied by many other war memorials. This is what it says:

When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say,
For your Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today.


Simple and poignant. Still as true today. Let's not forget.

In the Name of Capitalist Freedom?

This morning I read that across Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Gaza and elsewhere, Palestinian refugees are suffering at new depths because of the pandemic. People in Gaza are searching through rubbish to find food as Palestinians battle unprecedented levels of poverty.

And then I read that if I want to watch my two favourite football teams this weekend (Manchester United; born in Manchester, Leicester City; live in Leicester) it will cost me £29.90. I am told that the money will go directly to the Premiership clubs to help with a lack of matchday income. This of course is additional income to the clubs, on top of regular TV rights paid by Sky, BT and others (a total of around 4.5 billion -yes, billion- pounds a season).

These are the clubs that regularly pay players in the millions (David De Gea  £19,500,000 per season) with an average wage of around £50,000 per week (nearly 3 million pounds a year). They are the same clubs that have rejected a plan to fund smaller clubs (I appreciate the proposed model was flawed but where’s the real alternative?)

We live in a society that in the name of capitalism and freedom has distorted our moral values to allow the rubbish heaps in Gaza, children dying through hunger, a lack of pure water and more, whilst perverting reasonable business practices beyond recognition.

How about some sensible public ownership, a better tax regime, an increase in our international aid budget? And a government that isn’t afraid to say something is plain wrong when it so obviously is.

As someone with a Christian faith, I appreciate that ultimate answers are beyond the political arena, but that doesn’t absolve me from speaking out and doing what I can. As to this weekend, my small contribution to the coffers of the Premier League will instead go towards a Compassion child.

Fifty Years a Christian - Part 2

 I'm very grateful to Pam Rhodes for inviting me onto her show Sunday Night Live. I share here my story of 50 years ago. It seems like yesterday.....

Once Upon A Time In The West - Fifty Years A Christian

The city of St Davids is as far west as you can go in Pembrokeshire, Wales. In August 1970 a group of boys stepped down from a coach for a camping holiday in the fields just outside Britain’s smallest city.

The camp had been arranged by the Crusaders - a Christian organisation specialising in activities for boys and girls.

For one of the boys stepping off the coach, this was to be the defining point in his life. That boy was me.

I was aware that the Crusaders (now renamed as Urban Saints) was a Christian organisation and I had even been to a few of their local meetings where I lived in Streetly, near Birmingham. The fact the organisation was Christian was not a problem to me - after all I was a Christian anyway, right? That’s what my parents told me - we were born in a Christian country and were therefore Christians already.

But that week I heard something new. In amongst the games, the hiking and the camping was a message. Jesus, God’s son, died on a cross for me. For me. A geeky 15 year old kid with glasses and acne.

It was hard for me to take it in. And hard to respond as well. We had meetings most nights and at one of those there was an invitation to ask Jesus to come into our lives, but I was far too shy to put up my hand.

Back in the tent as my fellow campers slept, I kept returning to what had been said. God loved me? So much He sent His own Son? Why had I never heard this before? Why had no one told me? Before I slept that night, I decided to pray, to invite Jesus into my life. In my thinking at the time, I decided to give this Christian thing a go.

Fifty years later, I’m still giving it a go! Fifty years. Where did the time go?

A family - a wife, four kids, two grandkids. Churches planted, mission trips completed. Books written and other lives changed.

All because of that night 50 years ago.

That ‘once upon a time in the West’ moment radically changed my life. I am not the same because of that prayer. It was the best thing I ever did.

If you are reading this and have never prayed to ask Jesus into your life, is there any reason not do so now? What better than to know why we are here, to have purpose and direction in life? Most of all, to know the God who made us. What’s not to like?! Here’s a prayer to pray- you can say it out loud or under your breath -God will hear you either way.

Dear Lord

Please forgive me for living my life without you, for living my own way. I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done wrong. I ask you today to come in to my life. Please live in me, help me and be in charge of my life. Thank you for answering this prayer. I choose to live Your way. Amen.

And there it is. The most important prayer you will ever pray. The most important step you will ever make. (And if you did pray this prayer for the first time, let me know - I’d like to help).

Thank you Crusaders/Urban Saints for that camp all those years ago. Thank you for your faithfulness in sharing the good news about Jesus. And most of all - thank you Jesus for your faithfulness through these 50 years together.

