tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1467803253021028762024-03-18T03:04:04.486+00:00Benny's BlogSeeking to be a radically inclusive Christian Blog in the footsteps of Jesus ChristBenny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.comBlogger189125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-82338407926988806672018-12-06T17:34:00.000+00:002018-12-06T17:34:52.282+00:00Timing...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpO9kb4NoBhXJGdw_5eZ8ckVXk1yEaAJHc0I72EW4O5QDamHqViQMzrdKYKaj4Ty-nUU3FSIIhI9_PdXst4AkjyS3RLlLUmdNzXqozxGrW4LNKkGCXKX0Qt3T6RwzDynbhuj4f4zrEhV0/s1600/gallery-blade-runner-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpO9kb4NoBhXJGdw_5eZ8ckVXk1yEaAJHc0I72EW4O5QDamHqViQMzrdKYKaj4Ty-nUU3FSIIhI9_PdXst4AkjyS3RLlLUmdNzXqozxGrW4LNKkGCXKX0Qt3T6RwzDynbhuj4f4zrEhV0/s320/gallery-blade-runner-12.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
When I think back, I can now remember that I never thought I would see old age. I can’t put my finger on why but I didn’t.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I was influenced by the immortal line in the film <b><a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blade_Runner" target="_blank">Blade Runner</a></b> where the creator of the rogue replicants says to him “The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and you have burned so very very brightly.”<br />
<br />
I was aware that I had been blessed with so many wonderful experiences of God, beyond anything I could justify. I have heard God speaking to me in many and various ways from my childhood. I experienced things on a regular basis which many Christians longed for just once. God had been so good to me and his light had indeed burned so very very brightly.<br />
<br />
This gave me a kind of fearlessness which embraced racing around the streets of London on two wheels, or sharing bunk beds with a recent triad ex–addict without question.<br />
<br />
When I really needed God to speak to me, I knew where I could go and how to wait to hear from God. I didn’t always get a direct answer to my questions, but I always received the next piece of the puzzle.<br />
<br />
I had been so blessed and God’s light had burned so bright for me, perhaps I could only ever expect to live half as long.<br />
<br />
That is not so unusual amongst the young, of course. Being old seems such a very long way away, and so incomprehensible when you are in your teens and your twenties.<br />
<br />
As I grew older however, other people came into my life – wife, son, daughter. Priorities change. Plans change. Whereas once I could be ready to pack bags at a moment's notice for a new experience in life, there were now other people to think about. Other considerations. Growing old starts to become more attractive as the time of life when I could relax with my wife after our children had flown the nest.<br />
<br />
Mel and I had planned to retire to Oban on the west coast of Scotland. I would buy a second hand Rib and explore the channels and islands. We would hold hands and watch the sun setting over the sea.<br />
<br />
I forgot about my younger premonitions.<br />
<br />
Now of course, we know that will never be. After another few weeks of struggling, I was admitted to hospital last week for more scans. They showed that my cancer has now spread to my liver and lungs. That’s a full house for the major organs which are monitored for Prostate Cancer. It is travelling at will around my body. I have reached the limit of treatment for radiotherapy. There is no chemotherapy available. My cancer is resistant to the standard chemo and I am not well enough to even contemplate the only stronger alternative.<br />
<br />
The consensus is that I have entered my last few months of life on this earth.<br />
<br />
And so to timing.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpDEIiUh9Dc4WWzJJPGw5roLEu79oLGlrI5YsW4vA8GEpBUxqXf38MtQnJoNcRjlcN_zhJLWgAEqkyxilMCml1ENyo5_l3yGvYynZ43bRLVzukh_s0JoQ0TB6IIVOxwMKZ75sV_1_43Ew/s1600/Joseph+Weld+Hopsice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpDEIiUh9Dc4WWzJJPGw5roLEu79oLGlrI5YsW4vA8GEpBUxqXf38MtQnJoNcRjlcN_zhJLWgAEqkyxilMCml1ENyo5_l3yGvYynZ43bRLVzukh_s0JoQ0TB6IIVOxwMKZ75sV_1_43Ew/s320/Joseph+Weld+Hopsice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Recently, I shared my ambivalent thoughts on retiring (<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/10/broken-vessels.html?m=0" target="_blank">Broken Vessels</a></b>) and it just so happened that on the day of my official retirement last Friday, I was transferred from hospital to our local hospice in Dorchester. The timing was poignant to say the least.<br />
<br />
I should only be here for a few days this time to get my meds on an even keel and control my pain to give me some quality of life for the time I have left.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to one positive thought tonight and the opportunity to express it. As I face this shortening fuse, at least I get the opportunity to prepare for my death – a luxury which many do not enjoy - and I want use it to ensure that, wherever possible, I am at peace with others.<br />
<br />
So to anyone I have hurt over the years, I humbly ask your forgiveness. And to anyone who knows they have hurt me, may I assure you of mine.<br />
<br />
In the last few moments of Blade Runner it is the android, the replicant who is about to die, that displays the greatest humanity. Built to destroy, he chooses to save a life as his last act before the curtains come down on his own – and he saves the life of the person who has been sent to kill him.<br />
<br />
There is nothing so dramatic in my life, but I have often found myself in conflict with others during my ministry and conflict almost inevitably leads to one or both parties being hurt.<br />
<br />
Neither is this a death-bed confession (I've got a few months to go yet and nothing to warrent such hype!) but setting things straight is given a high priority in the Gospels.<br />
<br />
In the <b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+5&version=NIV" target="_blank">Sermon on the Mount</a></b>, Jesus says,<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text Matt-5-23" id="en-NIV-23258" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="woj" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">“Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you,</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="text Matt-5-24" id="en-NIV-23259" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="woj" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span class="text Matt-5-24" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="woj" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">(Matthew 5:23;24)</span></span></div>
<br />
In the <b><a href="https://www.churchofengland.org/our-faith/going-church-and-praying/lords-prayer" target="_blank">Lord's Prayer</a></b>, our own forgiveness is inextricably linked with our willingness to forgive others.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Forgive us our sins<br />as we have forgiven those who sin against us."</blockquote>
<br />
Forgiveness shared and exchanged is the only way in God’s kingdom and I both offer and seek this as part of my preparation for what lies ahead.<br />
<br />
Beyond that, I would ask for your continuing prayers for my wife Mel, son Isaac and daughter Iona. They are uppermost in my thoughts and prayers at this time and I would be grateful if you could spare a moment for them from time to time.<br />
<br />
For myself, I have found encouragement in the words of Psalm 16 recently:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I keep my eyes always on the LORD.<br />With him at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.<br />Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;<br />my body also will rest secure,<br />because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,<br />nor will you let your faithful one see decay.<br />You make known to me the path of life;<br />you will fill me with joy in your presence,<br />with eternal pleasures at your right hand.<br />Amen.</blockquote>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com84Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-73214608250880277722018-11-25T21:48:00.000+00:002018-11-25T21:48:47.279+00:00Breaking the Law<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9Kg2YY0P4N-o9b6Vwyl3i7uRu795A29PmYgBNYfRUX-tMQV1x3Nvnd_Ixpq61mMj3PJp0NfFk3VaF4D4i7fCrSrNxqln2p22pQb3T6R9KEl6n32124Nus-m1VTyTUlBDcOUTAOl_08A/s1600/China+Bible+1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9Kg2YY0P4N-o9b6Vwyl3i7uRu795A29PmYgBNYfRUX-tMQV1x3Nvnd_Ixpq61mMj3PJp0NfFk3VaF4D4i7fCrSrNxqln2p22pQb3T6R9KEl6n32124Nus-m1VTyTUlBDcOUTAOl_08A/s1600/China+Bible+1.jpeg" /></a><i>I have struggled to decide whether to include this in ‘Crossing
the Line’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>On the one hand I promised not to speak about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>On the other, government policy in China
today has not changed and if anything, it has become even more aggressive
towards people of faith. Many things have changed beyond all recognition over
the last 30 years but the continuing<b><a href="https://www.express.co.uk/news/world/814645/china-church-religion-crackdown-shuangmiao-henan" target="_blank"> arrest and imprisonment of Christians</a></b> and
the latest “<b><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-45812419" target="_blank">Re-education Camps” for Muslims</a></b>, show that intolerance for
religious freedom remains as strong as ever in the Peoples Republic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Indeed, religious persecution is alive and well across
the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is often systematic,
well-established and long term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each
small story shared builds the picture so in the end I have decided to include
it here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope it will be a reminder of
the lengths to which regimes will go to suppress religious freedom and the
risks which people of faith live with day by day...</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 28</h3>
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While I was working with drug addicts in Hong Kong, I
also came across a different Christian group who were on a mission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their mission was just as committed, just as
dynamic and required just as much courage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They supported Christians in mainland China who were being continually
persecuted for their faith, risking arrest and practising their faith in secret
because of the Communist government’s policy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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For Chinese Christians in the latter half of the 20<sup>th</sup>
Century, life was difficult. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the
beginning of the Cultural Revolution until 1976, all religious expression was banned
in China, but churches continued to meet in secret and if anything grew in
number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the early 1980’s a different
tactic emerged, with Christians being invited to register and join the newly
resurrected (and state-controlled) Three-Self Patriotic Movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although this might have appeared to be a
welcome relaxation, it was a way to monitor and control those who registered,
while anyone who did not would still be liable to arrest and imprisonment if
caught practising their faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
could be for attending unauthorised meetings or having Christian possessions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bibles were classified as pornography in China
and being found with one was a serious offence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While some Christians registered, most did not and the
greatest desire among underground Christians in China was for Chinese
Bibles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The group I came across smuggled
Bibles into China and I volunteered for a trip into the Peoples Republic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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All of this sounds very brave and exciting, but for a
westerner, it wasn’t really brave at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Such was the desire to keep the persecution of Christians an internal
and hidden issue, foreign nationals caught with Bibles were merely given a
telling off and then allowed to continue their trip without the Bibles they
brought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The authorities would even give
receipts to foreign nationals for any Bibles confiscated which could then be
used to reclaim the Bibles when they left the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people who took the real risks were the
Chinese nationals who received the Bibles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For them, the future could be very bleak if caught.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This in turn created an opportunity however.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Foreign nationals could be useful in smuggling
Bibles across the border from Hong Kong into China, reducing the risk for
Chinese Christians at the border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
volunteered, booked a few days off, and waited for instructions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The day came and I was paired up with another English man
(let’s call him Andy) who had also volunteered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We were given 2 back-packs full of Bibles, along with travel documents, tickets
and verbal instructions for where and when to hand over our precious cargo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found ourselves on the express train from
Hong Kong to Guangzhou with our heavy backpacks and hearts beating a little
faster than usual.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was only a short journey – just over 100 miles – but looking
out of the train window as we crossed the border into China revealed a very
different world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like travelling
back in time as famers came into view, ploughing with water buffalo or working
their way across the paddy fields in long human chains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rural life in China was just the same as it
had been for centuries and I wondered what these rural people made of our
sleek, modern express train cutting its way through their landscape.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Andy and I both knew that crossing the border was the
easy part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no formalities on
the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the document checks would
take place at the station in Guangzhou, along with the x-ray scanners for all
baggage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone would disembark and be
processed before being welcomed as foreign guests into China.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Foreigners were very welcome in southern China
because of the foreign currency we brought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At that time, visitors could only exchange their dollars or pounds for
Foreign Exchange Certificates (FEC) rather than regular currency to ensure that
the government received it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is
more, FECs could only be spent at authorised shops and restaurants which were
owned and controlled by the state, so it was a win-win for the Communist party.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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We had our FECs along with our visas but getting through
the station in Guangzhou would be the challenge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To ensure no undesirable foreign material
came into the country, every bag was scanned, and then opened if anything suspicious
was seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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There were only two tactics which could enable Bible
smugglers like us to get through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The first was to pray, and we had been told how many
times this had worked with scanner operators distracted just for a moment when
bags went through or technical problems blacking out the screen at the crucial
moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Secondly, if you were one of first passengers to reach
the border controls, there was a chance that the bag scanners were not yet
being monitored, as the security staff only started getting themselves ready once
the train arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The quick passenger
might just get to the scanners before they were fully functional or before the
operative had focused on the job in hand. This wasn’t easy however, because
the sight of someone with a heavy backpack running from the train through the
crowds would look more than a little suspicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drawing attention to oneself was not the way
to get through!<o:p></o:p></div>
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So inwardly we prayed and practically we took our places
at the train doors as we approached Guangzhou, hoping to be the first out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When the train arrived, I got off first and couldn’t
believe what I saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I stepped onto
the platform, there was a Chinese state guide meeting a small group of American
tourists in the next carriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
shouting at the small group. “Quickly, quickly, follow me to miss queues!” and
immediately led them off at high speed through the station to the border
control!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tagged onto the back of the
group and found myself being led by a state official and waved through all the
preliminary checks until we reached the final obstacle – passport stamping and
the scanners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was there in record time
and without arousing any suspicion!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Then I simply peeled off from the group, went to
different booth and presented myself to the border guard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He checked my papers and asked me the purpose
of my visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pointed to my backpack
and said “Back-packing!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stamped my
passport, and signalled for me to put the backpack onto the conveyor belt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did this with my heart in my mouth, but as
it moved through the scanner I realised there was no one sitting in the scanner
monitor’s chair yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My bag came out the
other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked it up, swung it
onto my back, and walked slowly into the crowd of people waiting to meet
friends and relatives on the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had done it – or rather, God had!<o:p></o:p></div>
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My colleague Andy was not so fortunate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had deliberately planned to exit from
different doors of the train and he hadn’t seen the group I latched onto.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not knowing which way to go, he ended up being
swept up in the crowd making their way slowly to the controls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as his bag disappeared into the
scanner, the belt stopped, and two police officers appeared at his side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was led away into a side room where his
backpack was unpacked slowly before his eyes in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The intention was intimidation rather than
threat of action, but it felt like one and the same. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After what seemed like an age, a more senior
officer entered the room and spoke to him in English, asking him why he was
bringing pornography into China to corrupt the people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he was shouted at, photographed and left
on his own for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After another
long period in lonely silence someone else came in, gave him the empty
back-pack, passport & a receipt for the Bibles before letting him go.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Meanwhile, waiting in the station my initial joy and
elation was changing to worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the
last passengers emerged from security I knew what had happened. Andy had been
caught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I stood in the crowded
station getting increasingly anxious, I found it hugely ironic that people kept
coming up to me, openly trying to sell me drugs in broken English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some contraband was clearly less important
than others in China.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When Andy finally emerged, He saw me but headed off in a
different direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He and I had both
thought the same thing - was he being followed?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Were the police checking to see if he was on his own?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For about half an hour he and I wandered separately
around the huge station square outside, looking at stalls, consulting guidebooks,
and looking for a tail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only when he was
sure there was no one following him, did he come over and tell me what had
happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was shaken but his greatest
concern was for the people who would be let down, and that he didn’t compromise
their safety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Our rendezvous to pass on the remaining Bibles in my
backpack was not until dusk and as it was now late morning, we had a most of
the day to fill so we decided to carry on with the day as planned. We had been
told of an amazing restaurant for foreign visitors and had a map of tourist
sites in Guangzhou, so we pressed on, hoping that the drama of the day was now
behind us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Making our way to the restaurant was a crash course in
true Chinese culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hong Kong could
feel like it was Chinese, but in the 1980’s it was very different to the
reality of the People’s Republic. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The first thing we noticed was that everyone seemed to
dress and act the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chinese tunics,
baggy trousers and sandals seemed to be compulsorily with only slight variation
in colour, age and condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there
were the bicycles which were everywhere!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only cars we saw were taxis for the tourists which ironically, had to
drive at the same speed as the bicycles because there was no other way through
the throng.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We also became aware of older ladies sitting at the
corners of each road junction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
their red armbands and Mao’s Little Red Book overtly sticking out of their
tunic pocket, they simply sat there with inscrutable faces and watched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were the committed party members I had
heard about, who were paid a token to watch their neighbourhood every day and
simply report back anything which was out of the ordinary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In China, it was ‘Big Sister’ who was
watching you!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But the thing that really caught us out was very practical.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Every sign was written in Chinese characters – street
names, directions, information – everything was in a language we could not
read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may sound obvious, but this
came as a completely disempowering shock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While I was learning spoken Cantonese, I had no idea how to read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Hong Kong, all signs were bi-lingual,
appearing in Chinese and English; here in China, trying to read a language with
no alphabet left us lost. I remember thinking that I now knew something of what
it must be like to be illiterate in a strange place. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As a result, we were totally unable to find our way
around and after giving up trying to find the restaurant, we finally flagged
down a taxi. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pointed to it on our
tourist map and were there in no time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When we entered the restaurant, we saw yet another side
to China.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sheer opulence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside the ornate doors of the restaurant, we
found ourselves in a 3 story lobby with a huge ornamental waterfall cascading
down rocky pools with exotic birds perched on the intertwining vegetation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around the waterfall, a double marble
staircase curved its way up to the main restaurant, which was sumptuously
filled with lacquer furniture and traditional carved screens embedded with jade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiters were immaculately turned out in
white uniforms and all spoke English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It was such a contrast to the ox-ploughing farmers, the
throngs of bicycles, and the clothed uniformity of their riders outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the China which the People’s
Republic wanted to showcase to visiting tourists spending their FECs and
ordinary Chinese people were not allowed in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We felt immediately under-dressed in our trainers, jeans and tee-shirts,
but without hesitation we were welcomed and shown to a table with its own
bamboo tree growing beside it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The greatest shock was yet to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we were handed the menu which was more
like a book with its 30 or so pages, we opened it up to the first page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After being relieved to find it printed in
both Chinese and English, we looked down the list of dishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were all priced in both FECs and US dollars,
and to our horror, none of them cost less than $100 per dish! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We couldn’t afford that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had less than $100 dollars in FECs to see us through the entire
trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What were we going to do now?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Hurriedly we turned the page and found the dishes on page
two were a little cheaper, if still beyond our means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Page three prices were a little cheaper again
and this continued as we made our way through the menu until finally, on the
very last page were a list of dishes in small print, priced only in FECs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At last there was something we could afford!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But now the issue was that they were too cheap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each item on the last page cost just pennies,
the most expensive being the equivalent of less than £1 sterling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely these must be tiny side dishes, given
the prices in the rest of the menu.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So when the waiter came to take our order, we ordered
from this last page, and we ordered lots of them, eight I think, to make up for
the bite size morsels we expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
just a moment, the waiter looked at us with some surprise breaking through his
professional, inscrutable expression but he wrote down the order and returned
to the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few minutes later our food arrived, or rather a
procession emerged from the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The first person in the procession was carrying a table; the second,
clean table linen to place upon it; the remaining waiters were each carrying
the food we had ordered which were not tiny morsels, but rather silver serving
trays piled high with each dish on our order.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To our great embarrassment, the food we had ordered
filled both tables!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a banquet
which would have fed a dozen people and here we were, sharing it between the
two of us!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was food everywhere and
it was excellent!<o:p></o:p></div>
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As we tried to sample at least some of each dish, we
wondered how on earth this could be, but then noticed that there were a few
Chinese eating in the restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were smartly dressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had an aura
about them, as you would find in someone of high status.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watched the way in which the waiters
served them, with even greater deference than they gave to the tourists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also had dishes like ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We realised that they must be senior
Communist Party officials from the city, who were allowed by virtue of their
party rank to eat there, but would not be able to pay the prices aimed at
foreign visitors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By working our way
through the menu, persevering out of necessity to the page we could afford, we
had stumbled on the page for local Communist Party leaders and dignitaries.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was the biggest, cheapest meal I have ever been served
in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole bill came to less
than $10 and our only shame was that we couldn’t eat more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope the food did not go to waste.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Emerging from the restaurant an hour later feeling very
full, we could see in the distance the high-rise White Swan Hotel, which was
another place on the tourist map.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in the old diplomatic and trading quarter of Guangzhou where, in colonial times western nationals lived under their own laws rather than Chinese law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an enclave of western power and
culture when Canton (as it was known) was the only foreign gateway into the
huge Chinese trading market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tree
lined avenues of colonial style buildings were still there, and it was a
peculiar contrast to the rest of the city, even in their shabby dilapidated
state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided we would walk off some
of our lunch, heading towards this landmark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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It was during this journey that we realised that we were not
alone after all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As we made our rather hap-hazard way through the blocks
of streets towards our distant but occasionally visible goal, we realised that
one man was making the same turnings we were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We tested our suspicion by sitting in a park for about 20 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seemed to disappear, but then when we set
off again, he re-emerged behind us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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A chill went down our spines. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Had he been there right from the railway station?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had he been dispatched because Andy had been
caught with Bibles?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did he suspect that
I still had a back-pack of Bibles and would be meeting someone to hand them
over?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would be an enormous risk for
the local contact we were due to meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We couldn’t lead our follower to the rendezvous or else the consequences
would be catastrophic for the local Chinese Christian. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In a rather more sombre mood we continued to make our way
to the White Swan Hotel and sat down for coffee in their spacious lobby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t follow us inside but a cursory
glance through the front doors half an hour later revealed him still to be outside,
waiting for us to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no
mistake.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Somewhat nervously, we hatched a plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would carry on as normal, visiting the
tourist areas and using the White Swan as a base until the time approached for
the handover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he was still there we
would swap over the Bibles to Andy’s back-pack and split up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could only follow one of us, and our hope
was that he would follow me because I was the one who was not caught at the
railway station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If this happened, then
Andy would make the rendezvous as planned as I led our follower in the opposite
direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it didn’t work and he was
still being followed, we would take the Bibles back to Hong Kong with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The risk would be too great.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As dusk started to fall, we transferred the Bibles in the
toilets at the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walked out of
the front door, exchanged a short conversation, and went our separate ways. My
heart was in my mouth and we were both silently praying for him to follow me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To begin with, I couldn’t see him as I walked
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had we called it wrong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or was he hesitating, trying to decide what
to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about five minutes I
stopped by the Pearl River and sat down at a viewing point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I looked around at the boats, the
buildings along the waterfront and the continuing throng of cyclists behind me,
I saw him leaning against a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had
worked!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some distance away, Andy made the rendezvous and handed
over the Bibles without a hitch.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The only thing remaining for us was to get back to Hong
Kong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were booked on the overnight
ferry which made its way down the Pearl River to Hong Kong at its estuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we prepared to board the boat, we had to
go through passport control once again. Then as we boarded, we saw the Red
Ensign flying from the stern and realised that we were now technically back in
British jurisdiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The feeling of
relief was palpable and we both broke into spontaneous nervous laughter!<o:p></o:p></div>
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As the boat made its way slowly out of Guangzhou we began
to relax, and then to reflect on what it must be like to live under that kind
of tension all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For our Chinese
brothers and sisters who would be receiving those Bibles, they would carry with
them the possibility of being discovered every single day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For them, this was not some day trip with
minimal personal risk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a costly
way of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being found with a Bible
would have grave consequences for them and their families – and yet having a
Bible meant so much to them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In that short journey I learned so much about the
commitment of Christians around the world who live in countries where it is not
safe to be a Christian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the
threats of governments, lynch-mobs and terrorists, Christians today in
countries like <b><a href="https://www.express.co.uk/news/world/1018337/Christianity-persecution-china-news-international-christian-concern" target="_blank">China</a></b>, <b><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-46130189" target="_blank">Pakistan</a></b>, and<b><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/jan/10/christians-egypt-unprecedented-persecution-report" target="_blank"> Egypt</a></b> face so many untold dangers alongside
the few we hear about in the West. It is not just Christians who suffer this of
course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rohingya and Weija Muslims are
both being persecuted by different secular regimes in different countries with
different motives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sikhs and Christians
