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.