Here’s to the next 50.

Guest Blog: There is a Time for Change

A couple of years ago I ghost-wrote an autobiography for a leading black church leader in the UK. (For reasons not related, it has yet to see the light of day, so I can't say who it is). As I wrote it I became more and more aware of the racism in our country - not just 'then' but 'now'. I was appalled at my own blindness. As a caring Christian, I should have done better.

I'm concerned that in this current race crisis, many are missing the point. I've tried to write myself, but came across this from my friend Malcolm Magee. It says it better, so this time around, I'm 'blogging a blog'.

Please read and pray. To My Fellow White Folk Please Hear Me!

There is a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. Today is the day to turn the money changers tables over. 

Black Lives Matter: Four Stories

It’s June 1948. His name is Walter. 

Along with around 500 others he disembarks the SS Empire Windrush at Tilbury Docks in London. There is a spring in his step. It’s been a long voyage, but a new and exciting life awaits.

As the ‘Mother Country’ we called out to Walter and his friends in the West Indies to fight in the war. He came. Then we invited them back to help rebuild the Mother Country. Walter responded again, and here he is on this cold London morning.

He’s been told where it is best to go in order to find a boarding house and still with a spring in his step, he approaches the street he’s been directed to.

As he turns the corner, all the excitement evaporates. In front of him are two boarding houses, next to each other. Both have the same sign in the window.

No Blacks. No Irish. No Dogs.

With slumped shoulders and the beginnings of what would become his familiar slouching walk, Walter carries on down the street.

The story you have just read is a composite of a number of stories told at that time.

Now let’s move to 2020. I want to introduce you to three friends.

Judith has just finished her degree. She has the world at her feet. Or she should have. It’s not quite that simple. Of Nigerian parentage, growing up Judith didn’t really see herself as ‘black’ until she got to reception class at school and people started to call her ‘Judith Pooith’.  She didn’t really understand the nickname at first until she realised that they were making fun of her skin colour. And then at twelve years old she was first told she was a  ni**er. It shocked her.

Judith faces discrimination daily. She says:

‘Did you or your parents ever have to worry about their jobs because of their skin colour? Did you or your parents have to think about what they are going to call their children because they don’t want them to be discriminated against because their name sounds “black”? Did your parents ever have to tell you that you need to work twice as hard because you will always have to prove yourself to others because of the colour of your skin? Did you never think before going into a room that "I’m going to be the only black person here"? I normally don’t talk about these things because I’m scared as to what others may say. But enough is enough. I can’t stay silent.’

Susan is a little older than Judith and already successful as a writer and business woman. She has parents of West Indian origin. Susan says:

‘Sometimes I’m accused of using the’ race card’. But what does that mean? Should I just ignore what happens to me? What about the time I had dog’s excrement thrown at me as a child while being told to go back to where I came from? I remember when I was eight years old, after many hurtful comments, asking my parents why I was born with black skin "as no one seems to like us this way". One time I bit the insides of my cheeks in order to prevent tears as others laughed because someone has printed a picture of an ape and put my name above it. More recently, having married my wonderful white Danish husband, I was asked why I didn’t date black men.

'The news has unearthed feelings I had buried. The video of George Floyd dying with knees on his back and his neck is both literal and metaphorical for what many put up with because of race.’

Angela is a young woman of Indian origin and has had her fair share of racism too. She is a bright girl from a highly educated family, but despite this has regularly been called a ‘dumb black girl’ and ‘stupid Paki’. For Angela her concern is the response to the current crisis:

‘Too many who usually have a lot to say on politics on social media are saying nothing on the injustices that are happening. They are part of the problem! Silence is betrayal. Too many don't see injustice and just see inconvenience and a challenge to their own comfort.

'We all know racists. I see their looks, I feel their prejudice. Racism is a state of heart. In the end only God can change that heart. But we can pray, set the standard of respect and love and speak out against racial injustice.’

Three People. Nigerian. West Indian. Indian. 

Four stories. One problem.

Pray. Speak out. #blacklivesmatter.

A Tribute to Julie and Jonathan

For a few years near the end of the 70s I headed up a Christian rock band and did some solo work on the London gospel circuit. Not a lot of gigs, but a lot of fun.