are both being persecuted in India according to UK Members of Parliament who
raised the issue with the Indian president this year.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What is remarkable is the steadfast faith of those who
are persecuted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was deeply inspired by
Chinese Christians who chose to risk their freedom by having a Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bet they read it more than we do in our comfortable
western democracies.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They love it enough to live their lives in a constant
state of breaking the law, aware of the consequences and wholly dependant on
God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are the real heroes and this
story is for them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an Introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com9Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-63937911492186602902018-10-30T09:45:00.000+00:002018-10-30T09:45:20.603+00:00Broken Vessels<br />
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I have just agreed my retirement date with the Church of
England.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be the 30<sup>th</sup>
November.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This is not because I have reached retirement age of
course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been granted ill-health
retirement as a result of my cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having
been unable to work since I was in hospital in August and seeing no prospect of
returning in any meaningful way, I put in my application for retirement soon
afterwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My early retirement will also allow the
Diocese to begin looking for my successor so all in all, it is the best
solution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But it leaves me with an uneasy feeling deep in my bowels
as intertwining strands of relief and sadness weave their way through my body
and soul. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When I was first diagnosed, I decided that I would keep
working for as long as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
else would I do?” was a phrase which I often used when asked, and I profoundly
disliked the idea of just sitting at home waiting to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not giving up yet” was another mantra I
employed which begs the question “Am I giving up now?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From my diagnosis in August 2017, I continued to work
full time until I started chemotherapy in the Autumn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even then I just took two days off around
each chemo infusion and worked from home when I was most prone to infection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was still pretty full on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As time went on though, things started to get more
difficult.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Towards the end of my 5 months of chemotherapy, I found
that I wasn’t recovering as quickly after each cycle and began working 10am-4pm
each day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little later this had to
reduce further to working Monday, Wednesday and Friday, allowing me days in
between to rest and recover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one
hour drive to and from the office also started to take its toll.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then I began to notice that God was giving me hints.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The first came in February this year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was due to see me oncologist for results of
a CT scan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The results would show how
successful my treatment had been so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before we set off for the hospital, I settled down to my morning prayers
with the appointment very much in mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I got to the gospel reading in Celtic Daily Prayer, I found it was
a single verse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="tab-stops: 319.3pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lord you now let your servant depart in
peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation.”<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+2%3A25-32&version=NIVUK" target="_blank"> (Luke2:29)</a></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
These were the words spoken by the old prophet Simeon
when he saw the baby Jesus and knew that God’s promise to him had been
fulfilled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now he was ready to die in
peace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was taken aback. What did this mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was I about to be told?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At the appointment I found that the scan results were mixed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some mets (tumours) had shrunk, some had
grown and there were some new ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
wasn’t what my oncologist had hoped for but it wasn’t disastrous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew it didn’t signal the end in my fight
with cancer, so what was God trying to tell me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Was there something else which was coming to an end?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The second hint was less subtle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In July, I was on my way to celebrate
Communion with a group of young people who were spending a year in the diocese exploring
vocation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was always a joy to meet
with them and a privilege to celebrate Communion, yet while driving there I
felt so tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed, “Lord, please,
if you want me to keep working, I need some energy!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At the end of Communion, I packed my communion set away
as usual and set off for home, still feeling dreadfully tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At home I got the pottery pattern and chalice
out to clean them properly only to find the chalice in pieces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had stored and carried it in the same way
for years without any incident and yet somehow, this time, it had been broken.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I held its broken pieces in my hands I felt
immediately overwhelmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew what God
was saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Central to the ministry of
any priest is the celebration of Holy Communion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was time to let go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Being a good Charismatic Evangelical however, I knew that
I should never rush into anything, but wait for a third and final confirmation
of this word to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I talked with my
spiritual director and we agreed that I would wait to see what my oncologist
said when we next met.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I didn’t have to wait long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In August I was unexpectedly admitted to
hospital feeling very poorly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After yet
another scan, my oncologist appeared at the bottom of my bed with the news that
the treatment was not keeping pace with the development of my cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things would only get harder from now on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew the time had come to set work aside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Looking back, I had been preparing for it at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the last 12 months, I had been working
to make my role more sustainable without me; putting together teams of people
who could carry on the important work of identifying and encouraging people who
God is calling to Christian ministry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some areas were now strong enough and ready, but others were not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Couldn’t I have had a just few more months, to
future-proof everything? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I reflected on this, I have realised that it would
always have felt this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would
never have felt that I had done enough so the feeling is irrelevant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>““Lord you now let your servant depart in
peace” is all I have to rely on, that God feels I have done enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And yet the sadness remains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end it all feels very sudden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I first felt God’s call to ordained ministry
over 40 years ago when I was just 14 and being obedient to that call has been
at the very centre of everything for me, and subsequently for myself, my wife,
& family, ever since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, suddenly,
it is over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After I found my broken chalice, my wife Mel suggested we
repair it and told me about the Japanese art of <b><a href="https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-centuries-old-japanese-tradition-mending-broken-ceramics-gold" target="_blank">Kintsugi</a></b> where broken pottery is
repaired using lacquer infused with gold, making the result much more beautiful
and, indeed valuable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t in a
place where I could hear this at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The broken pieces went into the bin <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I regret that now and wish I had listened to her (how many
times do husbands say that?!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God is in
the business of binding up the broken after all, and bringing beauty out of
brokenness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was too hasty with my
chalice, perhaps because the truth its broken pieces revealed to me was too
uncomfortable to accept at that time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfiCm9oI6MsC9DkvO8g7WemtXvKEMh84M_pE8cQiLfCyDnFErzf-7Ln34V706UrV90qC0r0wM7Onu3PPue_ksOwLR76yRzc9Y-7lGiJ55xLg5YpUxlW-IY3vCJnTaMVw7dJhj-NltKdE/s1600/Broken+Vessels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfiCm9oI6MsC9DkvO8g7WemtXvKEMh84M_pE8cQiLfCyDnFErzf-7Ln34V706UrV90qC0r0wM7Onu3PPue_ksOwLR76yRzc9Y-7lGiJ55xLg5YpUxlW-IY3vCJnTaMVw7dJhj-NltKdE/s320/Broken+Vessels.jpg" width="227" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broken Vessels by Leila Mather</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But then in September, one of my friends shared on Facebook a piece
of art which she had created.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Leila entitled it “Broken Vessels”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot guess at what she
saw in her each element of her painting, but I know how it spoke to me.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The lines of gold in the chalice speak to me of a broken
vessel restored in that ancient Japanese tradition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each one showing an element of brokenness and
yet also celebrated and valued as the cup returns to useful service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dove is the Holy Spirit still descending
on this broken cup with God’s blessing and anointing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The blue lines around the dove’s head speak
to me to the waters of life still flowing into the chalice, or flowing out to
the world around it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps God isn’t finished with me yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Bible verse quoted in the painting reminds us that
“We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power
is from God and not from us.” (2 Corinthians 4:7)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My sadness comes from the realisation that I am a jar of
clay, and one which is breaking a little more each day, but I can also be
thankful for the treasure which God has placed inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My calling to be a priest continues of
course, irrespective of whether I am working in the church or retired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps God may yet have some things for me
to do, broken as I am.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I retire from ministry on 30<sup>th</sup> November, but
my calling carries on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com18Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-69108668799806465002018-10-21T12:16:00.000+01:002018-11-25T21:50:51.453+00:00Growing in confidence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 27</h3>
<br />
As the weeks and months at <b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/10/tai-tam.html?m=0" target="_blank">Tai Tam</a></b> went by, I began to
grow into the pattern of life there.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I developed my own kind of harmony with the routine of
day to day life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I discovered my niche
in our ever changing community of brothers and helpers. I discovered the things
I liked to do on my day off each week and the things I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My fellow western helpers were a wonderfully mixed bunch
of people, drawn mostly from the UK, USA, & New Zealand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got used to being called ‘Beenie’ by my
Kiwi colleagues and ‘Ah Bey-neigh’ by the Chinese brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were also blessed with 2 or 3 Chinese helpers
at any one time, themselves ex-addicts who had stayed within the ministry to
help others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They understood 10 times
more than us westerners of what was being said around us and had the wisdom to
share with us the things we needed to know, without telling us too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, in difficult moments, it was
better not to understand what was being said to you in Cantonese, making it easier
to remain calm & collected!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of
them also acted as translator for us in meetings and in 1-1 chats with
individual brothers – a role which was very demanding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Living in a Cantonese speaking world with 20 teachers,
(all the brothers at Tai Tam) the basic Cantonese which my vicar back in London
had taught me came into its own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
had felt unnatural and incomprehensible in London, now felt very natural and I
started to learn quickly without making too many mistakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a tonal language it is easy to get things
wrong without realising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an airport
for example, the same words with different tonal inflections means ‘to catch a
plane’ or ‘hit the waiter’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of our
helpers got confused between the words for sorry (Dur’me ju) and praise the
Lord (Jan’me Ju) and wondered why people looked at her strangely when she
bumped into them on the busy Hong Kong streets and immediately exclaimed
“Praise the Lord!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Cantonese I learned was rather peculiar though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a few months I could talk about drugs,
being filled with the Holy Spirit and receiving the gifts of the Spirit but
couldn’t order a meal in a Cantonese restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also learned when to speak Cantonese and
when to speak English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given that most
of my teachers were ex-triads, the Cantonese that they taught me was more like
learning English from a mobster in New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Occasionally I was invited out to lunch or afternoon tea with some of the
more respectable members of the Church congregation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon learned not to try out my Cantonese
there as I could see their eyebrows rise or their jaws drop at the street
Cantonese which came out of my mouth – English was always the better option
there!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On my days off I enjoyed doing 2 things – breakfast and
walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best place for breakfast
was the YWCA in Wanchai.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back in 1988 it
was right on the harbour front and its restaurant had the most beautiful
panoramic view of Hong Kong, Kowloon and the harbour in between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their international buffet breakfast was
served from 7:30am – 11am and you could eat all you wanted for $20HK (less than
£2).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would go there to eat, drink
coffee and write letters most mornings on my days off and then decide which
district of Hong Kong I was going to walk around for the rest of the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I also found that my guitar was in demand after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I played for the evening worship time at Tai
Tam most evenings, and learned to sing in Cantonese. Most of the brothers
wanted to learn to play guitar too, so I would try to teach them as best as I
could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon I learned the fluid,
effortless way of leading worship in English and Cantonese which fitted the
sung worship at St Stephens Society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
the time came for our worship leader at the weekly helper’s meeting to return
to the UK, I was asked to take his place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was an immense and unexpected honour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The weekly western helper’s meeting was the only time all
of the westerners came together from the different parts of the ministry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were between 30-40 of us and Jackie
Pullinger would be there to lead the meeting as a whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a cross between prayer, praise and
therapy as we could all let our hair down for a couple of hours, share the
things which had been happening (good and bad) and support one another with a
hug of empathy, a smile of encouragement or prayer ministry for strength or
healing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sung worship would normally
fill about half of the two hours we spent together so being asked to lead this
was huge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon afterwards I was also
asked to join the Sunday worship group for church on the Sundays I was there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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I learned so much from both these experiences about what
brings people close to God, and how to lead worship simply, without
manipulating people’s emotions, while letting God do what he wants to do in
their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all Jackie’s fame as a
Charismatic icon, she was very down to earth, and hated seeing people
manipulated by overly emotional songs or over-spiritualising everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember Jackie being prayed with at one
meeting because she was feeling particularly low and tired at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone shared a picture of a wide river
which she was trying to cross, where the current was so strong that it
almost swept her away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a word of
prophecy was shared which said, “Don’t worry Jackie – God is with you and you will
reach the other side safely.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
everyone had finished praying with her, she leaned over to me and whispered, “I
can cross the rivers – it’s coming back to get everyone else that gets me
down!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Most of all though, I learned a different way of
Christian life and ministry, one which would change my whole outlook and sense
of calling for life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Jackie Pullinger’s approach to ministry was simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Start with the poor. </span>Jesus always started with the poor, and if
you minister to the poor, the rich will sit up and take notice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So if you want to reach the world with the
Good News of the Gospel, start with the poor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This might not sound that radical, but it was completely different to my
experience in the Church of England where anyone looking in on our
congregations would assume that Jesus came for the educated middle class and
little else!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Jesus’ first sermon at Nazareth sets the scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He read from the prophet Isaiah,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me<br />
Because the Lord has anointed me,<br />
To bring good news to the poor.<br />
He has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted,<br />
To proclaim freedom for the captives<br />
and release from darkness for the prisoners,<br />
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.<br />
<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+61%3A1-3&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">(Isaiah 61)</a></b></blockquote>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As he passed the scroll back to the synagogue official he
said, “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” <b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+4%3A14-21&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">(Luke 4)</a></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Today this passage is often referred to as the Nazareth
manifesto. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus setting out his stall
at the outset of his public ministry, and of all the thousands of verses in the
Old Testament, he chose these as the heart of what he was about – good news to
the poor - and here in Hong Kong, for the first time, that is what I was
witnessing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The poor were being put
first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The broken hearted, prisoners and
captives being set free and healed, not as an afterthought, but at the very
core of God’s plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew there were
those in the UK who advocated this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>David Shepherd’s book “<b><a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/Bias_to_the_Poor.html?id=qyS6BAAAQBAJ&source=kp_book_description&redir_esc=y" target="_blank">Bias to the Poor</a></b>” made similar arguments in the
early 80’s, but the Church of England is a slow and ponderous institution and
there was also a backlash to the suggestion that God might have favourites
(especially if you were not one of them!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Here I saw the poor being put first and valued as I had
never seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw love transforming
lives and began to read the Gospels afresh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I saw that almost invariably the first people Jesus went to were the
sinners, outcasts and sick; those on the margins of society; those who were
looked down on by the religious and political classes. Why should the church of
today be doing things any differently?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps because we have become the religious and political class of our
day?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I also realised that it was the difference he made to
people’s lives which resulted in them putting their faith in him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t bombard them with clever arguments
and then ask them to decide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He simply
poured out the Father’s love upon them and left the response to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the ‘enlightened’ west, we focus on
intellectual argument.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The church tries
to convince people of the case for Christianity, of the historical evidence, of
the philosophical integrity of the Gospel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That is what most evangelistic sermons are about; putting together a
case for the Christian faith, and hoping it will persuade people to sign
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the poor are not interested in
intellectual arguments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t
know where your next meal is coming from, the intellectual integrity of a
belief system is not your top priority – what you want to know is ‘Does it
work?’!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I referred in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/09/walled-city.html?m=0" target="_blank">Walled City</a></b> to faith in a god called Jesus who helps heroin addicts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When addicts came to our meetings in Walled
City, they knew nothing about Jesus except this and just as we read in the New
Testament, God poured out his love upon them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They met with God within a few minutes of walking inside the door as
they were filled with the Holy Spirit and chose to put their trust in him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were still heroin addicts but God poured
out is Spirit on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were still
triad members, but God poured out his Spirit on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would be going home from the meeting
into their often horrendous way of life, but God poured out his Spirit on them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This in turn challenged my unspoken understanding of how
God works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All through my Christian
life, I had mistakenly thought that you could only experience more of God if
you understood more about him and changed your life to be more like him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet at Walled City and Tai Tam, I saw God
pouring out his Spirit on people who knew nothing and had not yet changed!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On people who were drug dealers, pimps,
enforcers, and thugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because they knew their need of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t have to believe the right things
before God would work in their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They simply needed to open their hearts to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I saw this in many different ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was one brother at Tai Tam who was
always difficult and eventually he ran away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As often happened when brothers ran away, he came to the next Walled
City meeting regretting his decision to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was visibly high on heroin and he looked a mess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We prayed with him, more out of duty than
conviction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet when it came to our time
of worship, God used him to bring a message to the whole meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was one of the most beautiful words of
prophecy I have ever heard, and as a result, half a dozen hardened men broke
down in tears and asked for prayer to live a new life. He was used by God more
powerfully than anything I did that night.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In the Gospels I began to realise that Jesus poured out
healing and love on people unconditionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whether they chose to follow him or shout “Crucify”, he healed, blessed,
forgave and set people free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I saw that when he called the disciples, he didn’t give
them a lecture and a theology test before asking them to be his disciples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He simply said follow me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as they spent time with him, that
they slowly (often very slowly) began to understand who he was and what he had
come to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I was beginning to
understand in a new way too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I mentioned last week in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/10/tai-tam.html?m=0" target="_blank">Tai Tam</a></b> to our evening worship time, when songs of praise were sung
with heart and soul, but that didn’t always make me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During a particularly difficult time with
some brothers, I remember looking at their angelic faces during one of these
times of worship and thinking, “You hypocrites!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>An hour ago you were being manipulative, selfish and putting us through
hell!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t think you can simply put on
your worship face and pretend it never happened!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the quietness a few minutes later however,
God was gracious enough to speak to me and said, “When you see them praise me,
you are looking at who they really are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> That is the real person I created. And now </span>I have given them new life and that is what you see in worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The person you see when they make life
difficult – that is not them anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That is their old life which is passing away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was me that had jumped to the wrong
conclusions, and it was my way of thinking which needed to be turned on its
head!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When Jackie was asked about the success rate at St
Stephens Society, she always said it was 100%.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This often puzzled the journalist or visitor who was asking because they
knew not everyone stuck with the programme.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For Jackie however, success was not defined by the outcome in their
addiction, because even if they dropped out, they went away with Jesus in their hearts and whenever they came
back, she welcomed them as brothers in Christ, ready for the next step of their
walk with him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In Hong Kong I discovered a new God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A God who is generous beyond our wildest
dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A God who loves the poor, the
broken-hearted and the captive, and puts them first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A God who uses the most unlikely people to
bless others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A God who doesn’t let
go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A God who pours out his Spirit on
people according to their need, rather than as a reward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A God who, having given everything on the
cross, still gives more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This God is called Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew him before, but much more dimly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought I knew him well, but I <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
discovered that my understanding of him had such a long
way to go.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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After a few months, I finally got my hair cut; not
because I was pressured or bullied into it; not because I was threatened with
having my pony tail it cut off as I slept (although I was!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
because I came to realise that my long hair was a barrier between me and some
of the brothers who found it hard to accept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We made the event into a celebration at Tai Tam with everyone gathered
around as the scissors did their work and a huge cheer went up as I was handed
the hair, held together by a hairband. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ate celebration cake together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I did it because I saw that it stood in the way of our
relationship as brothers in Christ. We are all equal before God and all
pilgrims on the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sometimes less is more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/11/breaking-law.html?m=0">Click here for part 28 - Breaking the Law</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com2Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-38993520809465156222018-10-14T14:56:00.000+01:002018-10-30T10:09:56.286+00:00Tai Tam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx97Ufdtz5fQdX7PiiooR3D_GW3uDtScNrzyMCKFPppvQuukm7p5TncnWkhURM-PL411ur-aPdCl-4ZEoa97Rj-0dY4cqFMD98IzbrKjU5G8xe6PGhdi4eWybPNTzMhsTMgMooqHXH6lY/s1600/HK+Tai+Tam+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx97Ufdtz5fQdX7PiiooR3D_GW3uDtScNrzyMCKFPppvQuukm7p5TncnWkhURM-PL411ur-aPdCl-4ZEoa97Rj-0dY4cqFMD98IzbrKjU5G8xe6PGhdi4eWybPNTzMhsTMgMooqHXH6lY/s320/HK+Tai+Tam+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 26</h3>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The house at <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tai_Tam" target="_blank">Tai Tam</a></b> was an old colonial relic. It was built as a small family house for the manager of the reservoir system which dominates that area of
Hong Kong Island – a series of dam walls, reservoirs and catchment channels
which provided water for the island before the population explosion after the
Second World War. The house was
beautifully situated by the sea with its own small shingle beach. On the other sides it was surrounded by
semi-jungle on steep banks which led up from the shoreline towards the main
road to Stanley.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
By the 1980s it was well past its former colonial glory and
the Hong Kong Government offered it to Jackie on a peppercorn rent, as a First
Stage House for heroin addicts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrimNQCXU-9J4NzhAdUO048l1QtnXpPQMMHpFo87yqeK1lFUokOa9R_c2K1wJgT5qsm8GHqmvDUWOTmiyidXuSujMp5EA2_8Ms7AJ1fT84CW6p3s7IOPq97Y_WspSOdRkQjqFrruiWQg/s1600/HK+Tai+Tam+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrimNQCXU-9J4NzhAdUO048l1QtnXpPQMMHpFo87yqeK1lFUokOa9R_c2K1wJgT5qsm8GHqmvDUWOTmiyidXuSujMp5EA2_8Ms7AJ1fT84CW6p3s7IOPq97Y_WspSOdRkQjqFrruiWQg/s320/HK+Tai+Tam+2.jpg" width="224" /></a>Downstairs there was a lounge which acted as our meeting
room, a dining room, small kitchen, and a tiny office. Upstairs, all the internal doors had been
removed along with some of the stud walls to cram in as many bunk beds as
possible forming a dormitory. It was
here that all the men at Tai Tam slept, recent ex-addicts and helpers
alike. Each of us had a top or bottom
bunk bed, a small cupboard for clothes, and fan to keep us cool at night. There was no air-conditioning, except in the
office downstairs (and that was rarely used) and we slept with the windows open
every night – even in winter!<o:p></o:p></div>
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There were also some outbuildings, which provided a small
dormitory for our female helpers, along with a shower & toilet block and
our ‘new boy room’. This was where new
brothers spent their first 10 days with us, withdrawing from heroin, methadone,
opium, and whatever else they were addicted to.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I arrived from <b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/09/walled-city.html?m=0" target="_blank">Walled City</a></b> it was late in the
evening and everyone was already asleep apart from the single figure on night
duty, sat at the top of the stairs. I
was told to leave anything valuable in the office and shown to the first empty
bed upstairs to get some sleep. I
remember lying there thinking that I was sleeping in a room with around 15
ex-triads who had probably committed more violent crimes that I could imagine,
but I was so tired that I soon went to sleep anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Next morning the daily routine at Tai Tam started
early. Wake up was at 6:45am each day
and everyone gathered in the lounge by 7:30 for <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quiet_Time" target="_blank">Quiet Time</a></b> – an hour for
individual prayer and Bible study. The beginning
of this Quiet Time was anything but quiet though, beginning with 10 minutes
praying out loud in tongues – the prayer language which everyone there had received. It was a strangely harmonious cacophony of
sounds as we all prayed out loud at the same time, but not unpleasant. In time I learnt to value this as a time when
I abandoned all my own thoughts and agendas, learning to turn myself over to
God’s agenda for the day. For me it
became a kind of corporate meditation which enabled me to attune myself to God
for the day ahead. I don’t think I was
alone in that. After about ten minutes,
the audible gaggle of prayer would gradually fade out and there would be quiet
as we read out Bibles, prayed for our families and each other, and listened for
anything which God might want to say to each of us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then it was breakfast.