About half the material consisted of covers of the Christian artist of the day (think Larry Norman, Randy Stonehill, Nutshell, Barry McGuire…) and about half was self-penned.

Aside from the obvious Christian influences, I took some song writing inspiration from folk-rock troubadours of the day, two of whom died recently – Julie Felix and Jonathan Kelly.

I first got hold of a Julie Felix album in 1973. Those of us at Walsall Technical College were well aware of the fact that the manager of the Record Department at Boots the Chemist didn’t know his Abba’s from his Zappa’s and would often sell stuff off at ridiculously low prices. The first Parchment album on Pye (a collector’s piece today) for 10p with a small scratch on the first track. A first issue single of Free’s ‘All Right Now’ for 5p.

And there was Julie Felix. At 20p I took a risk, having never heard her. I loved her stuff. I loved her obvious left-wing politics, and the choice of the cover songs she selected. In fact she was already well known in the UK having been championed by David Frost and had two long running shows of her own on TV. But that had passed me by somehow.

My favourite album is the 1972 ‘Clotho’s Web’ which includes the single ‘Fire, Water, Earth and Air’. It’s worth a listen.

I must have first heard Jonathan Kelly at around the same time. A few of us would gather in each other’s houses to listen to records at the weekend. (Does that still happen or is it all social media nowadays?) And it was then that my friend Godfrey played ‘Twice Around the Houses’, Kelly’s second album. I loved it. The upbeat love song ‘Madelaine’ the protest song ‘We are the People’ and the haunting ‘Ballad of Cursed Anna’. But the one I loved the most – and the one my family had to put up with me singing – was ‘Rock You to Sleep’, the final track. I sang it to all our children at bedtime throughout their early years.

Well there you are. Two folk-rock legends have passed. RIP Julie and Jonathan. And thank you.

The Rainbow Redeemed

The rainbow has been borrowed by a lot of different organisations over the years. From businesses, (Apple, Google, various healthcare companies) through to the Freemasons and on to LGBT. And they’re welcome.

But it’s been a delight to see the rainbow redeemed for its original use during the recent pandemic.

For children, painting the new additions to many a window, it may simply be a colourful moment in their day.

But it is also a declaration of hope.

The rainbow appears in the very first book of the Bible when God puts a rainbow in the sky as a promise. A promise that there would not be another flood that would wipe out humanity. It’s a picture of hope, a declaration that God will have the final say.

The rainbow declares there may be a pandemic, but it is going to pass.

The Metro Newspaper reports that this current spate of rainbow pictures started in Italy, which was hit hard and relatively early with the virus. It’s been copied from there to most countries undergoing ‘lockdown’.

I love it. Each nation declaring through a rainbow, hope, solidarity, promise.

The rainbow declares God’s covenant; His promise. Ultimately, it points to God’s promise of redemption offered through Jesus.

Even if most of the kids putting their pictures in their windows don’t know it, right now the rainbow shouts out good news. God will have the final say.

Furlough

Suddenly a word is in the news that has had little usage in recent years.

Furlough.

It is traditionally used to describe a time away from the front line for soldiers. I first came across it in a church context. As a young Christian I went to a Brethren church and was told that a lady missionary was coming to visit on furlough. I thought it must be some kind of vehicle!

Actually it is a vehicle of sorts. It’s one that allows you to take time out. To rest.

For many in the UK the word is not welcome. Its newer definition is being laid off from work with 80% of pay due to the effects of the Corona Virus on our economy.

But maybe in this lockdown, we can all experience some furlough in its original sense? The root of the word is ‘verlof’. This is Dutch and means ‘permission’.

We have permission to take time out right now. Permission to dream, to plan, to think. To do something different. Not to waste the time but to use it as time away from the front line.

So what will we do? Read a book we have always intended to read? Pick up the watercolours again? Study a language? For those of us with a Christian faith, to go deeper into a book of the Bible?

I appreciate that some reading this will be experiencing furlough with kids running around their feet and the sense that they have less time than at work! Yes, but it’s still a different time. There will still be moments that can be used in a different way.

I don’t expect that most of us reading these words will ever get another furlough. Let’s appreciate the blessing along with the challenge.