It would be fair to say that this never became my favourite meal of the
day. Overall, I loved the food
there. We lived as any Chinese family
did. Fresh food for the day was bought cheaply
from the open market in Chai Wan early every morning and we ate rice three
times a day. Lunch and dinner were fine with
freshly boiled rice and a variety of meat & vegetable dishes to tuck into. But breakfast was usually <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congee" target="_blank">congee</a></b> which I
never became accustomed to. For those
who don’t know, congee is yesterday’s left over rice left in a slow cooker
overnight until it turns into a kind of glutinous white soup. There would be a small amount of finely
chopped meat (a little like spam) sprinkled onto it and a super-hot chilli
sauce available for the brave to take the taste away, but I hated it! Occasionally, if there wasn’t enough left
over rice from the day before, we would get fried noodles instead and these
were red letter days in my book to be enjoyed to the full!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheA_E4nDMIkzejfVVzd9o25F5Jy7XNp6LF6qiZkiWjGvlDVHCch2x59nl0ic2K-iHLS1kUw_6YU_pjvbX2IVWZuSksbmouWIHnp-y-6wI7-Kr9295z2v29WE93vfJ2VG40_7sWWztyAvs/s1600/HK+Tai+Tam+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1169" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheA_E4nDMIkzejfVVzd9o25F5Jy7XNp6LF6qiZkiWjGvlDVHCch2x59nl0ic2K-iHLS1kUw_6YU_pjvbX2IVWZuSksbmouWIHnp-y-6wI7-Kr9295z2v29WE93vfJ2VG40_7sWWztyAvs/s320/HK+Tai+Tam+5.jpg" width="233" /></a>After breakfast, there would be some free time to chat
and ‘drink tea’ (yam-cha) before work at 9:30 which consisted of household
chores, painting & decorating, general maintenance, and keeping the grounds
around the house clean and tidy. For
many of our brothers, this was the first ‘work’ they had done in years and was
not universally popular. For most
addicts in the Triads, work used to be dealing or transporting drugs, beating
up your opposition, or standing guard at the entrance to some illicit
premises. Picking up a paint brush, a
rake or a vacuum cleaner was a whole new experience.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there was lunch which I always enjoyed. That is, I always enjoyed it once I knew how
to recognise the dishes I liked and the dishes I didn’t. There was always a whole fish or two which
was good as long as you managed to avoid the honour of eating the eyes or the
challenge of eating the head! Things I
was less keen on included deep fried chicken feet which were both cheap and
plentiful; cow’s stomach which was so rubbery that it often had to be swallowed
whole; and cubes of congealed blood, which (even though I love black pudding in
England) never quite managed to win me over.
Alongside these delicacies however, there was always food I loved. Prawns and spring onions, beef or pork in
oyster sauce, pak choy and nuts were just a few.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I quickly learned the art of eating quickly with
chopsticks. While in polite company you
leave your rice bowl on the table and delicately lift the chopsticks to your
mouth, in a family setting you pick up your bowl and put it to your mouth to
shovel in the rice at speed! Essential
knowledge if you didn’t want the food to disappear in front of you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The afternoon would be spent getting lots of fresh air
and exercise. In the cooler months, that
meant walking the trails around the reservoirs, up into the mountains. In the summer, we would swim each day from
our little beach or go kayaking in the inlet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkA26lwUkjo50B6hl7l5wIkZLNc3b7uvBgiUFZJ2gE2AQRk2kWWqXcFe6z0DT7Ivd3JCP4D-H11x4Z84PgXtdxk2MqACoYbHjpZg0OJbWH6cQGpkK6GHQzuRM1ibfdSNCdcbpMG4qGI0/s1600/HK+Tai+Tam+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1600" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkA26lwUkjo50B6hl7l5wIkZLNc3b7uvBgiUFZJ2gE2AQRk2kWWqXcFe6z0DT7Ivd3JCP4D-H11x4Z84PgXtdxk2MqACoYbHjpZg0OJbWH6cQGpkK6GHQzuRM1ibfdSNCdcbpMG4qGI0/s320/HK+Tai+Tam+6.jpg" width="320" /></a>After our evening meal, we would meet for worship and
ministry. For an hour or so each evening, we
would sing songs of worship, share something from the Bible, and pray &
minister to each other with gentle words of prophecy, healing and care. These were often wonderful times with songs
being sung with heart and soul, God tangibly present and tears of joy from
hardened men whose hearts were being melted by the love of God.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then after some more free time for showers, yam-cha and
relaxing, we would all gather for brief Night Prayers in the dormitory before
lights out and sleep at 9:45pm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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All of this sounds idyllic, and many aspects of being at
Tai Tam were, but that is only half the story.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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The other side of our day to day life was extremely
challenging. Anyone who has lived in
close community with others will know just how challenging that can be. Different people, with different norms,
different priorities, different likes and dislikes, different cultures and assumptions
can be a powder keg even among people who choose to live together in
community. At Tai Tam we were a
community of very recent ex-heroin addicts, triad members, older brothers and
western helpers. In one sense, helping
them physically withdraw from heroin was the easy part. It was learning to live a new life together which
was the real challenge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Many had been on drugs since they were 10 or 11 years
old. They had never experienced
adolescence. Now, free from a drug
induced haze for the first time, we would see and experience middle aged men
going through the tantrums of adolescence for the first time, having to come to
terms with raw emotions and how to live with them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Almost all of our brothers had spent time in prison and many
of them had bounced in and out of prison for years. They were skilled in the tools of
manipulation to get their way from those in authority.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIKh32eLeWwPqOI9Iu5wwCd8TAr1-9KlldM-m3uc9ti7RPsAswL2ACMu5lLBo78Eo_u7QrYtzNIB8uiEJdZMC864GdmO1yUZ4XYFnp-oumSwB0SXn-ujz_B5LEKAlgNR1LyjETpmGERE/s1600/HK+Tai+Tam+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIKh32eLeWwPqOI9Iu5wwCd8TAr1-9KlldM-m3uc9ti7RPsAswL2ACMu5lLBo78Eo_u7QrYtzNIB8uiEJdZMC864GdmO1yUZ4XYFnp-oumSwB0SXn-ujz_B5LEKAlgNR1LyjETpmGERE/s320/HK+Tai+Tam+7.jpg" width="320" /></a>When we were out walking, we had to be vigilant for what
was being picked up from the pathways. In coming to a First Stage House, it
wasn’t just heroin which our brothers were expected to give up. It was everything addictive, including
alcohol, cigarettes, and coffee. This
was going ‘cold turkey’ on a grand scale and while the physical withdrawal
through prayer was often miraculous, old habits die hard. Scanning the public pathways
for discarded half smoked cigarettes, or cans of beer with a little left in the
bottom were common place for our eagle-eyed brothers. If they found something, it wasn’t the
quantity which was important, it was the temptation to stray from the new life
they were trying to commit to, and temptation always starts small. If we give into it, it then grows and grows
until even the occasional shot of heroin would be ok, wouldn’t it?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there was trust.
Sleeping as we did, alongside the brothers required trust. Almost all had a violent past and some would
have killed for their Triad ‘di-loh’ (Big Brother). If a confrontation had occurred during the
day with a particular brother, we knew that we would be sleeping in the same
room as them that night. There were a number of occasions when I faced
aggression and threats during my time there after having to challenge a brother
about his behaviour or attitude. We all
had to trust that this would not lead to revenge in the small hours of the
night. Ironically, living so closely
together in community actually helped in this.
It begged the question among the brothers, why would the helpers make
themselves so vulnerable? The only
answer was because we loved and cared for them with the love of God who was
even willing to go to the cross for us all.
That love kept us safe, but it didn’t eliminate the stress in difficult
times.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the office we had a <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garfield" target="_blank">Garfield</a></b> postcard pinned up on the
noticeboard. It read “One day I will
look back on all this and laugh!” At times we all drew inspiration from that
postcard. Each helper got one day off
(24 hours) each week with an overnight stay back at Hang Fook Camp if we wanted
it. We also attended the weekly helpers meeting each Thursday morning and went
to the Church service every other Sunday, but apart from that we were there at
Tai Tam 24/7. It was very demanding and
led most helpers to conclude that a month in a first stage house is like a year
anywhere else!<o:p></o:p></div>
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And all that fails to mention the other core business of
a First Stage House – helping our new brothers withdraw from heroin in the
first place. Jackie Pullinger was famous
all over the Christian world for praying addicts off heroin without the kind of
withdrawal pains and sickness which normally accompany going ‘cold
turkey’. As her ministry grew, this part
of the ministry became the role of the First Stage Houses. We would get a new brother almost every week,
and for 10 days someone would be with them, praying with them, 24 hours a day,
in four hour shifts. The ‘someone’ would
be a Western or Chinese Helper, or one of the brothers who was ready to move on
to Hang Fook Camp.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This was the part of being in a First Stage House which
terrified me. I had visions of starting
my first 4 hour shift with our new brother happy and pain free, only to find
that by half way through he was writhing around in agony! After all, I had never done this before. I didn’t know how. Why would God answer my prayers? I was no expert.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was on my second day at Tai Tam that I had to face my
fear. I went to the new brother room to
start my 4 hour shift. The new brother I
was going to spend the next four hours with was the same person we had brought
back from Walled City when I arrived. He
spoke very little English and I spoke very little Cantonese. I tried not to look too nervous. He was in
good spirits, 48 hours into his withdrawal. For the next 4 hours, I sat with him while he
slept and prayed with him every 15 minutes when he was awake. I walked with him around the house and garden
when he was bored and he showed me how to make Chinese tea. Despite all my misgivings, he didn’t
deteriorate into a sweaty, clammy, gibbering wreck and I discovered something
vitally important. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It wasn’t all about me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My fears were all about me. I was frightened that my prayers wouldn’t be
good enough; that my faith wasn’t strong enough; that I wasn’t up the task
before me. It was all me, me, me! <o:p></o:p></div>
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What I had failed to realise was that it was not about me
at all. As I joined this rota of prayer,
I became part of something much bigger than me.
I was being swept up into a ministry that had been blessed by God over
many years, as was the new brother I was praying with. As my 4 hours drew to a close, I remembered
his words when we left Walled City about why this time would be different:
“Before, no Jesus. This time, Jesus.”
Together we were both experiencing the love and grace of God at work – a
grace which flows in spite of our own shortcomings because they are God’s
riches poured out freely upon us and they are nothing we can earn or deserve.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It wasn’t about me – it was about him and God.<o:p></o:p></div>
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During my time at Tai Tam, I had to remind myself that we
were witnessing a miracle almost every day in praying for addicts as they got
clean. Not everyone came off without
symptoms of withdrawal. Generally, most
new brothers (around 8/10) did have a little discomfort coming off their drugs,
but nothing like the aches, pangs and cravings which they had experienced
before, when they had tried to do it on their own. 1 in 10 suffered nothing at all, bouncing
with energy and eating normally, and 1 in 10 did go through the pangs of
withdrawal. I never came to any
conclusions about why that was, although it did remind us of what we could
expect to experience without the blessings of answered prayer!<o:p></o:p></div>
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After 7-10 days as a new brother, they were welcomed
fully into the community at Tai Tam with a celebration. They were now washed clean from the drugs
which used to enslave their lives. We
would share celebration cake together and he would be given a bunk bed in the
main house. We would sing songs of
praise and the real work begun - the learning of a new pattern of life which
would not lead them back into slavery again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not everyone made it through and on to Hang Fook Camp, of
course. We had people who ran away as
new brothers, or later on when we bumped into some area of their life which they
were not willing to open to God. But
most made it through, and for those who didn’t, there was always another chance
when they were ready to take it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had made it through my first few days at Tai Tam. Apart from discovering what an egotist I can
be, I had come through unscathed. As I
became accustomed to the routine and got to know our brothers and other
helpers, Tai Tam became my home. It
would remain so throughout my time in Hong Kong. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I settled into a top bunk at the far end of the dormitory
in what was originally a dressing room.
It now slept ten of us. From my
bed at night, I could often see the mountains silhouetted against the sky by
huge but silent thunderstorms in the far distance over China. When I got to bed
each night, I was so ready for sleep that I would be well away within
minutes. I didn’t get everything right,
and made lots of mistakes, but then getting everything right was not the be all
and end all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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God is bigger than that.</div>
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<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/10/growing-in-confidence.html?m=0">Click here for part 27 - Growing in confidence</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com0Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-36423667001353694842018-09-30T22:25:00.000+01:002018-10-14T15:05:32.801+01:00Walled City<br />
<h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Crossing the Line - part 25</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoY-yYyVYnTa5T-kb5665XQikQiMLjN0jpFtUMnTuVg7uoW_RWe7sYOI7uyMwFzvD996CSJGmdNYn9ufovpnRYuFqdrbHY8gUReBc1u9xixLyqFgNQUjLugiWRJS7pkS0oVIkxtleQUlM/s1600/HK+Walled+City+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="1600" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoY-yYyVYnTa5T-kb5665XQikQiMLjN0jpFtUMnTuVg7uoW_RWe7sYOI7uyMwFzvD996CSJGmdNYn9ufovpnRYuFqdrbHY8gUReBc1u9xixLyqFgNQUjLugiWRJS7pkS0oVIkxtleQUlM/s400/HK+Walled+City+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walled City in 1988</td></tr>
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Two things strike everyone who went to <b><a href="https://youtu.be/0fd56CGnVRU" target="_blank">Walled City</a></b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is always dark and it always rains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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One of its nick-names in Cantonese is Haak-nan which
means darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was always dark at
ground level because the buildings lean together at the top, allowing no
natural light to permeate to the alleys between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then just above head height in the alleyways
were a mass of tangled pipes; pirated electricity, water, and phone
cables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pipes leaked, and waste water
was thrown out of windows along with bags of rubbish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water then dripped its way through the rubbish
and cables to the alleys and the open sewers which ran through them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no sanitation system and even in
the 1980’s there were only a handful of public standpipes with clean water for a community
of 50,000 people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Walking through the maze of passageways was always an
experience, especially when you add the rats which ran at will around your feet
and sewer spiders as big as your hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bobby led me in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an instant we
went from blue skies and sunshine to a murky underworld past makeshift shops,
and units preparing ‘<b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dim_sum" target="_blank">dim sum</a></b>’ for restaurants in the street around Walled City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alongside the drug dens, brothels and
gambling houses, there were tens of thousands of residents simply trying to eke
a living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took me in through the
closest entrance to our meeting room and I tried to remember the turnings which
led us there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right, left, right turns
and then a dog leg into the passageway which led to the entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me to be careful on the duck-boards
beneath our feet. “You don’t want to fall into that!” he said pointing towards
the sound of gurgling liquid not far below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Our meeting room was a haven of light,
love and prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Light shone out through
the door as we arrived to find that there were already about 20 people
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some were helpers and brothers
who now inspired others; others were addicts looking for help. <o:p></o:p></div>
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They came because they heard that there was a god called
Jesus who helped heroin addicts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYjIO_Nh5Q1iN2JLBaydaOjupAR9uEOdLu4IwQU3LADehyphenhyphenbUgXmHCJWTrWTTnrmrFIrxMRIX4_-CswnSl9sPCcipqkI5bt_gW7mcTf2VyszI_qM7C8th96hOosGxi0CX8-hzw5_PLAHY/s1600/HK+Walled+City++6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYjIO_Nh5Q1iN2JLBaydaOjupAR9uEOdLu4IwQU3LADehyphenhyphenbUgXmHCJWTrWTTnrmrFIrxMRIX4_-CswnSl9sPCcipqkI5bt_gW7mcTf2VyszI_qM7C8th96hOosGxi0CX8-hzw5_PLAHY/s320/HK+Walled+City++6.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The entrance to our meeting room</td></tr>
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I found two wonderful ironies in this.<o:p></o:p></div>
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First, I was always struck by the image of Jesus as god
of the heroin addicts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is so
different to a sanitised western picture of gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
floating on a Sunday school fuzzy felt board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If we really read the Gospels of course, we find a very different image.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homeless at his birth, his family were
forced into exile as refugee asylum seekers; he was brought up in obscurity
until his presence, teachings and example sent shock-waves across respectable
religious society; he was often criticised for spending too much time eating
with ‘sinners and outcasts’; often at odds with those who knew about religion,
politics and power until his brutal death on a cross.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet somehow we have given him flowing wavy
hair and beard, perfectly conditioned and styled, and a pristine white robe –
hardly realistic for the Son of Man who had <b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+9%3A57-58&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">no-where to lay his head</a></b> on the
dusty roads of Palestine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All too often
in the West we have made him god of the middle classes, but here he was god of
the heroin addicts!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Second, was the way in which this god called Jesus drew
people who needed help to Walled City. The place of darkness had become the
place of light and healing for addicts from across the whole colony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place which had acted as a magnate for
those wanting to buy drugs had now also become the place where those enslaved
to heroin came to find faith and healing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What wonderful redemption.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Darkness in the middle of the day</td></tr>
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When Jackie first came to Hong Kong in the 1960’s Walled
City was at its most violent and dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In those days, one of the first tasks of the day was to throw out the
bodies of those who had died the previous night from drugs, violence and
natural causes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the 1980’s it was
undoubtedly a much safer place to be, and those who were with ‘Poon Siuje’
(Jackie’s Cantonese name) shared the safe-status which she had earned over the
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only once during my time there
was there any palpable danger when one local triad leader flew into a drug-fuelled
rage and threatened to kill any ‘pale devils’ (westerners) who crossed his
path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those of us who were westerners in
The Well that day were taken out of Walled City one my one, surrounded by a
scrum of Chinese brothers so no-one could have got near us, even if we were
spotted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that was the exception and
it all blew over in a couple of days. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Nevertheless, Walled City retained its reputation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Peter, a member of my parents’ church in
Sutton came over to Hong Kong as guest of the Chief of Police, I offered to
take him to the outreach meeting in Walled City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His host was horrified and said that he could
not allow this – it would be much too dangerous for a guest of the Hong Kong
government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Peter insisted he
wanted to go, the Chief of Police felt he had no option but to arrange a trip
around the harbour on a Chinese junk with the promise that he would be back in
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, he found himself
miles from shore at the time we had arranged to meet with no way of getting to
land!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Later in my year there I was given a job to do in Walled
City each Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was given the
keys to the meeting room and asked to unlock and clean it before the
meeting started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That meant walking
across the duck-boards above the sewers alone in the darkness, feeling for the
padlocks and bolts to open the door; then reaching my hand around the corner to
the light switch and flinching as the lights flickered on, causing the spiders,
rats and cockroaches the scatter before my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I would sweep up the dead ones,
disinfect the floor, and make the room ready to welcome everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those of you who know my fear of spiders may
not be surprised to know that this was by far the scariest thing I had to face
in Walled City!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless, being
entrusted with the keys to the meeting room in Walled City is possibly the greatest
honour I have ever been given, and through it I learned to overcome my fears.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prayer ministry in Walled City</td></tr>
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Back in the meeting, as each new addict arrived they were
not preached at or told what to believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were simply gathered up in prayer, with brothers and helpers asking
the Holy Spirit to fill their empty lives with God’s love and power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly became aware that this prayer was
almost invariably answered within minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Here were tough triad members, addicted to heroin who were being visibly
filled with the Holy Spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most spoke
in tongues within a few minutes, receiving a prayer language as naturally as
drinking from a cup. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Experience of God
was taken for granted in Hong Kong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was no theoretical theology of the mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pained faces melted into smiles or released tears of healing and
joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Addicts high on heroin spoke in
tongues before they knew what speaking in tongues was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gentle prophecies gave encouragement to those
being prayed with and even those who had tried and failed before were used by
God to bring this outpouring of his presence into the lives of new brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They came with nothing and received the
riches of God’s grace. <o:p></o:p></div>
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From the moment we arrived I was encouraged to join
in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no room for passengers in
Walled City meetings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you were there,
you were there either to be ministered to, or to minister to others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joining a small group praying with a young
man, I prayed in tongues for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Given the language barrier and my lack of experience, I had little idea
what to pray for, so entrusting my prayers to the Holy Spirit was the
most natural thing in the world to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqDJqVXwsveJimtB-NVerrux5a8G50Y_nV2jj8nKXzlZR_4LILXEXPCqmwkgH3Nt5f-qH7k2pOszricN2Vpb_JgQO2bwCEr57H2jtii1jHIpxJdSwBohyJhySrbf_Itz0a4pCkFTt6wA/s1600/HK+Walled+City+Meeting+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqDJqVXwsveJimtB-NVerrux5a8G50Y_nV2jj8nKXzlZR_4LILXEXPCqmwkgH3Nt5f-qH7k2pOszricN2Vpb_JgQO2bwCEr57H2jtii1jHIpxJdSwBohyJhySrbf_Itz0a4pCkFTt6wA/s320/HK+Walled+City+Meeting+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worshipping together in Walled City</td></tr>
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After about an hour, there were about 40 people crammed into the room and the formal part of the meeting
began with worship songs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew many of
the songs although singing them in Cantonese was a skill which took time to
acquire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song books had three
versions of each song – Chinese characters, English and ‘<b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romanization" target="_blank">romanized</a></b>’ Chinese, where the Cantonese was expressed phonetically in the western alphabet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about 30 minutes of worship, there was
a bible reading and message which Jackie gave. Then more prayer ministry, with everyone ministering to each other rather than queuing up for the ‘experts’. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was remarkable. The whole meeting took 2-3
hours but the time flew by.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At the end of my first meeting I was introduced to Deri
and Chen (both English helpers at Tai Tam, the First Stage House I was bound
for) and Tony, a Chinese brother who was translating for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had a new brother with them too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been coming to Walled City meetings
regularly for some time and now he was ready to come into a house and come off
drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was both excited and apprehensive,
having tried to come off heroin several times before but always failing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This time Jesus help me” he said, in broken
English with a nervous smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Before,
no Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, Jesus.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Leaving Walled City I found that the sun had set and it was
now night-time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all ate noodles at
one of the street cafes outside Walled City, transferred my luggage to their
minibus and began the drive over to Tai Tam.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YjdpZRP73YXSvMw3wRg-7J7CNT1X5SEdykRSwEEUPkyFZKWxC-jIcTmoMAm2K6GrmT81W9apvWlTTTZnyAc4fZ4ihu8alqWmRXFEbu4pcOPajfzZSYpnvyh5UY7g1tjtZMewg83AeOU/s1600/HK+Deri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1001" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YjdpZRP73YXSvMw3wRg-7J7CNT1X5SEdykRSwEEUPkyFZKWxC-jIcTmoMAm2K6GrmT81W9apvWlTTTZnyAc4fZ4ihu8alqWmRXFEbu4pcOPajfzZSYpnvyh5UY7g1tjtZMewg83AeOU/s320/HK+Deri.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deri (left)</td></tr>
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Chen was a few years younger than me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deri was a few years older and in charge of the
First Stage House at Tai Tam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of
the ministry leaders at St Stephens Society were women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This wasn’t some kind of reverse sexism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was simply that for the brothers, it was
easier to be challenged by a woman than a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>With men, there was always the risk of an authority clash, and some of
our brothers had been senior Triad members who were used to telling others what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They often found it difficult
to be told what to do by a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ego and
the risk of <b><a href="https://www.yoyochinese.com/blog/Losing-Face-Chinese-Culture" target="_blank">losing face</a></b> were high stakes for any self-respecting Chinese
man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any confrontation with another man could
involve someone losing face whereas being challenged by a woman did not
carry such risks, especially if done with a smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In time I learned that male helpers like me
had to be twice as gentle as women to gain trust and respect, which was
completely counter-intuitive to my 25 year-old male macho mind!<o:p></o:p></div>
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We drove through the Cross Harbour Tunnel to Hong Kong
Island and along the coastal highway past Causeway Bay, Tai Koo Shing, and on
to Chai Wan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There the multi-lane dual
carriageway and the street lighting ended and we climbed the twisting
road into the mountains. As we started to go down the other side I could see
reservoirs glinting in the moonlight and shortly after crossing a dam wall, turned off onto a single track road down to sea level again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We arrived at the Tai Tam around 10pm and all was quiet
apart from the noise of the crickets. With the sea on one side, and jungle on
the other, this wasn’t quite what I had imagined for life in Hong Kong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was to be my new home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/10/tai-tam.html?m=0">Click here for part 26 - Tai Tam</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com2Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-69484096649488999432018-09-23T19:45:00.000+01:002018-10-14T15:03:38.208+01:00Touch Down<br />
<h3>
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Crossing the Line - part 24 </h3>
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Flying into Hong Kong in the 1980’s was always a striking
introduction to the colony.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The only airport was <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kai_Tak_Airport" target="_blank">Kai Tak</a></b> whose runway was a narrow
strip of concrete built out into Victoria Harbour.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If the wind was from the South or East, the pilot would,
quite literally aim the plane at a large orange and white chequerboard painted
onto a cliff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The automatic landing
system would guide the aeroplane directly <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>towards this rock face until the plane reached
an altitude of little more than 500 feet, at which point the pilot had to take
manual control, bank sharply to the right and look for the runway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having located the finger of land jutting out
into the sea, the pilot would then have less than 30 seconds to line up with
the runway, level the wings and touchdown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Passengers on the right hand side of the plane could, quite literally
see people eating rice or noodles or watching television in apartment blocks as
the plane banked over.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For my first flight into Hong Kong the wind was blowing the
other direction so I was spared this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Landing from the ocean side was not without excitement though, as the
only thing passengers could see beneath the plane was sea until the very last
second before touchdown, when the runway finally came into view and the wheels
hit the concrete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was in Hong
Kong, one China Airlines plane landed in a squall from this direction and slid
off the runway into the harbour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Flying
into Hong Kong was regarded as one of the most challenging airports in the
world for pilots until it was replaced by a new one in 1998.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a warm and sunny winter’s day when I flew into Kai
Tak with my luggage and guitar.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Joining Jackie Pullinger’s work at <b><a href="http://www.ststephenssociety.com/" target="_blank">St Stephen’s Society</a></b>
was a great honour, and I knew that there would be challenging times
ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most prominent part of their
ministry was with heroin addicts in the British colony, of whom there were many
thousands but St Stephen’s Society also worked with all the poor of Hong
Kong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They fed the street-sleepers and
set prostitutes free, providing men and women with a home, food and hope
through practical ministry, prayer and a church where everyone was welcome.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The week before I arrived, they held a lunch for street sleepers and catered for 300.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the
time came, more than double that number arrived and the kitchen were more than
a little worried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was nothing they
could do with the food – they had already prepared everything that they
had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So they prayed and started to serve
the food to the waiting crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a
scene reminiscent of the feeding of the 5,000 everyone was fed and they ended
up with plenty left over.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For those who don’t know, Hong Kong was established as a
British Colony specifically to support the trade in opium during the Opium Wars
of the 19<sup>th</sup> Century.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>British
trading companies shipped in opium from India to sell in Canton and when the Emperor reacted to the enslaving of their people into drug addiction by
banning the trade, Britain went to war to defend it. After winning the <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Opium_War" target="_blank">1st Opium War</a></b>, the treaties which followed ceded Hong Kong Island and then the
Kowloon peninsula to Britain in perpetuity as a military base from which we
could further our greed and protect our colonial drug dealers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1898, the New Territories were added on a
99 year lease, including over 200 islands and expanding the colony to over five
times its original size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not exactly a
glorious part of British history.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jackie Pullinger had already been in Hong Kong for 20
years and the strategy for heroin addicts was simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Introduce heroin addicts to Jesus and the
power of the Holy Spirit; then pray them off heroin and help them build a new
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the years Jackie had seen
many heroin addicts come off heroin by concentrated prayer and the healing
power of the Holy Spirit without the usual pain or cravings which withdrawal
brings. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Their outreach at that time was focused on the <b><a href="https://www.stuff.co.nz/travel/destinations/asia/106273856/walled-city-hong-kong-the-incredible-story-of-the-lawless-enclave-inside-hong-kong" target="_blank">Walled City</a></b>, a lawless anomaly which housed around 50,000 people in a little over 6
acres and was run by various Triad gangs (China’s version of the mafia).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until the treaty was completed between the UK
and China for the handing back of Hong Kong to China in 1997, neither side
governed the enclave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Diplomatically it
was still part of China and so any police action there would have been seen as
an act of aggression by China.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ancient
walls had long gone, replaced by precarious blocks of flats up to 12 floors
high which leaned together at the top like a house of cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the legal vacuum, the Triads flourished
and it became a mecca for drug dens, brothels and gambling, as well as
unregistered doctors, dentists and those fleeing the law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jackie lived in Walled City and had a small
meeting room which provided a place for prayer, worship and hope every
Wednesday and Saturday.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Beyond that, there were two ‘Frist Stage Houses’ in more
rural areas of Hong Kong where addicts came to withdraw from heroin and lived
for several months, growing in their new lives as Christians. When ready, they then
went to Hang Fook Camp which housed the main base for the ministry and where
the church met for Sunday Services.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here
ex-addicts would work out what to do with their lives; find work, return to
their families, or join the continuing ministry of St Stephens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was met at the airport by two western helpers from St
Stephen’s Society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had big smiles
on their faces and made me feel welcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We put my luggage in the van and they drove me through the busy Hong
Kong streets to Hang Fook Camp for my introduction into life and work there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The camp was a former refugee camp for Vietnamese boat
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It consisted of rows of wooden
huts with metal roofs, a makeshift sanitation system, together with a large
central kitchen and meeting place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
the mass-migration from Vietnam started to slow, the camp
was no longer needed for refugees and the Hong Kong government offered it to
Jackie for her work with heroin addicts and the poor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was located in Cheung Sha Wan, a mixed
industrial and residential area in Kowloon and it became a focal point for
Jackie’s ministry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her church met there
on Sundays and the kitchens produced food for both residents and street
sleepers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to providing
accommodation to a community of around 100 people, there was a small T-shirt
factory where some of the brothers worked, a vegetable garden, sports area, and
the office for St Stephen’s Society.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Arriving at the camp, I met Jackie almost immediately –
by coincidence not design. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know
who was more taken aback.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For my part, I
was in awe of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For hers, she saw my
long hair first, and was worried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long
hair on men was not an acceptable part of Chinese male culture then and as I
learned later, could provoke irrational negative reactions among the
brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a brief conversation
however, she concluded that I would be OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Apparently, there was something in my eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was now early evening and I joined the community for food,
eaten together around large communal tables with rice and various communal
dishes shared and devoured at speed, particularly for a chop-stick novice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met some of the brothers (ex-addicts) and
tried to understand snippets of conversation where I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I spent a while playing guitar with John
To (who later married Jackie).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John had
come off heroin some years ago and was the main worship leader for the camp and
church. He wasn’t that impressed with my guitar skills, but then I had a lot to
learn and I knew it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worship songs
flowed at Hang Fook Camp in an effortless way which required both spiritual
discernment and the musical ability to move from one song to another without written
music in front of you to tell you what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although I was ok at playing guitar with music, this was beyond me and I
wasn’t at my best after the long journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Later in the year we would lead worship together every other Sunday but
that’s another story.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Around 9pm, I was shown to a bunk bed in the huts and
advised to get some sleep for the next day, but I couldn’t sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was far too excited and jet lag hadn’t hit
me yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By 10pm I had got dressed again, left the camp and began
to walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heading back towards the Kowloon
peninsula I walked the 3 miles to the <b><a href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g294217-d2228870-Reviews-Star_Ferry-Hong_Kong.html" target="_blank">Star Ferry</a></b> opposite Hong Kong Island,
taking in the sights, sounds and smells of this new continent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was mesmerised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The huge housing blocks, the flyovers, the
street vendors and street sleepers in their box-homes under bridges and roads;
the lights, the skyscrapers, the constant sound of traffic, ships and people,
even in the early hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was intoxicating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I stood at the end of the Star Ferry pier,
I could see Hong Kong’s spectacular skyline across the water and feel the warm
breeze of the ocean.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Arriving back at Hang Fook Camp about 3am, I finally got
some sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I don’t really know what I expected for the following
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps a gentle introduction to routine
life in camp?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps a few days to
acclimatise?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly didn’t expect
to be entrusted with anything significant for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a novice rookie in a brave new world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What I didn’t expect was to be thrown in at the deep end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPiYKqr4DXogUEE1-T_Z_WVBECVMxPJTLKrI2MZ8ytN9vU3UyF_9-MYumBEvj6SH8ObGJT-sR015JVNkVIJibsD5z2v47Hu0bKUQ1vo3AQ05SZw1Vg4bpLrlixydUCHLi40s-FP_LYIE/s1600/HK+Bobby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="1600" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPiYKqr4DXogUEE1-T_Z_WVBECVMxPJTLKrI2MZ8ytN9vU3UyF_9-MYumBEvj6SH8ObGJT-sR015JVNkVIJibsD5z2v47Hu0bKUQ1vo3AQ05SZw1Vg4bpLrlixydUCHLi40s-FP_LYIE/s320/HK+Bobby.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bobby at Hang Fook Camp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That morning, Bobby was assigned as my mentor for the
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a lovely, gentle American with
a wicked sense of humour who had served in Vietnam during the war and had been
with St Stephens Society for some time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He introduced himself and took me out to brunch at the American Café on
Hong Kong Island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He showed me how to
use the MTR (Hong Kong’s underground) and told me the plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I wasn’t going to stay at Hang Fook Camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been assigned to live and work at Tai
Tam – the first stage house on the far side of Hong Kong Island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To get there, I would be going to the Walled
City meeting that afternoon where I would meet Deri who was in charge of Tai Tam,
and then travel back with her and a new brother.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Now I was amazed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The first stage houses were where new bothers came off heroin with
nothing but prayer for support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along
with Walled City, they were the sharp end of the ministry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What were they doing, letting a rookie like
me anywhere near this hallowed ground?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bobby just smiled and said “You’ll be fine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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After going back to Hang Fook Camp to collect my guitar
and luggage, Bobby drove me to Walled City for the meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the blocks of concrete flats leaning
together at the top because they had no foundations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the darkened alleyways which acted as gateways
and streets.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Less than 24 hours after landing, I was led into one of
the most notorious places on earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was no going back now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/09/walled-city.html?m=0">Click here for part 25 - Walled City</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com1Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-84993886498168610752018-09-09T15:58:00.000+01:002018-09-23T20:49:26.181+01:00I had a dream<br />
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 23</h3>
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<br /></div>
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The final piece of the puzzle during that year in London was
to find a church to go to.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I moved into my friends’ house in Corbyn Street, Finsbury
Park on a Saturday and was looking forward to finding a lively church to
join.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no idea where this would be,
but I did notice an old, rather grubby looking Anglican church in the next
street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok I thought, I’ll go there
tomorrow and then find somewhere more exciting next Sunday.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Then the strangest thing happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night I had a dream. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was walking into a church I didn’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walked in, I saw that the pews had been
taken out of the back half of the church and replaced them with second-hand sofas,
easy chairs, carpets and cushions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was a small music group practising at the front and a warm welcome from the
people I met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I woke up, I thought
‘That would be nice but where am I going to find a church like that?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I think you can guess the rest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I walked into St Saviours, Handley Road that
morning, I found a church with the pews taken out of the back half of the
church, replaced with second-hand sofas, easy chairs, carpets and
cushions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a small music group
practising at the front and a warm welcome from the people I met! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was absolutely astounded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I knew it, I was invited to lunch
after the service and I knew that God was telling me that this was the church
he was leading me to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The congregation
was quite small, and the elderly vicar was not the most dynamic person I had
ever met, but I started to realise that this was God’s choice for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I met some lovely people there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were Simon and Pauline who invited me
to lunch that first day; Joy who led the music group; Jeanette who was a
journalist and was planning to launch a Christian arts magazine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there was the Vicar, Tony and his wife,
but more about them later. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One of my hopes for the year was to find out what it was
like to be part of a church without a ready-made role, while juggling the
demands of work, friends and faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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That might sound a bit pompous but I had never had the
chance to be an ordinary church member of a normal church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a child I had always been the vicar’s
kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>University churches are hardly
‘normal’ and I was the strange evangelical in an Anglo-Catholic shrine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I had been the Youth Worker in
Haddenham.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always had a label.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Now I had the chance to start afresh where I didn’t know
anyone and no-one knew me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could
choose what I got involved in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could
join the struggle to establish a balanced work/church/social life without any
aspect overbalancing the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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It was easier said than done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did join the church music group and a home
group but at the same time, I found that dispatch riding was exhausting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to be in bed by 10pm each night during
the week because I couldn’t afford to risk being overtired when riding around
London all day at speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often didn’t
get home from work until around 7pm and it would take me an hour to get cleaned
up and/or dried out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often I was too
tired to go out again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is more, if
the last job of the day took me to the opposite end of London (or the country)
that meant cancelling plans at short notice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Juggling these competing demands is a good experience for a future