From Purple Flares to Old Pulteney

I remember the details of the day. A warm September  morning, 1976. I was early, so walked around St James’s Square, London, a couple of times before plucking up the courage to go in. The Clerical, Medical & General Life Assurance Society. My first job.

I wore a three piece purple suit with ridiculous flared trousers. Despite that, they let me in. I worked as a Pensions Documentation Clerk and quickly found that pensions wasn’t as boring as the name suggested to a twenty-one year old.

I realised that pretty much everything in pensions revolved around the age of 65 – the normal retirement age for men (It’s changed a bit nowadays). So I did my own calculation on that very first day – when would I reach that milestone? It was with some relief that by my calculation, the day would never arrive. It was so far in the future.

10^th April 2020.

Well here we are. The flares are long gone (though I still like purple). In this strange season of lockdown, my plans to celebrate with a tour of the Scottish whisky distilleries went by the way, though Roh set out a tour of the garden to find my own bottles of whisky! And my main present was a bottle of 12 year old Old Pulteney single malt, from the northernmost distillery in the British Isles. I like to think that my tastes have improved a little since the purple flares.

Where did the time go? How did I get here?

The answer is by the grace of God.

I’m grateful for every step of the journey. Thankful for God’s goodness, a beautiful wife, four amazing children, three incredible sons/daughter in laws and two awesome granddaughters. And a pretty decent career in pensions.

The day did arrive. It wasn’t such a long time. May I encourage you, as the Bible says, to ‘count your days and seek a heart of wisdom.’ (Psalm 90)

My Old Testament hero is Caleb. He was still conquering mountains at the age of 85 (that’s where the idea for this blog came from 15 years ago), so I trust I still have plenty of time to count my days and seek wisdom. And still plenty of time to continue to conquer the mountains of life for the One who conquered all for me.

The God Who Zoomed

We live in strange times. Isolated at home, unsure how long the virus pandemic will continue.

It can be unsettling.

But God is still on His throne. The Psalms declare it. He is not unaware of our situation. The Gospels tell of it. He has a plan for us and it is still in place. The Epistles affirm it.

God is with us.

The Christian leader and theologian Ian Barclay explained it as God dwelling with us: The root of the Bible word is God ‘pitching His tent with us.’

Loosely translated, that’s the same as God Zooming with us, God Skyping with us.

So when we meet as a church or small group by electronic means, He is still with us in the same way as if we were together.

This was brought home to me by the beautiful way His Holy Spirit was with us on Sunday at Chroma. Just a few at the centre. Thousands on line. And most importantly of all, God with us.

We have a God who Zooms.

Words of Truth in a Time of Fear

He’s got you. And He’s not letting go.

He knows when you sit down and when you get up. He knows what you’re thinking and wants you to know He is protecting you. In fact He’s got you hemmed in with his love and kindness. He is your refuge – you are sheltered under His wings.

There’s a path set out for you and nothing is going to push you off track. No sickness or virus can be greater than His purposes for you. He restores health and heals wounds. He delivers you from the deadly pandemic. He has already rescued you from dead-end alleys and dark dungeons.

He knew you before you were born; chosen before the foundation of the world. He formed you – you are wonderfully made. You were chosen by Him before your first breath. He made you, loved you and wanted you as His child. You are wanted and loved; you are not a mistake or a surprise.

He has blessed you with every spiritual blessing. You are chosen, predestined, adopted, redeemed, forgiven. He took all the broken and dislocated pieces of your life and fixed them together in vibrant harmonies. Grace has been lavished on you. He has sealed you with his Holy Spirit within you. His Spirit in you confirms who you really are.

Don’t be anxious about your life. He cares for the sparrow – how much greater is His care for you! He clothes the fields with beauty – how much more will he care for you and clothe you! You are not forgotten. On the contrary, he knows all about you, even to the number of hairs on your head.

His plans for you are good – you have a hope and a future with Him. He has abundant life for you. This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant. His thoughts are for you and are more than the sands of the sea.

Where could you go? He’s there – wherever you go.

He’s got you. And He’s not letting go.

If you have a Christian faith, every word above applies to you. If you are on a spiritual journey, every word written can also be true for you.

The words are from the Bible: Psalm 139, Ephesians 1, Psalm 91, Deuteronomy 7:15, Jeremiah 29:11, 30:17, John 10:10, Colossians 1:13, 18-20, Romans 8:15-17, Luke 12:6, Matthew 6: 25-31.