vicar, and one worth remembering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
is how many working people in churches live.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Even with all these limitations, I was made welcome at St
Saviours and supported in a way which showed me what a good church should
be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw and received lots of acts of
kindness and there were things to get involved with, as and when I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The music group which led the singing was fun, if a
little chaotic at times and I contributed as and when I was able. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Jeanette asked me if I would like to review a film for her
new magazine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found
myself in a press preview of the film in Soho, hosted in a luxurious cinema studio
alongside people who reviewed films for a living!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had come straight from work and was dressed
in my biker gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To say I looked out of
place would be an understatement, but I wrote the review and it was published
in the first edition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The film (<b><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086876/?_encoding=UTF8&ref_=amzn_dp_dvd" target="_blank">Almost You</a></b>) wasn’t a blockbuster and was definitely not my kind of film, but the whole
experience was fun!<o:p></o:p></div>
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At work, I never shouted about my faith, but I didn’t
hide it either. As I got to know the other riders, they got to know me
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In time they found out that I was
going to be a priest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their reaction was
fascinating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each one said they thought
it was fantastic but then promised not to tell anyone else out of concern that
I would be ridiculed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, one of
the radio controllers found out, and he thought he would have some fun with
this unusual information at my expense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He called me up on the radio and with a huge sarcastic laugh he
announced to over 100 riders that I was going to be a priest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking he could then milk this and get some
more laughs at my expense, he called up the toughest rider he could think of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you think of that?” he asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The riders couldn’t hear the reply because of
the way the radio system worked but it silenced the controller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later I discovered that he had responded by
saying that he already knew and thought it was terrific that we had a man of
God out on a bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wished me all the
very best.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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That night in the pub, I had rider after rider coming
over to ask me about my faith and what had made me decide to be a vicar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was such a privilege.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Then in church, there was another incredible coincidence.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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By the time I arrived in London, I already knew what I
wanted to do in a final year out before going to Theological College.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to go abroad, to live in a different
culture and an amazing opportunity came up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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My life-long friend Chris, had been to Hong Kong and
spent some time working with <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackie_Pullinger" target="_blank">Jackie Pullinger</a></b>. Jackie’s work with heroin addicts and the poor was famous
all over the Christian world. She lived
in the notorious and lawless Walled City – a diplomatic anomaly governed by
neither the British nor the Chinese. In
the vacuum which resulted it was run by the Triads – the Chinese mafia. Jackie had already lived and worked there for around
20 years, praying addicts off heroine without the usual pain & discomfort
and offering prostitutes an alternative to exploitation. Her book “Chasing the Dragon” was an
international best seller and essential reading for all Charismatic Christians.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So when Chris came back and said to me, “You should go
Benny!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought he was joking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How on earth could I go to Hong Kong and work
with Jackie Pullinger?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In fact, it turned out to be quite simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I had to do was write a letter to Jackie,
tell her a bit about me & about why I wanted to join the ministry, and then
wait for a reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much to my amazement,
the answer was yes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And the coincidence?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Back in St Saviours Church in Handley Road, I discovered
that Tony, my vicar had been a missionary in southern China for 30 years before
coming to Finsbury Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His wife was
Chinese and they spoke fluent Cantonese, the dialect spoken in Hong Kong. To
top it all, he offered to teach me the basics of Cantonese before I went! <o:p></o:p></div>
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I think the word is God-incidence, not co-incidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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For 6 months I would go to the Vicarage, early one
morning each week and Tony patiently taught this very slow student the
fundamentals of a tonal language where the same word could mean vastly
different things if said in the wrong pitch!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He would not accept any payment and while I found it hugely difficult,
he patiently helped me prepare for one of the most significant years of my
life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There is one more act of kindness which shines out in my
mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In those days I had long hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was wet and straight it went most of
the way down my back. On a motorbike, I gathered it into a pony tail which
would flail about wildly below my crash helmet as I sped along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keeping it knot free got harder and harder as
the year went on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I left to go to
Hong Kong, I was concerned that my long hair might raise a few eyebrows in a
Chinese culture but I didn’t want to cut it short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pauline from church offered to tidy it up for
me and I turned up at her home one afternoon for an hour to get it done.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Soon after Pauline started to comb through the mass hair,
she made a disturbing discovery. High up in my pony tail was an enormous clump
of knotted hair buried deep down near my hairline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was about the size of a plumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in an area I found hard to reach, and
slowly over the year, it had grown and grown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The obvious and easiest thing would be to cut it off, but that would
mean having a short back and sides!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
Pauline spent the next four hours painstaking loosening the knot with olive oil
one strand at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her husband Simon
produced tea, coffee and food at regular intervals and we chatted about
everything and nothing until the knot was no more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will always remember that afternoon; the
kindness and gentleness they showed me and the smooth tangle free pony tail
which resulted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Reflecting on all this makes me think about what makes a
good church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not the size of the
congregation or the reputation of the clergy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s not the quality of the preaching, the music, or the relevance of
the services.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More important than all of
these things is the love which churches show to those whose paths cross
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>St Saviours did not have all the
trappings of a ‘popular’ church when I was there, but it brought together the
love of God with the humanity of kindness in a powerful mixture of incarnation
– God with us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is what real church is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Alongside the excitement of riding my bike around London
that year, I leaned about the beauty of an ordinary church in north London and
its amazing people; about the challenge of balancing work, faith and friends in
the way most of our church members have to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In retrospect, I wish I had learned the lessons more deeply, but it was
a start and now a new challenge lay ahead.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I didn’t know it, but the year I was about to start in
Hong Kong was to be the most significant year of my entire life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It fundamentally changed my understanding of
God and people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It honed and redirected
my sense of ministry and calling for the next 20 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through those changes I would later meet my
wife in the most unlikely of places and we would raise a family.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As the plane took of from Heathrow, I was excited and a
little nervous, but I had no idea of the extent to which the next nine months
would change my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twelve hours later
a new world awaited - challenging, invigorating, and beyond my dreams.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQi_8uYl3TzrKReb1F5XLO6ddkZKNp4mqHswHiM5szbJKEl9dMIizt5sxdmuDbK9iwICOV_OFMbhvtanjunLQUcl8L5fqhRlZgr1D1JxGS3ZLSQJoR75CUbqqZxozPDI3QX0ccIDI5UXk/s1600/Just+do+it.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQi_8uYl3TzrKReb1F5XLO6ddkZKNp4mqHswHiM5szbJKEl9dMIizt5sxdmuDbK9iwICOV_OFMbhvtanjunLQUcl8L5fqhRlZgr1D1JxGS3ZLSQJoR75CUbqqZxozPDI3QX0ccIDI5UXk/s200/Just+do+it.jpg" width="200" /></a>God can use all kinds of ways of guiding us to where he
wants us to be. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dreams, visions,
prophecies are all part of his tool kit, but sometimes he simply wants us to
try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To see a need or an opportunity and
push the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a dream which took
me to St Saviours Church in Finsbury Park, but a simple letter of enquiry which
took me to Hong Kong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I wonder how many things we miss in life because we a
waiting for a sign?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no
heavenly neon arrows which pointed me to Hong Kong, and yet it laid the
foundation for my life and ministry for many years to come.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/09/touch-down.html?m=0">Click here for part 24 - Touch down</a></b></o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p><b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here</a></b><b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank"> for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a> </b></o:p></div>
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<o:p><b><br /></b></o:p></div>
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<o:p><b><br /></b></o:p></div>
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<o:p><b><br /></b></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com1Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-57693093732346377962018-09-03T00:21:00.000+01:002018-09-09T16:32:59.641+01:00On your bike<br />
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<h3>
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Crossing the Line - part 22</h3>
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My second year out before training for ordination turned
out to be a real adventure.<br />
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<br /></div>
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My ambitions
for the year were actually quite low. I
wanted to do a 9-5 job, live in a normal house in a normal street, and go to
church on Sundays just like other people but the choice of job made it an adventure! </div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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While working in Haddenham, I fulfilled a long-time
dream and bought my first motorbike – a Honda 125 Superdream. After teaching myself to ride it in the car
park behind the bike shop in Oxford and almost killing myself on the A40 in
High Wycombe, I got some proper lessons.
A few months later, I passed my bike test, not far from that spot where
I had previously come off the bike and slid down the middle of the road for 50
yards, narrowly avoiding a stream of oncoming traffic! </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I then bought a brand new Honda VT500 and knew exactly
what job I wanted – to be a Motorbike Despatch Rider in London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The fact that I had never lived in London and didn’t
know the West End from the Square Mile made no difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
going to do it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fast moving, more
than a little dangerous, and in my mind, more than a little romantic!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whizzing in and out of the London traffic to
collect that vital letter or parcel before zooming to its destination where an
anxious customer eagerly awaited delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ok, so my vision didn’t live up to the reality, but the picture was
enough for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A home was easy to find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Most of my friends from university had progressed to London and two of
them, Anne and Natalie, had just bought a house in Finsbury Park with a spare
room to rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had been in the same student
house in Oxford so we knew we got on well, and they became the very closest of
my lifetime friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Getting a job was easy too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the time before the internet, emails,
and mobile phones. Bikes were the standard means of express delivery for documents,
artwork, and small parcels. For many companies in the West End and the City, it
added to their kudos if they could bike things over instantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a few years it was almost
compulsory!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were bike despatch
firms all over the place, and I was spoilt for choice.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I rang up a few companies and got a couple of
interviews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironically when I went to one
interview, I ended up in totally the wrong place!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I mistakenly walked into another firm on the same road as the one I was
meant to be at, and said I was there to be interviewed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guy behind the desk looked confused, but
asked me a few questions and then offered me a job on the spot with a
guaranteed minimum pay of £400 per week. Despatch riders got paid piece work
for each item they delivered, so the promise of a minimum wage was
staggering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I’d think about it,
walked outside and then saw the office for the company I should have gone to!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be offered a job on the spot after going
to the wrong address is hilarious, but that just shows how intense the demand
was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the end I said yes to a job with Addison Lee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were a big firm with over 100 riders at
the time and more importantly they had two radio channels – one for their
professional riders and a training channel for rookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I definitely qualified for that one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The radio network was the only real means of
communication in the despatch world so a good channel was at the heart of any operation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first three months were the hardest; getting used to
being out in all weathers for 9 or 10 hours a day, finding my way around London
in an age before satnavs, and trying not to get knocked off the bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I learned quickly and passed my test to
join the professional riders’ channel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This was a huge step up. On the training channel, a radio
controller would keep track of where you were and feed you jobs to
complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the professional channel
the controller would call out the work available and each rider had to bid for
each job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You had to know which street
you were in, all the adjoining streets and know if a pick-up was within ¼ mile
of you before you could even bid for work!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jobs came out thick and fast so you had to be quick on the radio as well
as quick on your bike.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was then that I started to get to know the other
riders. The professional riders didn’t really talk to you for the first three
months, because they didn’t know if you were going to stay, get injured, or
give up when it rained every day for a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I started to get to know my
workmates I began to realise what a bizarre group we were. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Most interviews for despatch riders were just two
questions long:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Question 1:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Do you have a motorbike?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Question 2: (if it was a reputable company) Do
you have a driving licence?<o:p></o:p></div>
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As a result all kinds of people who didn’t really want questions
about their past became despatch riders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We had one guy who used to supply sawn-off shotguns for
armed robberies, until he got nicked and spent time in prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he got out, every time a bank or post
office got robbed, the police would turn up at his door to look for evidence that he had
supplied the weapons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He needed a new
career so he became to despatch rider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Then there was Dave – on the one hand, a heavily tattooed
skinhead and member of the National Front, and on the other, the nicest softly
spoken guy you could spend an evening with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (I am not defending the National Front, by the way!)</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And there was Ian who became a close friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a lovable rogue who lived in
a very well appointed squat on the other side of Finsbury Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ian drunk too much and used almost any drug
which was on offer at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was
particularly tragic as he had already spent time in prison for manslaughter
after he and his first wife injected each other and she died of an overdose.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not everyone had a shady past or present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Paul used to be a wine taster for a high class importer
in St James (the area between Piccadilly and the royal palaces).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He travelled all over the world tasting great
wines and somehow got bored!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So he became
a despatch rider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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There were Nick and Bronwen, both law graduates who
worked in the control room at Addison Lee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They later married and started their own despatch business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their wedding was very stylish and they gave
me the unexpected honour of being one of their witnesses after their first
choice got lost somewhere between the restaurant the registry office. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And there was Julia who is one of the most creative
people I had met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> D</span>esigner and
musician, she gave us an EP from her band some years later as a
wedding present.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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All sorts of people, with all kinds of stories, and
Friday night was the time when many would end up in the <b><a href="https://whatpub.com/pubs/WLD/16037/marquis-london" target="_blank">Marquis of Granby</a></b> in
Covent Garden, a few doors up from the office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Even that pub told a story of London’s diversity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a coat stand by the bar, and during
the day, it was often full of the waterproofs of tourists seeing the sights of
London in all weathers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then from around
6pm, the waterproofs disappeared and the coat stand filled up with crash
helmets from Addison Lee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, for
those still there late into the evening, the crash helmets thinned out and it was
filled with the violin and woodwind cases of musicians from the English
National Opera, whose stage door was also just round the corner.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Woking for Addison Lee had its moral dilemmas
though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One which I felt in particular,
was their marketing policy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those
days they charged customers more than any other dispatch company on the basis
that riders would only ever go ‘one up’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That meant that riders would only ever have one job on board at a time,
picking it up and going straight to the destination before getting other work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately this was not even economical with the truth - it was total bollocks!<o:p></o:p></div>
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As soon as we got busy, it was not unusual to get 3 or 4
jobs at a time, picking up around the West End and dropping in the City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This caused a problem when customers would
ask me straight out, “Is this your only parcel?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Are you going straight there?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have never liked lies and yet I found myself having to lie if I wanted to keep
my job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, I came up with an
answer I could cope with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would say,
“Well that’s what you’re paying for!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> At least t</span>hat
was true, even if it didn’t answer their question.<o:p></o:p></div>
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These were also the days before speed cameras, and London
had an unofficial set of speed limits 15 mph above the official ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That meant 45mph in a 30; up to 55 in a 40;
right up to 85 in a 70.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a good day,
swooping through the traffic was like playing the ultimate arcade video
game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a bad day you got knocked off
your bike – roughly once every 3 months, even for the very best riders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over time, experienced riders learned to
minimise the damage to body and bike when we got hit, but getting knocked off
still hurt.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I once got stopped by a motorcycle cop after a
particularly bad gridlock in Trafalgar Square had brought everything to a
standstill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally reaching the open
road of Whitehall I opened up the throttle out of sheer joy, not realising that
a police bike was following me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
I reached about 60mph heading for Downing Street, the blue lights came on but
even then he just told me not to do it again while slapping my wing mirrors and
yelling “Next time use these!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Another time, I transported forgotten passports from
Kensington to Gatwick in 35 minutes – in the rush hour and in the rain – just
in time for a family to catch the weekly flight to one of the smaller African
nations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll leave it to you to do the
maths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having said that, I then stopped
for a coffee before riding back in and found that as the adrenalin subsided, my
hands shook so much that I couldn’t hold the cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I sat there, I concluded that this was not
something which was important enough to risk my life for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My guardian angels got paid overtime that
day!<o:p></o:p></div>
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On the other hand, I also went places few people have the
chance to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have ridden my bike into
the central courtyard of Buckingham Palace to make a delivery to HRH The Prince
of Wales, and stood in the hallway of 10 Downing Street next to the mantelpiece
where foreign dignitaries used to pose for photographs with the Prime
Minister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I delivered parcels in person
to rock stars from Status Quo, Pink Floyd and The Cure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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At the other extreme, I remember taking a thick envelope to a deserted warehouse
in Wembley one day. When I
got there, there were two Jags parked outside and inside two hefty looking men in thick overcoats. They opened the envelope without
saying a word and counted out a wodge of $100 bills before nodding to someone
in the shadows and letting me leave. I
left that drop pretty quickly!</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was also the year of the<b><a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Storm_of_1987" target="_blank"> Great Storm of 1987 </a></b>that laid waste
to millions of trees in London and the Home Counties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The morning after the storms, I got up and
turned on the TV for the weather forecast just like every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of Breakfast TV, I saw a dimly lit TV
studio on emergency lighting because the power had been cut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From that moment, I knew that day would be
different.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The centre of London looked like a battle field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaffolding had collapsed everywhere,
sometimes 15 floors high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trees were
uprooted and broken glass littered the streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I went to a company in a dead-end street in Bloomsbury to pick up an
insurance claim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I approached the
address, I saw the problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 70-foot
tree had been uprooted in the square at the open end of the road and had been
blown all the way up this cul-de-sac, before embedding itself into the office
block at the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another collection had
the instruction, ‘you will know when you find it because there is an
upside-down car sticking out of the shop window’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone wanted to get their insurance claims
in before the inevitable rush and we were very busy that day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I continued dispatch riding throughout my time at theological college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of
every term, it paid well to go back to work for a few weeks, pay off any debts and get
some money for the term ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1991, just
before I was ordained, I almost caused a diplomatic incident during the G7 Summit
at Lancaster House in central London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All the riders were battling road closures as foreign heads of
governments were transported to and from the conference venue in St James’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time we found a route blocked off, we
would find a way around it, and in doing so I remember coming out of a side
street straight into a motorcade of big black Russian limousines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I knew it I was riding alongside a
particularly large limo with Russian flags flying from the bonnet and a worried
looking grey face staring at me from the back seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sensed I might be in the wrong place at the
wrong time, so quickly pulled over as a swarm of police outriders converged on
me at the side of the road.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Within a year of starting, I was one of the top riders in Addison
Lee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were two individual bonuses awarded each
week; one to the rider who completed most jobs, and the other to the top earner
in the fleet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amazingly, I won these
more than once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then each year in
Battersea Park, there was the Despatch Rider of the Year competition with
several hundred bikers competing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of
my proudest moments was being part of the 4-rider Addison Lee team which won
the competition and I still have the trophy to this day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had a wonderful year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got to know London like the back of my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natalie and Anne were the best landladies I
could ever wish for, even spending several hours with me in Accident and
Emergency on one occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
friendship deepened further and continues to this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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But I also learned a lot about people; diverse, wonderful, fallible and flawed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned how valuable
each person is; about how everyone has a story; about our often prejudiced value
judgements and how God sees people in a very different way. </div>
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Compared to the intellectual quads of Oxford colleges, or the cloistered environment of the Church, it was life lived in vivid technicolour and taught me so much.</div>
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It was a real joy to see some of my despatch riding friends at my ordination in Southwark Cathedral, five years later. During my time on the bike, I had begun to realise why Jesus spent so much time in parties with 'outcasts and sinners'. He was constantly criticised for it by respectable people, by religious people, by establishment people. In many ways he became an outcast with them and was certainly crucified as an outcast in the end.</div>
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Yet here was the cutting edge of God's boundless love, both given and received. Here was the soil of life in all its fullness. In the nitty-gritty of London's streets I began to see a bigger world.</div>
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<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/09/i-had-dream.html?m=0">Click here for part 23 - I had a dream</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an Introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com6Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-74224891173620399092018-08-26T21:02:00.000+01:002018-08-26T21:09:37.240+01:00One year on<br />
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It was a year ago this weekend that I received my
official diagnosis.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After all the scans, biopsies and blood tests, the
results were in and it was cancer – advanced prostate cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After we told family, friends and work
colleagues, I wrote <b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/09/the-enemy-within.html" target="_blank">The Enemy Within</a></b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
lot has happened since then.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By April this year, I had completed my initial treatment
– hormones, radio and chemo (see <b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/04/after-treatment.html" target="_blank">After Treatment</a></b>) and I settled into a less
rigorous regime while monitoring my PSA which had been successfully driven down
from over 300 to the mid-teens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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More recently however, things have taken a turn for the
worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although my <b><a href="https://prostatecanceruk.org/prostate-information/prostate-tests/psa-test" target="_blank">PSA</a></b> has stayed low, I
did not experience the improvement that I hoped for after finishing chemo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have continued to work as much as I can,
but day to day life has been getting harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All this came to a head a fortnight ago when I was admitted into the
Dorset Cancer Centre in Poole for a few days to get back on track with pain
relief, vomiting and constipation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had a new CT scan, and the next morning, much to my
surprise, my oncologist appeared at the end of my bed to give me the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite all my treatment over the last 12 months,
my cancer has continued to grow and develop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Two of my lumber vertebrae are in an early state of collapse, and my
lymph node cancer has grown to the point where it is putting pressure onto my
right kidney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The CT scan also revealed
that the cancer has eaten away the bone in my right femur at the hip, and I am
now on crutches to stave off spontaneous fracture.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not the news we wanted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Treatment has started again in earnest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had two more courses of radiotherapy and
been prescribed Abiraterone, which is only licensed in the NHS for later stages
of prostate cancer when other treatments have failed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simply put, my cancer is outrunning my
treatment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Timescales are
shortening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hope the Abiraterone may
overcome this deficit but even then, it will only work until the cancer adapts
again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The care I have received in the light of this news has
been phenomenal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the past week alone,
I have had three trips to Poole for radiotherapy together with<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>two home visits from our hospice nurse, another
from their occupational therapist, and my GP is going to visit me regularly at
home from now on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My basic pain relief
has been changed to Fentanyl patches which will work whether I can keep food
down or not, by absorption directly into the skin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Adapting to this news brings to mind the many hundreds of
people who have been praying for me during the past year; some in person, with
the laying on of hands, many more in churches, prayer groups and over social
media.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of you have been praying for
healing for me, for victory over the cancer and deliverance from this cruel
disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The reflections which follow in this post are for you
with gratitude, but also wisdom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing
how to react to bad news in the midst of prayer is a tricky one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Following a revival in healing ministries in the 1970’s,
there grew up a theology in some parts of the church which said “if only you
had more faith” you would be healed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was not helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It passed
the blame for unanswered prayers to those who were praying or even to the
person being prayed for, adding a kind of spiritual torture to those who were
already ill.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In response to this others pointed out that any Christian
theology of healing must also have a theology of dying if it is to be to be
balanced and complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christ did not
die upon the cross to bring us eternal life here within the imperfections of a
fallen world. He died and rose again to open the gates to eternal life in a new
creation free from pain, sickness, sorrow and death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Restating this was not just the task of
theologians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember Christian
pioneer rock-star Larry Norman reminding us of this in his 1972 seminal album
“<b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Only_Visiting_This_Planet" target="_blank">Only visiting this planet</a></b>” (still well worth a listen if you can find it!)
including a lyric from a Jim Reeves song, “This world is not my home – I’m just
passing through.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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A more modern trend dealing with disappointment in prayer
is to search harder for things which may be blocking the power of God in our
lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emotional scars, sin, bitterness
or unforgiveness are prime targets, and while I know that emotional healing can
bring physical healing – I saw this so clearly in my mother’s arthritis – overemphasis
of this can also lead into a rabbit hole of introspection trying desperately to
discover the key to unlocking the healing which is desired.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The truth is that death can also be God’s healing,
releasing us from the fettered bonds of this life into the glory of God’s
presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul reminds us in Romans that
“the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory
that is to be revealed to us.” (<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+8%3A14-25&version=NRSVA" target="_blank">Romans 8:18</a></b>).<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my early 20’s, the Charismatic movement in the UK was
challenged by the death of a major figure in the movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David Watson was at the height of his
ministry as a renowned preacher, author and minister of the Gospel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He saw God bringing healing to many, many
people through his ministry around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then David was diagnosed with cancer and died at the age of 50. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have mentioned David Watson’s last book (<b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Fear-No-Evil-David-Watson/dp/1444793195" target="_blank">Fear no Evil</a></b>)
before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reading it again during this
year, I have followed his journey from diagnosis, to the outpouring of prayer
it provoked, with Christian celebrities quite literally flying in from all over
the world to pray for his physical healing – a healing which David believed God
would give.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After his terminal diagnosis
and initial treatment, he continued with his ministry, took every opportunity
to be prayed with, and yet the book charts with selfless honesty his journey to
a place where he simply became open to God’s will, whatever that may be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In Chapter 18 he wrote,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Through the unexpected diagnosis of cancer I was forced to consider
carefully my priorities in life, and to make some necessary adjustments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still do not know why God allowed it, nor does
it bother me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am beginning to hear
what God is saying, and it has been enormously helpful to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I turn to the Bible, I find passages
coming alive for me, perhaps more than ever before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I praise God or listen to worship
cassettes, my vision of the greatness and love of God is being continually
reinforced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am content to trust myself
to a loving God whose control is ultimate and whose wisdom transcends my own
feeble understanding.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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In my own small way, that is where I am now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My faith is strong but is also being moulded
and tempered by the refiner’s fire and from now on, the prayers I would ask for
me are as follows:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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For God’s will to be done, whatever that may be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that is for healing, I am content to stay,
but if my time is approaching, I am ready to embrace it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not giving up and I have an extensive
list of goals I would like to experience with my family before that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also have a good many blog posts yet to
write, publish and inflict on you all if you choose to read them!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But like Jesus in Gethsemane, my prayer to
God is not my will, but yours.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thank you to everyone who has been upholding me in prayer
as well as everyone who has held us in their thoughts, sent their love and best
wishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are strengthened by them all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The photo at the top of this blog post is from a hotel
bedroom in Birmingham.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surprisingly
philosophical I thought, for a hotel…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com8Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-43842259496628222032018-07-31T12:51:00.000+01:002018-09-03T10:07:48.676+01:00Charismatics, Conferences and Characters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 21</h3>
<br />
At the same time as being the youth worker in Haddenham I
was also employed by a group working for national change in the Church of
England. Anglican Renewal Ministries (ARM)
was set up to encourage Charismatic Renewal in the Church of England.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Charismatics often have a rather a mixed press in the UK. They are often dismissed as happy-clappy, superficial
or dumbed-down Christians, but beneath the joyful expression of most charismatic churches
there is a profound longing for deep and life-changing encounters with God. At the heart of the Charismatic movement is a
rediscovery of the third person of the Trinity – the Holy Spirit. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Christians have always believed in one God who is Father,
Son and Holy Spirit. The Fatherhood of
God is recognised in prayer every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer – Our Father
who art in heaven. The Son is, of course,
Jesus Christ the Son of God. But the
Holy Spirit had been relegated over many centuries to something vague and mysterious,
unknown and unknowable. The Prayer Book didn’t
help, referring to the Holy Spirit as the Holy Ghost. As a child this had always sounded rather
spooky to me! <b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.com/2011/06/genderless-god.html" target="_blank">Often referred to as ‘it’rather than he or she,</a></b> the Holy Spirit was little understood and rarely
mentioned except in blessings or collects, when listed with the Father and the
Son.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet the Holy Spirit is an integral and powerful part of
the New Testament. The Virgin Mary conceived
Jesus by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Jesus left his disciples at the ascension with the words, “But you will
receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you.” The Book of Acts which follows the Gospels,
is full of stories of the Holy Spirit empowering Christians with signs and
wonders, as well as teaching and guiding the early Church. For them The Holy Spirit was the Spirit of
Jesus, sent by the Father to be with them when Jesus could no longer walk
alongside them on the road, yet just as real.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By the 20<sup>th</sup> Century however, one inspirational
preacher, AW Tozer remarked that “If the Holy Spirit was withdrawn from the church
today, 95% of what we do would go on and no one would know the difference. If the Holy Spirit had been withdrawn from
the New Testament church, 95% of what they did would stop and everybody would
know the difference”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Anglo-Catholics limited the Holy Spirit’s work to the
sacraments. Liberal theologians
dismissed Bible stories of miracles and healings as merely inspirational stories. Conservative Evangelicals believed in the
truth of the Bible miracles, but argued that the gifts of the Holy Spirit were
no longer needed after the Bible reached its final form. This prompted one preacher from the
Charismatic movement to say “That’s like having a car and saying that we don’t
need petrol because we’ve found the owners handbook!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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In a nutshell, the Charismatic movement was one of those
times in history when people were rediscovering the person of the Holy Spirit
together with the love and power which he/she brings to the Church. This was often controversial as it appeared
to be rather threatening to some traditional Anglican values, like playing
everything safe and not getting too excited!<o:p></o:p></div>
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By the 1970s, the Charismatic movement in the UK was
established and growing, inspired by accounts of amazing things happening in
other parts of the world. Finding and
promoting an Anglican way of being Charismatic was at the heart of ARM. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My job was mostly office work. Responding to letters and phone enquiries;
sending off orders for the courses we published and recordings of conference
talks; publicising books and organising conferences. It was good experience, learning the nuts and
bolts of administration but part of my work with ARM was going to the
conferences and parish weekends we organised. This sometimes involved leading
prayer and worship, looking after the guest speakers and even preaching
occasionally. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><a href="https://www.cct.org.uk/the-hayes/introduction" target="_blank">The Hayes Conference Centre in Swanwick</a></b> began to feel
like my second home that year. Some of
the conferences were small with local preachers; some were large and had
speakers from all over the world. During
the year, I met and talked with most of the Charismatic leaders of the 80’s,
both from the UK and the USA and I heard enough sermons to last a lifetime! I also assisted with the prayer ministry for
people at the end of meetings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I learned a great deal, from the nuts and bolts of admin
to the sometimes delicate task of managing church celebrities. Most of all, I learned that people who speak
at conferences and write books are just people, even if some have an ego the
size of a house! In all walks of life
there is a tendency to put people on pedestals.
Someone might be a great preacher, a celebrity or a successful
politician – but beneath it all they are people just like you and me. They have their good days and their off-days,
their strengths and weaknesses. On stage
they may be larger than life, but they all have their grumpy days and sometimes
even suffer depression, despite everything appearing fine on the surface.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lawrence, the leader of ARM and my boss, was a case in
point. He was a big Yorkshireman with a
big heart but also a big temper. On some
days the slightest thing could send him into a rage and when we were out on the
road I was often the person who was sent in to calm him down. It wasn’t quite like Daniel in the lions’
den, but more like the young boy David being sent to soothe King Saul’s temper
by playing the harp! (<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Samuel+16%3A14-23&version=NKJV" target="_blank">1 Samuel 16</a></b>)<o:p></o:p></div>
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A deanery weekend we held in Devon is a good
example. We arrived on the Friday
afternoon ready for the first event which was a Youth Night. We had booked an up and coming musician and
preacher as the main attraction, but as 7:30pm approached we began to realise
that he wasn’t going to show up. After
some frantic phone calls, it emerged that he had the dates mixed up and thought
it was the following weekend. As the
only member of the team under the age of 50, I was asked to stand in for him, singing
and preaching to the gathering of 80-100 young people who had arrived. I had about 5 minutes to work out what to do!
It would be fair to say that they got a raw deal that night, but were very
gracious about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The young preacher/musician then arrived somewhat shamefaced
on the Saturday for the rest of the weekend meetings, but left before the final
service on the Sunday evening. Lawrence
was furious, and I got a phone call over tea from a rather bewildered vicar who
had witnessed the full force of his rage.
He had left him alone in a room to calm down before getting on the phone
to me. I went straight over and was
greeted by a very relieved clergyman who ushered me into the sitting room where
Lawrence was sat, seething. After about
an hour, normality was restored and Lawrence preached a wonderful sermon at the
service that evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw the numerous heated arguments that Christian
celebrities can have with each other, especially when they aren’t getting their
own way. I don’t say this to demean them, but rather to show that we are all human. Those of us who who read books by great
preachers can assume that they are so much more Christ-like than we ever could
be. In truth, they are just as fallible,
just as human, just as capable of getting things right or wrong. Learning this was a very good lesson. It taught me to always look inside the people
I meet, to see their needs and concerns rather than just the persona they
project.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of all the people I heard preach that year, the one who
impressed me most will be almost unheard of today. It was a man called David Smith who was the
manager of a food warehouse as well as being a local preacher. He was wonderfully down to earth and
real. </div>
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People used to ask him why he
didn’t get ordained. His reply was short
and sweet. “I don’t need a dog collar”
he would say, “Just like when I’m at work, I don’t need to wear a badge which
says manager.” When people looked a bit
puzzled, he would explain that everyone knows he is the manager at the
warehouse by the way he conducts himself, adding, “If I need a badge saying
manager, I shouldn’t be the manager!” <o:p></o:p></div>
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While I think there is a separate conversation to have
here about the nature of God’s calling, what David taught me was priceless –
that we should never assume that trust and authority simply come from a
uniform, badge or dog collar. Jesus
said “<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+7%3A15-20&version=NKJV" target="_blank">By their fruits you will know them</a></b>”, not by the shininess of their dog
collar, vestments, or guitar!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Towards the end of my time with ARM I was sent to the
United States to be a ghost writer for a Youth Pastor in an Anglican church in
Nashville, Tennessee. He had been
recognised for his ministry among young people, and I was sent to collate his teaching
material and turn it into courses for teenagers in the UK. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I had some great experiences there… <o:p></o:p></div>
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Soon after I arrived I surprized my hosts by wanting to
go for a walk around their neighbourhood.
Despite their incredulity I pressed on until I was stopped by a police
squad car, suspicious of this lone figure waking the streets. After a tense moment, I spoke and the tension
evaporated. “Aha! You’re English!” one
of the officers said, before patiently explaining to me that people don’t walk
in Nashville, they drive. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then it was my turn to be shocked when I was taken out to
a meal in a very respectable restaurant. Before being taken to our table we
were asked to check all guns into the cloakroom as naturally as being asked
whether we had a coat or umbrella.
Seeing all the firearms stacked in numbered lockers behind the counter
made me look at my fellow diners in a whole new way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After a couple of weeks I had everything I needed. I came back to the UK, spent a couple of
months writing it up and we published Crash Christianity and Discipleship
Training. It was a good note on which to
leave.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Many of us who were involved in Charismatic Renewal
expected it to take the CofE by storm and revolutionise the entire Church. Looking back, it didn’t, but it did have a
significant impact. In the Church of England today there are many experienced
priests of all traditions who count the charismatic movement as influential in
discovering their vocation. In recent
years I was surprised to find that almost all the clergy in a sleepy deanery
chapter in rural Dorset cited Charismatic Renewal as a major factor in hearing
God’s call.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It also led to the creation of a number of networks which
are still highly active today. <b><a href="https://www.new-wine.org/about" target="_blank">New Wine</a></b>
is the biggest Anglican one, but there are also others. Many members of the early House Churches were
disaffected Anglicans from churches where they felt that Charismatic Renewal
had been rejected. As these grew, this
led to the success of groups like New Frontiers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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No single reforming
movement in the Church can ever claim to be the answer to all the church’s
needs. Life is much more complex than
that. We each have a piece of the jigsaw
and we are all needed to make the picture complete. Not everyone is made to be a raving
charismatic, just as not everyone is made to be some other part of the church’s
story. Working for ARM for that year was
an opportunity to encourage others to cross the line from a safe predictable
faith into the unknown. Many were
blessed by that and the Church of England would be the poorer without it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Today, ARM is known as
‘<b><a href="http://www.resource-arm.net/" target="_blank">ReSource</a></b>’ and is still active in encouraging churches and individuals.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But my time there was
coming to an end and soon I was ready to move on to my next adventure – with a
motorbike and a London A-Z.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-your-bike.html?m=0">Click here for part 22 - On your bike</a></b></div>
</div>
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<b> <a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s1600/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s320/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com3Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-53028282435242595252018-07-15T15:00:00.000+01:002018-07-31T12:58:16.922+01:00By the village pond<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 20</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMRb-CKzTucYyrXEdBpV7H1Ms6OuGjngND28x6bY79uMZ8ZsnSROeLkTOpmm4zSfSVkUAGgk_7TSA7xsMRd6DODidhxiBwFkIrzyPWJQvMMNr0QSfM686-WFAqHiawDprFyNIbZTuuW8/s1600/Haddenham+Village+Pond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="1000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMRb-CKzTucYyrXEdBpV7H1Ms6OuGjngND28x6bY79uMZ8ZsnSROeLkTOpmm4zSfSVkUAGgk_7TSA7xsMRd6DODidhxiBwFkIrzyPWJQvMMNr0QSfM686-WFAqHiawDprFyNIbZTuuW8/s400/Haddenham+Village+Pond.jpg" width="400" /></a>Haddenham is a village in Buckinghamshire with
a quintessentially English village green. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The ancient parish church with its lych-gate, the duck
pond with its distinctive white Aylesbury Ducks and the cottages which line the green, make it an idyllic scene.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By the 1980’s the population had grown well beyond just a
farming community, attracting commuters with new housing and direct trains into London Marylebone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The parish church was thriving with a large
congregation, a gentle kind of charismatic renewal and a lively youth ministry.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The quaint, Victorian village school was now the church
hall and next to it, on the village green, was the Old School House.</div>
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_____________________________________________</div>
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As the end of my time at University approached, I started
to find myself worrying about what I was going to do next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My housemates were all kick-starting their careers,
while I was trying to find something useful to do for a couple of years before
starting theological college.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wasn’t short of ideas but my dreams kept getting dashed
by reality.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wanted to spend some time overseas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had met someone who had spent time delivering
aid with the UN in Ethiopia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That sounded
like a life changing experience, so I started investigating how I could do
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, the civil war in
the region was getting worse and the UN was starting to pull staff and
volunteers out, so that came to nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Driving HGV lorries across Europe was something I also
liked the idea of but found that it was impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Haulage companies didn’t take under 25’s
because of the high cost of insurance.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps I could be an air courier?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Flying all over the world delivering letters
and parcels seemed exciting so I wrote to several companies, only to be told that
at the age of 22, I was too old!<o:p></o:p></div>
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It wasn’t long before all of my friends seemed to have
something sorted, except me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started
to have words with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“OK – if my
ideas won’t work, what do you want me to do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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About a week before my final exams the phone rang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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It was Lawrence Hoyle – a Church of England priest who
ran a group called Anglican Renewal Ministries (ARM).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lawrence had founded the ministry to promote Charismatic
Renewal in the Church of England and we had first met when ARM came to lead a
weekend conference in my dad’s church in Bolton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had helped to lead the worship for the weekend
with others from the youth group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the
end he invited me to spend a summer working at Lamplugh House, a small
conference centre which he and his wife Margaret had set up in the beautifully
named village of Thwing in East Yorkshire.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I spent a happy summer there, helping out around the
house, designing publicity, and leading worship for the groups who came.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now he was on the phone with a new job offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anglican Renewal Ministries was moving its
offices to Haddenham in Buckinghamshire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lawrence was looking for an assistant to support him in their office
work, conference ministry and parish weekends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He also said that the local church in Haddenham was looking for a part-time
Youth Worker in return for providing accommodation in The Old School House on
the idyllic village green by the duck pond.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Initially, I was hesitant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had wanted to travel and see the world or
else, I wanted a down to earth secular job before theological college like my
father had done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I was being offered
a church job, just 15 miles down the road!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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As I reflected though, I began to realise that I was being
more than a bit churlish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After asking
God to show me what he did want me to do, I was being offered a job which would
take me around the country helping to organise Charismatic Christian
conferences while living in a beautiful village!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What on earth was I moaning about?<o:p></o:p></div>
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I accepted the job and got ready to move to Haddenham in
the summer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As the time approached however, I began to realise that
it would have been a good idea to get more information first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything with Anglican Renewal Ministries
was fine, but the church youth work was turning out to be a real hornets’ nest.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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First, I was told that the old Youth Worker had lost his
faith before he left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I was told
that he had also left his wife and children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then a few days before I was due to move in, I was told that I couldn’t,
because his wife and teenage children were still living in the Youth Worker’s
house – the house I had been promised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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When I asked a few more questions, I discovered that the
church was in the process of evicting them so that I could move in, and that the
two teenagers were leading members of the CYFA group I was there to lead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things were going from bad to worse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Instead of moving into the Old School House, I found
myself being put up by Lawrence and Margaret in their spare room with a
pull-out bed above the office.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And it didn’t stop there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As if the CYFA group didn’t have enough reasons to hate me already, I
then discovered that the old Youth Worker had been accused of having an affair
with a member of the church before he left – someone who I had to work with in
another area of church life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether
this was true of not, I never really knew, but the suspicion was enough to
evoke all kinds of feelings of anger and betrayal in the CYFA group.<o:p></o:p></div>
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While there were several aspects to the youth work, the
most significant was the CYFA group for teenagers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were a good group of young people, but
the experience of losing their old Youth Worker – and for two of them, seeing
their parents split up and their dad move away – had left deep pain which could
easily develop into scars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adolescence
can be volatile at the best of times, but adding in the hurt and anger took
this to a whole new level. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Within a few weeks of starting I was on the receiving end
of both tantrums and tears, which were quite understandable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to see that these teenagers needed
someone caring and dependable, but also consistent and firm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was needed was a cushioned brick!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someting they could kick out against, but