Take time to think on them. In this time of fear and pandemics, allow the truth to bring assurance.

Turn off the phone and tv. Find a comfy chair in a quiet corner. Read aloud the Bible words set out above. And let God’s blessing rest on you.

And remember. He’s got you. And he’s not letting go.

Flowers on the Grave

Her name is Olive. And she’s in Jesus’ arms. The church prayed for her resurrection. I love that. I love the raw faith. But she wasn’t resurrected and a few weeks back a small baby was laid to rest.

I don’t know the name of this baby, but this is a report from evangelist Daniel Kolenda, just this week:

Tonight was very special. It started when I arrived on the field and heard from the crusade chairman about a report circulating around town. Last night, while I was praying for the sick, I saw a crippled man being powerfully touched by God in his seat. I went down to pray for him. While I was down there, a mother put a dead baby in my arms. She had been brought by the doctor for prayer. The baby’s little eyes were rolled back in its head, its body was limp and smelled very bad. I held the baby for a short time and then gave the body, still limp, back to the mother. The chairman told me that later that night, the baby resurrected! The word has spread all around.

Two babies prayed for. One resurrected, one in the arms of Jesus. We don’t know the why’s and wherefores’ of moments like these. But we celebrate with one family and support the other.

And that’s what Olive’s church did. If you were to walk through the cemetery near to Bethel Church in Redding, California a week after the burial, you will see flowers on the grave.

In fact you will see flowers on the graves around as well. And take a step back – there are flowers on every grave in the cemetery! What a beautiful response from a church in mourning for a baby’s death, to declare their love and prayers for every family going through the grief of a lost loved one.

Well done church.

The Sound of the Stars

Well done to NASA, the American space agency.

In a new experiment, they put music to the stars. By identifying the position of the star, its size and its density, this all counts as to how the sound is then reflected.

First NASA identified an image from the Hubble telescope with which to work. They call this particular image a 'galactic treasure chest' because of the number of galaxies displayed. Each visible speck on the picture is a galaxy which is itself a home to countless stars.

Then NASA added a computer generated sound.

Objects near the bottom of the image produced the lower notes, while those near the top produce the higher ones. The higher density of galaxies near the centre of the image results in a swell of mid-range tones halfway through the video. Short galaxies give clear tones and spiralling galaxies have longer tones.

It’s a reflection from NASA on the message from the stars and although it is a computer generated sound, it shows in sound what we see in the skies.

The Psalms say ‘The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork.’ (Psalms 19:1).

And now we can hear it:

A 100,000 Thank-You's

Some time during the Christmas period, my blog went past the 100,000 mark in terms of ‘hits’ – people visiting the site. My youngest daughter tells me that this is a rather modest achievement when compared to other social media sites, but I’m grateful.

A 100,000 thank-you’s to all those that have visited, read, commented and posted.

I started out on 6^th December 2006. I was 51 years old and the blog address reflects this: Mountain50. 

The title of the blog, Mountain Climbing for Beginners, comes from a preach I did at the time, at KingsGate Church in Peterborough. It reflects my favourite Old Testament character, Caleb. At 85 years old, he climbed a mountain and defeated what seemed an impossible enemy that had held back the children of Israel for 40 years.  (Joshua 14: 12, 15: 14). As I grow older, I want to be a Caleb- still taking mountains in this life at 85.

As I write this, I am entering my 65^th year. I used to work in pensions, so the age of 65 has always been important to me- traditionally the UK’s ‘normal retirement age.’ In fact I left the pensions industry a few years ago now and have moved on to more book writing, working with Mission24 and other charities and with our amazing church, Chroma.

Looking at those that read the blog- I have some diagnostics on there – it tells me that my many friends around the world look in on me- India, New Zealand, Slovakia, United States, Canada, Argentina, Ghana, South Africa, Eswatini and more. Some are more puzzling- quite a lot from Russia. Are they real people or the famous Russian ‘bots’ checking in?

My most read blogs continue to be the ones on sacrifice, Laminin and being an introvert. My most controversial are the political ones- I’m an unrepentant Blairite and await some reasonable leadership to arise in the Labour party!

Anyway. Thank you. Thanks for reading this. And thanks for being among the many. A 100,000 thank-you’s.