which would offer love and care to them, whatever they said or did.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was hard work and as I look back, I am so grateful for
one family in the village who offered me care and support in the midst of the
early chaos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat and Ron had two kids in
the youth ministry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their son was in
CYFA and their daughter in the younger Pathfinders group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat worked part-time as the vicar’s secretary
and I think she saw how I had been ambushed. They regularly had me round for
coffee, meals and place to crash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Without them, life would have been so much harder.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As time went on the old youth workers family found
alternative accommodation nearby and I moved into the Old School House.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was empty and I didn’t have any furniture,
so I was dependant on people in the church donating bits of furniture they
didn’t need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The CYFA group helped me
move things around and make a home and we started meeting there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They even helped me in my home-brewing! We
did things together and gradually the wounds began to heal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Smiles and laughter began to replace the
frowns and suspicion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One of the best things we did was a Custard Election to
raise money towards a CYFA activity holiday in Devon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those who don’t know, a Custard Election
is the most corrupt form of democracy ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had four candidates and after church for several weeks, we sold votes
for each candidate. People could buy as many votes as they wanted and after an
agreed time, the candidate with the most votes would be unceremoniously
drenched in custard.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The candidates were John the vicar, a CYFA member who was
also a Sunday School Teacher, a retired priest, and me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every Sunday we would announce the running
total and then encourage people to buy more votes for the person they would
most like to see covered in custard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was a big financial success.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In a final twist, someone handed us a blank cheque in the
final seconds of the election, with the instruction to level up all the
votes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were all going to get covered
in the wet, yellow, sticky stuff!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The following Sunday, the CYFA group arrived at The Old
School House very early.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had gallons
of custard to make!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the old cooker in
the kitchen we mixed, stirred, and poured custard into bucket after
bucket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then after the morning service,
the whole congregation gathered on the village green for the spectacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was wonderful mayhem and despite the mess,
the cold, and the stickiness, it brought us all together.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There were other good moments there too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>St Mary’s Haddenham was the first church
where I rode my motorbike up the central aisle of the church during a family
service one Sunday (to illustrate a point in my sermon, of course!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was also where
I learned that when preaching, it is better to quit while you are ahead.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was preaching on the church as the Body of Christ and
we had an old overhead projector with a big screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got all the children to join me at the
front around this OHP and asked them what I needed to draw a body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then drew their answers on the OHP, gradually
forming a body on the screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It all
started well – two legs, arms, a head, eyes, ears, etc – but just when it was
complete enough for me to say thank you and move on, I asked one too many questions;
“Is there anything else we need?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was a young boy who was stood right next to me, and
his mouth was right next to the radio-mic clipped to my shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he opened his mouth, the mic amplified his
voice many times over, and his words boomed and echoed around the church; “A
willy!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a moment of awkward
silence followed by raucous laughter around the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This gave me a moment to think, and I quickly
drew a belt on the figure on the OHP, saying the only thing which came into my
head, “He’s wearing trousers!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got
away with that one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoF7z58TOCtbXduOf5WsXL1UhB0bONj7w7NN3HxpDaB5yxr_xeSDEz7c9eFRSHJZb9QbcP8EiuLirwvcsP_4SH2Wy1URruRx656GuniZ6jCkUxPrLF5vDX0I4C1joc_oQiX59wR-p9tik/s1600/Custard+Elections+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoF7z58TOCtbXduOf5WsXL1UhB0bONj7w7NN3HxpDaB5yxr_xeSDEz7c9eFRSHJZb9QbcP8EiuLirwvcsP_4SH2Wy1URruRx656GuniZ6jCkUxPrLF5vDX0I4C1joc_oQiX59wR-p9tik/s320/Custard+Elections+4.jpg" width="320" /></a>As the year came to a close, I reflected on what I had
learned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The first thing was starkly obvious – don’t do that
again!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t underestimate the problems
which may lie under the surface of an idyllic, picturesque village or a successful church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always look carefully and ask lots of
questions before saying yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be
lovely to think that all posts in church ministry are honestly and accurately
described by parishes, archdeacons and bishops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unfortunately, that is very rare in my experience.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When advertising to fill a vacancy, churches are just as
prone to give into the temptation to ‘spin’ their story as politicians making a
speech, or estate agents describing a bijou property.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accentuate the positives and play down the
problems – worse still, don’t mention them at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This is particularly true when looking for a new vicar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have nothing against open recruitment but
by its very nature it is competitive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each
parish tries to write a more attractive profile than competing parishes, and
applicants try to present themselves as better than the other candidates. It is
much better to have an open and honest appraisal of both the parish and the clergy
than to shadow-box around facades. Having found out what lies beneath, God may
still be calling a particular person to a particular parish, but at least
everyone commits with open eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The second lesson is not to give up on people who are
hurting and angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Patient, persistent
love can change situations, even lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It won’t always work, but that is ultimately up to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The CYFA group in Haddenham put aside their
anger and found a new joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not everyone
will be so open, but Jesus brought together a group of diverse men and women
with lots of reasons to be dysfunctional and angry with each other. Through his
patient love, all except one found a better way of living.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7XOTLA_0JokNKlpBAIKLwNsEvXVsvuzszuuzCkgNlf4S2yFDQDo5D_KVx83KvJ6Rpu8I7di4rroweQylqGUZ2nZpP7_4nAKWIRzSWSDjT01RFsFrmZibcT9YztGC4Ig_bVQsXynKgQY/s1600/Haddenham+Benny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7XOTLA_0JokNKlpBAIKLwNsEvXVsvuzszuuzCkgNlf4S2yFDQDo5D_KVx83KvJ6Rpu8I7di4rroweQylqGUZ2nZpP7_4nAKWIRzSWSDjT01RFsFrmZibcT9YztGC4Ig_bVQsXynKgQY/s320/Haddenham+Benny.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Haddenham’s final lesson for me was much more recent –
just a couple of years ago in fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was visiting the headquarters of CMS (the Church Mission Society) in Oxford to
find out more about their work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During
the day I was introduced to a woman who suddenly went into a kind of quiet
shock before saying, “You’re Benny Hazlehurst?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She then went on to tell me about one Sunday
morning when I had gathered the children round me in the service at Haddenham.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was playing my guitar and leading a song,
and that was the moment when, as a young child in that group, she decided that
she wanted to be a youth worker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now,
having been a youth worker for many years, she recalled that moment and it
brought me such a blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no
idea that I had inspired someone in Haddenham towards ministry until that
moment, many years later.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The lesson?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never
underestimate what God can do through you, even in the difficult times, and
even when you may never know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Next week – Anglican Renewal Ministries…<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/07/charismatics-conferences-and-characters.html?m=0">Click ere for part 21 - Charismatics, Conferences and Characters</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.com/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s1600/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s320/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com1Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-85986882831429444012018-04-15T12:59:00.000+01:002018-04-15T12:59:58.831+01:00The Embrace<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdh11fl8Q0_nfkho3qJPb5o_lH5UzIRCVqX1t6s76x371yvwGJ5rFMHBaeBT97WbiI4Ci8WZkRI8wYht9Ckn0wnGlyIoCRfsResMMb1xR3RGpsGtpC2gtTtCUEYcsxKUfAaNNIVMFqlY/s1600/The+Embrace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1311" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdh11fl8Q0_nfkho3qJPb5o_lH5UzIRCVqX1t6s76x371yvwGJ5rFMHBaeBT97WbiI4Ci8WZkRI8wYht9Ckn0wnGlyIoCRfsResMMb1xR3RGpsGtpC2gtTtCUEYcsxKUfAaNNIVMFqlY/s400/The+Embrace.jpg" width="327" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have been very struck by this painting over the last few
days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hangs in the Farmhouse at <b><a href="http://www.loxlane.co.uk/" target="_blank">Lox Lane Christian Centre</a></b> near Shaftsbury.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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My first reaction was “That’s something I
could do with!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The warm embrace of
Jesus; an ordinary person being gathered up into his arms; the sense of security
it conveys; the moment of wonder it implies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Above all the simple, uncluttered love which flows out of this
precious moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But then I thought again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we are feeling down, hurt, angry or confused, there are times when
we push others away rather than looking to them for comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been times in my life when I have
done this with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept God at arm’s
length for some time after<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/ten-years-on.html" target="_blank"> my wife’s accident </a></b>15 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My sense of pain and bewilderment meant that the
warmth of God’s embrace was the last thing I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t sure I trusted Him anymore and a hug
or a kiss would not have made it all better.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Perhaps now, as I come to terms with cancer, I don’t want
to be hugged by Christ, no matter how special that would seem to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not a very touchy-feely kind of person at
the best of times and, as I wrote in my <b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/04/after-treatment.html" target="_blank">last post</a></b>, I am currently fighting
depression as the intensity of treatment gives way to the limbo of watchful waiting.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But as I continued to look at the painting, I noticed
more than simply the embrace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw his
hands with the mark of the nails, still red and bloody.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the crown of thorns still there, biting
into his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a risen Christ that still bears the scars and the pain of his crucifixion –
who still bears the marks of his own death.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This is a Jesus who understands pain, sorrow and
confusion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the Jesus who cried
out on the cross “<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+15%3A33-37&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?</a></b>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the Jesus who was “<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+53&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">despised and rejected, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain” and who “bore our suffering</a></b>” as he hung there.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It is this Jesus who gathers us up into his loving
embrace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So perhaps my first reaction
was right after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would like to
feel the warm embrace of Christ afterall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
not an embrace which ignores the downsides of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not escapism into a world of fluffy
clouds and impossible dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the
down to earth embrace of the man of sorrows, whose love brings light into the
darkest places of our lives and which can melt the hardest of hearts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The very <b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+22%3A20-21&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">last words</a></b> of the
Bible are these,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The grace of the Lord Jesus be
with God’s people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amen”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Perhaps today I would add – <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The embrace of the Lord Jesus be with us too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amen<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com1Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-48888778641081612122018-04-02T16:12:00.000+01:002018-04-02T16:21:26.404+01:00After Treatment<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdLRtWufihU_dRUvp7V5emiT6lSKjjqZwL9uUmaBfAGV0AbnxZAgAMq8f3VqvruEXJhuYIRKx7IuivVgVNAYLN2yf9I_DqrdlTWfy-wTPfhGmt0cJfbLiOiVfrBVFoz42CuJfl5rsK-c/s1600/Joseph+Weld+Hopsice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdLRtWufihU_dRUvp7V5emiT6lSKjjqZwL9uUmaBfAGV0AbnxZAgAMq8f3VqvruEXJhuYIRKx7IuivVgVNAYLN2yf9I_DqrdlTWfy-wTPfhGmt0cJfbLiOiVfrBVFoz42CuJfl5rsK-c/s320/Joseph+Weld+Hopsice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i>I started to write this post in our local hospice on
Wednesday of Holy Week.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Don’t worry, I’m not at death’s door or anywhere
near.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m waiting for Mel who is having
her regular family support appointment here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then we will be driving up to <b><a href="https://www.royalmarsden.nhs.uk/" target="_blank">The Royal Marsden Hospital</a></b> in London to
talk to a researcher about a cancer genetics study which I’ve been invited to
take part in.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sitting in the hospice has prompted me to reflect on how I
am coping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, I am likely to spend more time here in the future – it may also be the place where
I will eventually die.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have now finished my cycles of ‘<b><a href="https://www.webmd.com/prostate-cancer/news/20150514/early-chemo-may-boost-survival-in-advanced-prostate-cancer#1" target="_blank">early chemotherapy</a></b>’ plus
two courses of radiotherapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the
positive side, my PSA has come down from the 300’s to the teens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the less positive side, the news from my
latest CT Scan was mixed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some mets
(tumours) have shrunk, some have grown, and there are some new ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not quite the spectacular success I had hoped
for.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The side-effects of chemo are fading, although some less
than others and I am wondering if the tingling I feel in my tongue and fingers
might be permanent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pain in my
pelvis has returned after my first course of radiotherapy had successfully
knocked it on the head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back pains are
also more established.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One of the intriguing questions now focuses around which
of my current symptoms are because of chemo and which are there because of the
cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My month signed-off work is
drawing to a close and I need to decide if I feel well enough to go back.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The biggest challenge is a psychological one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have completed the initial treatment which was
recommended when I was first diagnosed and now almost all of it will stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From having appointments once or twice a week
for treatment, blood tests, scans and consultations, I now enter a new phase in
which I will only see someone every 2or 3 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As long as my PSA keeps down, I won’t need
the more intense treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it
starts rising again, my oncologist will talk with me about what’s next.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This should make me happy and indeed I am happy to have
finished chemo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am happy that my PSA
numbers have come down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am happy that
I should be able to live a relatively normally for a while…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
...but I’m also scared.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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While the treatment was full-on, it felt like everything
was being done to fight the cancer, so I felt like I was fighting it too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that I am entering a more relaxed stage, I feel
like I have been parked in a side bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
feel quite alone and in danger of slipping into depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting over the initial shock, fighting the
cancer and being determined not to give up has kept me going for the last 6
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the last few weeks I have
started to feel this determination ebbing away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It makes me reflect on the psychological stages of living
with cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, they have been as
follows:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Chapter 1:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Initial
shock</h3>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The panoply of tests, scans and biopsies to see how far
it had spread; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>waiting for the results;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the mixture of shock, denial and endless
questions when they came back;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>slowly adapting
life expectations, plans, hopes and dreams as reality sets in;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>telling family, friends & work colleagues
and managing their reactions to the shocking news.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Chapter 2:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Full
steam ahead</h3>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Getting used to hormone therapy, radiotherapy and the
cycles of chemo; the regular round of doctors, nurses and specialists asking me
how I am coping; the hope that the inconvenience and side-effects are all worth
it; the determination to get through each day, each cycle, each phase and carry
on with life as fully as possible.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<h3>
Now I’m in Chapter 3</h3>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m not sure what to call it yet but it feels like a big let-down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apart from the hormone implants, I will have
nothing to steel myself for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every few
months I will have a blood test and wait with baited breath to see if my PSA
has started to rise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The intensity of
chapters 1&2 and the adrenalin which went with them is gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its bit like the morning after a great party, when everything is silent, and you are on your own again, nursing a mild
hangover.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have already seen the clouds of depression circling
overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am less likely now to
respond to messages from friends, preferring to be on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s not helped by feeling tired all the
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be so easy to slip into
the deep padded cushions of apathy and give up. I have suffered depression
before, and I know the signs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The challenge is to adapt to this new pattern without
succumbing to the cloud’s dark shadows – to take advantage of the lull in
treatments – to live a little more instead of a little less.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><b>I finished writing this post in the afterglow of
Easter.</b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Circumstances did not allow me to join in the events of
the Passion this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maundy Thursday
was spent at the Royal Marsden Hospital and Good Friday driving back to
Dorset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But yesterday in our village
church, the joy of the resurrection broke through the gloom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself looking at the stained-glass
window of the risen Christ, knowing that now is the time when our faith bears
fruit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After everything was thrown at
him on the cross; after he was laid in a dark, lonely tomb; after all hope was
lost, he rose again!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life once more
entered the darkness and dispelled it with light.<o:p></o:p></div>
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His resurrection gives me hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not succumb to the dark clouds and I will ask God to
raise me up again for this next chapter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Above all, </span>I will remember his <b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+28%3A19-20&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">resurrection promise</a></b>, “And surely I am with you
always, even to the end of the age.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com7Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-63997839775568114842018-03-24T16:55:00.000+00:002018-07-15T15:07:22.071+01:00ACCM!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 19</h3>
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While at university, my<a href="https://www.churchofengland.org/life-events/vocations/preparing-ordained-ministry" target="_blank"> <b>path towards ordination</b></a>
continued.</div>
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I met with my DDO (Diocesan
Director of Ordinands) in Manchester when I was at home with Mum and Dad and in
my second year, I was deemed ready for ACCM (see below for explanation!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Church of England selection conference for ordination is a
strange animal with many names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
days it is called a <b><a href="https://ordinands.org.uk/discerning/going-to-a-bap/" target="_blank">BAP</a></b> – with apologies to friends in the Midlands and
Northern England where this means something entirely different!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the past it has also been CACTM and
ABM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my day it was the Advisory
Council for the Church’s Ministry (ACCM).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whatever the name, it has changed little over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a three-day residential selection panel,
that can feel like being in a human goldfish bowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As well as interviews with the selectors or advisors,
there are group exercises and written pieces of work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are observed almost all of the time to
see how you relate to others and express your faith and calling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are expected to sit at different tables each
meal time to ensure that all the selectors get a good look at you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only times you are not being observed are
in the regular acts of prayer and worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a bit like a spiritual version of the TV series <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Brother_(UK_TV_series)" target="_blank">Big Brother</a></b>, with Bishops Advisors
instead of cameras.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before I went however, there was still one thing on my mind
that I needed to sort out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At one of the university Christian Unions meetings I had heard
a preacher called George Verwer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
founded a missionary organisation called <b><a href="https://www.uk.om.org/" target="_blank">Operation Mobilisation (OM)</a></b> in the
1950’s and was a compelling speaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked
us what Jesus last commandment was, before he went back to heaven. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The answer is found in the final verses of Matthew’s
Gospel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Go and make disciples of all
nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the
Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.
And surely, I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”<i> </i>(<b><i><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+28%3A16-20&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">Matthew 28</a></i></b>)<o:p></o:p></div>
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George argued that this last command calls on all
Christians to be missionaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the
real question is not “Am I called to be a missionary?” but rather “Am I called
to stay at home?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His challenge went
further, arguing that unless you hear God calling you to stay at home, your
Christian duty is to go into all the world, because those were his last instructions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This turned everything upside-down for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had assumed that missionaries were the
special few, called by God to a special task.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Verwer" target="_blank">George Verwer</a></b> was saying that we are all called to be missionaries
unless God tells us otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt
challenged and began to pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was God
indeed calling me to ordination in the Church of England or was he calling me
overseas?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The answer came from one of the few times that I have
actually heard an audible voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day
at the end of my prayers I heard the words,<b> “<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ezekiel+3&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">Read Ezekiel 3</a>.”</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No burning bush or blinding light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No clap of thunder or vision of heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just a simple instruction to read this chapter of an Old Testament book
about the prophet Ezekiel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I opened my Bible, I had no idea what I would
find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not a book or chapter I
knew well and although I must have read it at some point, I couldn’t remember
anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was, therefore,
utterly amazed by what I found there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUup8tXdEArnP1tD3SQOvIYTS-RjYdv2W2GE45Qu7KX9v9BK4pvmhe3ueDkNVTepp3dAgscZkEb-gYoDGMxdhXpDaKHQdHb1bEoxyPo2RchAJqSy0HdTvH_W8tZV-b0f5EK6jUZTddFkk/s1600/Open+Bible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUup8tXdEArnP1tD3SQOvIYTS-RjYdv2W2GE45Qu7KX9v9BK4pvmhe3ueDkNVTepp3dAgscZkEb-gYoDGMxdhXpDaKHQdHb1bEoxyPo2RchAJqSy0HdTvH_W8tZV-b0f5EK6jUZTddFkk/s1600/Open+Bible.jpg" /></a>“Son of man, go now to the
people of Israel and speak my words to them. You are not being sent to a people
of obscure speech and strange language, but to the people of Israel – not
to many peoples of obscure speech and strange language, whose words you cannot
understand. Surely if I had sent you to them, they would have listened to
you. <b><sup> </sup></b>But the people of Israel are not willing to listen
to you because they are not willing to listen to me, for all the Israelites are
hardened and obstinate. <b><sup> </sup></b>But I will make you as unyielding
and hardened as they are. <b><sup> </sup></b>I will make your forehead
like the hardest stone, harder than flint. Do not be afraid of them or
terrified by them, though they are a rebellious people.” <i>(Ezekiel 3:4-9)</i></blockquote>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>It is part of the story of God calling Ezekiel to
ministry. Chapters 1 & 2 set the
scene and in chapter 3 was the answer to my question. There was no ambiguity – it was in black and
white in front of me! I couldn’t believe
it. As I read and re-read the chapter I realised
that just as Ezekiel was called to his own people (the people of Israel) so God
was calling me to my own people. The
realisation also came to me that this would not be an easy task. “If I sent you to great nations that spoke
difficult languages you didn’t understand… they would listen to you… but your
own people will not listen.” I wasn’t
sure what this meant yet, but one thing I knew for sure – God was calling me to
stay.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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So early one March morning in 1984 I set off for my
ACCM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a long journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to travel from Oxford to Riding Mill in
Northumberland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took 3 trains, the
tube, and a 15-minute walk from the station at the other end to get to the retreat
house.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The only preparation I received for my selection
conference was the instruction “Go and be yourself lad, you’ll be fine.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Compared with the way Dioceses prepare people
for their selection conference today, that was decidedly minimalist!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went as myself, dressed in jeans,
trainers, T-shirt and denim jacket, with my Adidas bag slung over my shoulder.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On the last train from Newcastle I noticed someone
smartly dressed in his three-piece suit & tie and with his professional
looking suitcase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got off at
Riding Mill Station he got off too, and started walking up the road to the
retreat centre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I followed, I
sensed him getting a little nervous at being followed up these deserted country
lanes by a denim-clad stranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
started to quicken his pace and I thought of trying to catch up with him, as I
was sure we were both heading for the same place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I thought better of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he was scared now, what would he be like
if I started to run after him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slowed
my pace to allow him to get away!<o:p></o:p></div>
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On arriving at the retreat centre I was looking at the visitors’
book and working out how to register, when I heard a voice saying, “Are you
just leaving?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned around and saw
another smartly dressed man who had clearly taken one look at me and thought I
couldn’t possibly be a potential ordinand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What a welcome!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned out to
be another of the candidates, not one of the selectors, but I couldn’t help
feeling a bit out of place.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If I am honest though, it didn’t really bother me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may sound arrogant, but I knew God was
calling me to be a priest, right down to the depth of my being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that not everyone feels that way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many go with a much more questioning approach,
wanting to test if this is for them, but I knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, I wasn’t worried about getting a
‘No’ at the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that happened it was
the selectors who would have made a mistake, not me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would simply wait the statutory two years
before I could try again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although this
may seem arrogant, it wasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t
think that I was God’s gift to the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew my weaknesses far too well for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just knew, despite all my faults and
failings, that this was God calling for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As the three days progressed I noticed that the other
candidates did progressively dress down and if I am honest, I dressed a little
smarter, putting a proper shirt over my T-shirt!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We almost ended up meeting in the middle.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The selectors were astute but kind, and they did their
best to put us all at our ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
interviews went well, although I was a little disturbed by my educational
interview because it was far too short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Almost as soon as I walked through the door, the selector told me,
“You’ll be alright; you’re at Oxford” and to all intents and purposes that was
the interview.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While reassured to hear I
would be ‘alright’, I did wonder if that was a little presumptuous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maths and Theology are miles apart and I
hadn’t written essays since I was 16.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How had he come to this conclusion without asking me a single question?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It partly stuck in my throat because in those
days, the only selector with a veto on recommending a candidate for ordination
was the educational selector.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wondered whether he gave a much harder time to candidates who had not been to Oxford.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It all felt a bit too elitist and cosy to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The two other things which stick in my mind about my ACCM
Conference were nudity and drinking!<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was a group exercise called 10 minute topics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our names were drawn out of a hat at random
and we each had to choose card from the coffee table in the middle of the
room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cards were face-down and when
you turned over your chosen card, you read the topic you had been given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then had 10 minutes to introduce the subject,
then chair a group discussion and sum up at the end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At 21, I was by far the youngest person in the room, and
my name came out of the hat first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
approached the table, chose a card and turned it over. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It read “Beach nudity – harmless fun or moral
outrage?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost burst out
laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking around the more
elderly group I was in, I took a deep breath and launched into the subject.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why couldn’t I have got one of the easy topics
like fox hunting, pacifism, or euthanasia?! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Outlining arguments from each point of view, I opened it
up for discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
like trying to get blood out of a stone or discuss nudity at a Church Council meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half of the room were too embarrassed to
speak and the other half were worried about saying something which would place
them in a negative light with the selectors – either too judgemental or too
permissive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After a bit of encouragement, one brave soul opened his
mouth and began with the words, “When I was in the south of France…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you God!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then others chipped in and it went well in
the end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The other memory I have is from the second evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had been told by the selectors that
attendance at Compline (night prayers) was optional and we could choose whether
to attend or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So on the second day,
a small group of us took the selectors at their word, missed Compline and went
to the pub instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After we ordered our
drinks and sat down, we noticed one of the selectors was also in the pub,
sitting at another table. Was he having some time out too, or was he there to
spy on us? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Initially we all felt like we
were back at school and had been caught sneaking out, but then we relaxed and
enjoyed our evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did swap contact
details and promised to let each other know if got through of not – a kind of
straw poll on whether nipping down to the pub was seen as a black mark at selection
conferences.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The three days came to an end and we all went our
separate ways, knowing that the decisions lay with the selectors’ now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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During the long journey back to Oxford I couldn’t believe
how tired I felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was exhausted and more
than that, a kind of depression set in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
the adrenaline levels fell away, far from feeling close to God and eager to
know if my vocation had been recognised, I felt down, exhausted and alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Working as I do now in encouraging Vocations, I now know
that this is common among people who go to BAPs today (Bishops Advisory Panels)
but I think it is still underestimated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parish
priests and supportive friends would do well to know that most candidates will
need more encouragement after a BAP than before it. Candidates also need to
know what to expect and be allowed to cut themselves a little slack after
attending one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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About ten days later the phone call came from my DDO.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been warmly recommended with two conditions;
that I finish my degree at university, and that I didn’t go to theological
college straight from university.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
should spend at least a year doing something different first.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was over the moon!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was 5 years since I had first filled in a form to explore ordination
and now I had been recommended for training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I also welcomed the time out before theological college with open arms,
having already decided that there were lots of exciting things that I would
like to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mind went back to my
father who was told the same thing after his selection conference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was suggested that he should go and work
in a book shop, but instead got himself a job on the shop-floor of a steel
works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would I do?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8joQAFMJP1frEh5RPXZEE4Hg_RNVAJ_Mlbh1fWAQZEnrFkfaFclnraZ3JhmrYl9rzsx04dKG3ZHl3bJwPue2OddnX5duV_qUxdQs-C4zieT6yf_sXQ4RNjVPCrDXANppBYIFTuOH22TI/s1600/With+Mum+and+Dad+1984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1243" data-original-width="1600" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8joQAFMJP1frEh5RPXZEE4Hg_RNVAJ_Mlbh1fWAQZEnrFkfaFclnraZ3JhmrYl9rzsx04dKG3ZHl3bJwPue2OddnX5duV_qUxdQs-C4zieT6yf_sXQ4RNjVPCrDXANppBYIFTuOH22TI/s320/With+Mum+and+Dad+1984.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my parents in 1984</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Telling my parents was a particular joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had always been very careful not to
influence me in any way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ever since I
told them at 16, they had been totally neutral and had never expressed an
opinion, for or against.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, as I told
them my result, they were openly overjoyed and finally told me they thought God
was calling me to ordination all along.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When our little group from the pub let each other know our
outcomes, guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had all been
recommended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, neither beach
nudity nor drinking had been a barrier to any of our callings being recognised
– perhaps they even helped!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.com/2018/07/by-village-pond.html?m=0">Click here for part 20 - By the village pond</a></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com3Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-8636313498416973282018-03-11T18:05:00.002+00:002018-03-24T17:00:16.924+00:00Runcie and Palin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 18</h3>
<br />
I have always loved practical jokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, I like them more when playing them
on others, but I even enjoy being the target!<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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At school there was a tradition of making the most of
April Fool’s Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the one day in
the year when the tight cords of discipline seemed to be loosened for a
while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One year our class started small
by sitting in the wrong seats, confusing our teachers a little, but when we saw
that this was all too easily rectified, we swapped everyone’s desks around
instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was more disruptive as our
desks contained our books, pens, pencils etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After the next teacher made us rearrange them back, we
went one step further, co-operating with the class next door to swap over about
half our desks between the two classrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was satisfyingly successful in interrupting the teaching schedule
of the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As we got older, we became more ambitious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The staff room was a prime target. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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One year I persuaded the dinner ladies to turn their
backs for a moment while transporting the tea urn up to the staff room at lunch
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I added around 1,000 sweeteners to
the urn, making it undrinkable and resulting in a few teachers spraying tea
across the room when they took their first mouthful.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A couple of my friends managed to put a chain and padlock
around the door handles to the staff room during morning break when they were
all there having their 15 minutes of peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At the end of break, when they tried to return to their classes they found
that they couldn’t get out and the whole school was blissfully bereft of
teachers for about 30 minutes while the maintenance staff found bolt-cutters big enough to set them free.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there was a school governors meeting on one April 1<sup>st</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our governors arrived in their posh cars and
parked them in the quad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daimlers,
Jaguars, even a Rolls Royce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t
resist it. I raided the art room for large sheets of paper and covered their
windscreens with huge price tags. Finding a portable blackboard, I put
a sign out by the road which said “Luxury Car Sale – Today Only – Come inside!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were several enquiries at the school
office before it was removed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My most ambitious plan came to nothing however.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a Great Hall with 800 wood and wicker
chairs to seat the whole school for assembly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They weren’t that comfortable, but they were quite old and of some
value.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wouldn’t it be great if one day
we all arrived for assembly to find them gone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s not that I wanted to steal them – just store them in a room nearby
and lock them in with a chain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
left a window slightly ajar in one of the corridors and sneaked in at night to
case the joint, only to be disappointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only unlocked room available to was so far away that
it would have taken all night (and a great deal of hard work) to transport them
that far. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In my part time job as a waiter, I succeeded in tricking
my manager with an exploding cigar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>John was very astute, so the only way he would fall for it, was if he
was convinced that the cigar was a genuine gift from a customer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loved smoking and this was a genuine, quality
cigar which I had doctored by inserting 3 explosive caps in the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave one of our customers the cigar to give
back to me as a tip, at the end of the meal. He played his part wonderfully,
waiting until John was watching, and then making a fuss of giving me the cigar
despite my protestations that I didn’t smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing that John saw this, I waited until he asked me about it, replying, “You know I don’t
smoke John – do you want it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The plan</span> worked like a dream and a group of us were hiding around the corner outside when John went
out to enjoy this unexpected treat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
it exploded, we jumped out to compound the effect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a night which went with a bang!<o:p></o:p></div>
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University was a target rich environment for such
fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we got to know each other, we
discovered who was fair game. After arriving at Brasenose, I discovered that
among its famous past students were <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Runcie" target="_blank">Robert Runcie</a></b>, who was the Archbishop of
Canterbury at the time, and <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Palin" target="_blank">Michael Palin</a></b> of Monty Python fame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a combination to aspire to!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The faith of an Archbishop and the humour of Monty
Python! <o:p></o:p></div>
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At one small party, a group of us took the furniture out
of our host’s room when he went to get more drinks. There was a flat roof above
his room and we arranged it all on the roof, in the same pattern as it had been
in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In our final year student
house, hiding several of our alarm clocks in Andy’s bedroom was fun, set to go off at
half hour intervals during the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Andy did very well to keep his sense of humour, although I do remember
being woken up to the sound of an alarm clock being thrown down the stairs with
some force!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being forced into a cold bath, fully clothed, by a group of friends was always a favourite, and I
suffered this at the hands of my friends more than once.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One of my favourites pranks was on Jonathan who led the
Christian Union in college with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jonathan was always (and still is) very well presented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well dressed, close shaved and respectable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could also come across as quite serious
sometimes, so he was an ideal target.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Using the same window trick as I used at school, I gained
access to his room while he was rowing early one morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took his comb and gave it to another friend
with the instruction, “Hide this and don’t tell me where.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I saw Jonathan later that day, he looked
frustrated and told me that he couldn’t find his comb.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The next time he was rowing, I sneaked in again, took his
toothbrush and gave it to the same friend to hide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time he was more frustrated and was
getting suspicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he asked me if
I knew where it was, I could reply in total honesty that I had no idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few days later, I took his razor on the
morning of a tutorial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jonathan was furious
at having to turn up to see his tutor unshaved. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again I could assure him that I didn’t know
where they were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the one hand, he suspected me but on the
other, surely I wouldn’t lie to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The grand finale came the next morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Jonathan went to the shower in the next
building, wearing only a dressing gown, I sneaked into his room again, this
time removing all his clothes and toiletries, putting them into my trunk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had also asked my other friend to give me
back Jonathan’s comb, razor and toothbrush and I put them in too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Jonathan had returned from his shower,
I quietly placed the trunk directly outside his door and hid nearby, listening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was humming a tune until he opened one of
his drawers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the humming stopped
and the sound changed to that of each drawer being opened & closed quickly and wardrobe doors being opened and then slammed shut. There was a strange noise somewhere between a roar and a scream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A</span>fter another few of seconds, I heard
Jonathan wrench open his door, followed by a clattering noise as he practically fell
over the trunk as he stormed out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
By then of course, he knew it was me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He recognised my trunk and waited for me to
ask for it back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As always, he was
gracious, even good humoured by the time I plucked up the courage!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Some of the most Pythonesque moments of college life were
in fact, the college traditions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There were <b><a href="https://www.bnc.ox.ac.uk/about-brasenose/history/215-brasenose-traditions-and-legends/419-brasenose-ale-verses-61978149" target="_blank">Ale Verses</a></b> on Shrove Tuesday each year, when
formal dinner descended into a food fight with the pieces of lemon that came
with the pancakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> S</span>tudents
would stand on the ancient tables drinking old English ale and singing hastily
composed satirical lyrics to well-known tunes, poking fun at the college and
its senior staff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During this melee, the High
Table (which seated the college principle and other teaching fellows) would sit
there impassively eating their pancakes pretending nothing unusual was
happening!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then there was Ascension Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In my first year, when I lived in college, I remember being woken at
about 10am by the sound of clattering sticks and children laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I looked out of the window, I saw 20 or
more choristers in their choir robes, each with a long cane pole hitting the
wall underneath my room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was repeated
several times during the morning as groups of rampaging choir boys from Oxford
churches descended on the college to ‘<b><a href="http://calendarcustoms.com/articles/oxford-beating-the-bounds/" target="_blank">beat the bounds</a></b>’ – an ancient tradition
of checking that the parish boundary markers had not be moved, demolished or
hidden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But the day got even more bizarre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At lunchtime, a ‘secret’ door was opened
between Brasenose and its neighbour Lincoln College.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Students at Brasenose were invited to pass
through the door and given<b><a href="https://www.bnc.ox.ac.uk/about-brasenose/history/215-brasenose-traditions-and-legends/418-ivy-beer-on-ascension-day" target="_blank"> Ivy Beer </a></b>as recompense for Lincoln refusing to allow
entry to a Brasenose student who was being chased by a town mob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The student was killed and Lincoln College
were ordered to provide Ivy Beer to Brasenose students on Ascension Day every year in
perpetuity, as a way of redeeming themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we got to Lincoln quad with our Ivy Beer we then witnessed another
strange sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were students on
the roof heating coins in boiling water, and then throwing them down onto the
grass, where children from the town were running round collecting them with handkerchiefs
to protect their hands from being burned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>With the rising alcohol level from the Ivy Beer, hot coins raining down
from the roof, and children rushing around to collect them, it increasingly
felt like a scene reminiscent of Apocalypse Now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Totally
surreal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure that Health &
Safety must have put a stop to that one by now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The other regular event on the Oxford calendar which can
cause amusement or disdain are the <b><a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4581808/Oxford-University-students-enjoy-trashing-celebration.html" target="_blank">celebrations at the end of university exams</a></b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is now a well-established
tradition that you are met out of your last exam by friends who will spray you
with Champagne, shaving foam and silly string.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was actually <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pomagne" target="_blank">Pomagne</a></b> for ordinary students like us – any Champagne was
strictly for drinking, not getting wasted on the pavement!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Apparently, it is now known as ‘Trashing’ and is much more
organised that in the 1980s, but the aim is the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a way of breaking the tension that the
exams bring;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of celebrating the end of
them, rather than sloping off in a depressed whimper! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember being ambushed in college after
Mods (1<sup>st</sup> year exams) by an enthusiastic group of friends and being
completely soaked after Finals as I left the Examinations building.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
All in all, there was lots of humour, life and fun at
Oxford when you didn’t take it too seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My final year was made even more fun by moving into a house just off the
Cowley Road with five friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ate
together, we laughed together, and watched American Football together every
week on Channel 4, which is where my love for the sport came from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Soon after we moved in, Andy answered the phone with the
greeting “Oxford home for wicked women” only to find my father (a vicar) at the
other end of the line!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nick’s bed was
held off the floor on piles of bricks which was fine until they collapsed in
the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natalie and Rob were great
cooks, which always made their meals very popular, and we held regular dinner
parties for friends with several courses of delicious food – a million miles
away from student beans on toast. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anne
and I continued to work out how to get a Maths degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anne was much more successful than me, but I
scraped through in the end, despite my other full time job with the Christian
Union which only came to an end in my final term! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aymkFCI_PjVsOfvS8WwutDIXiQZr4LHgtte1ua2m6ZudEVsPE28JNvc3OL1lSE57B8ENHBsbfuV_GFLl1TJCyZzWbKOeBrs4GzcutnY-ZTSoulIDQIw8qEweHaFh-4sFExDtWbWhJYU/s1600/Finals+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1370" data-original-width="1600" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aymkFCI_PjVsOfvS8WwutDIXiQZr4LHgtte1ua2m6ZudEVsPE28JNvc3OL1lSE57B8ENHBsbfuV_GFLl1TJCyZzWbKOeBrs4GzcutnY-ZTSoulIDQIw8qEweHaFh-4sFExDtWbWhJYU/s320/Finals+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dressed up for Finals</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When it came to Finals, we each chose songs to
play at full volume early in the mornings of our exams, to psyche ourselves
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given the formal clothes we had to
wear for exams, I chose<b><a href="https://youtu.be/7wRHBLwpASw" target="_blank"> Smart Dressed Man</a></b> by ZZ Top on the first day, followed
by<b><a href="https://youtu.be/pAgnJDJN4VA" target="_blank"> Back in Black</a></b> by AC/DC on the second.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
These were good days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They made up for the stress I felt in the often intellectually sectarian
Christian world, not to mention the demands of both studying for a degree and
spending 45 hours a week in Christian ministry. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They were, I hope, very much in the footsteps of Runcie
and Palin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you both for your
inspiration!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1quWCUvPo7f8siOq8GjOOwuBbK1dHpR_kK6vmUaouY0Dfe8wCH-Frq4-yJ_PNWOKXht1wObGcgRkQ_WjDtBLjAX4mG0E_EkrRAE3LPzVZOiM0Yh53o3a2_iN9Y7gWL4pAwas7pLYvcM/s1600/Michael+Palin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: start;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="304" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1quWCUvPo7f8siOq8GjOOwuBbK1dHpR_kK6vmUaouY0Dfe8wCH-Frq4-yJ_PNWOKXht1wObGcgRkQ_WjDtBLjAX4mG0E_EkrRAE3LPzVZOiM0Yh53o3a2_iN9Y7gWL4pAwas7pLYvcM/s200/Michael+Palin.jpg" width="156" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5ZPBti8ujAncoERH65L5hsyIOSU1qIRiFt9aEW92iCmexJgZ_utk7wkKPTKHw01C19QoLjQVmsBPKLMzTgdu6KM48buSqsE93zM31GCo1YTWkyS9yBAU7pedUw1YhwWuGF09AwpFKeA/s1600/Robert+Runcie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="text-align: start;"> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="250" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5ZPBti8ujAncoERH65L5hsyIOSU1qIRiFt9aEW92iCmexJgZ_utk7wkKPTKHw01C19QoLjQVmsBPKLMzTgdu6KM48buSqsE93zM31GCo1YTWkyS9yBAU7pedUw1YhwWuGF09AwpFKeA/s200/Robert+Runcie.jpg" width="173" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5ZPBti8ujAncoERH65L5hsyIOSU1qIRiFt9aEW92iCmexJgZ_utk7wkKPTKHw01C19QoLjQVmsBPKLMzTgdu6KM48buSqsE93zM31GCo1YTWkyS9yBAU7pedUw1YhwWuGF09AwpFKeA/s1600/Robert+Runcie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/03/accm.html?m=0">Click here for Part 19 </a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/03/accm.html?m=0">ACCM</a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click there for an introduction to </a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com3Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-41458515927966321832018-03-04T20:29:00.000+00:002018-03-11T18:49:54.934+00:00The power of the institution<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88a030lT1zzJ6bXAhy7vYTCiGYsPxyolJTchyMGNL9jIyGj4NzJojAhVs8qq1qfqT0k87mwNBhg0bAne1-cDUnGgok0umCubl-0M_sqlitRtdaSW7dgn85XM4JLDN7Z2XrJa8KGEOJhU/s1600/Frewin+entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88a030lT1zzJ6bXAhy7vYTCiGYsPxyolJTchyMGNL9jIyGj4NzJojAhVs8qq1qfqT0k87mwNBhg0bAne1-cDUnGgok0umCubl-0M_sqlitRtdaSW7dgn85XM4JLDN7Z2XrJa8KGEOJhU/s320/Frewin+entrance.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 17</h3>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In my second year at Oxford, I moved to live in Frewin
Court. It was the accommodation annex
for Brasenose a few hundred yards from the college, just behind the busy shopping street
of Cornmarket. Frewin was slap bang in
the centre of things, next to the Oxford Union. My room was smaller but infinitely more
comfortable. It had good central heating
and a small shared kitchen. I settled in well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nearby was the North Gate Hall, a large congregational
chapel which had been given to OICCU years ago, making it the only University
Christian Union in the country to have its own building. It was huge.
The main hall could hold several hundred people and underneath was a
less formal space for refreshments and fellowship. It now houses <b><a href="https://bills-website.co.uk/restaurants/oxford/" target="_blank">Bill’s – a very pleasant restaurant</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember the Saturday morning when there was a knock on
my door. It was one of OICCU’s Executive
Committee, aka ‘the Exec’ - the group of about 12 people who ran the University
Christian Union. I wondered what on
earth I had done now. After almost being
sacked as a college rep the previous term, I was sure it couldn’t be good, but couldn’t
work out what the problem might be. What
unwritten law had I transgressed now? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrVXQhtceB2zUlwxXgD2ezYtRbgYE_VE925pe-do63Yw8Fv1Q3-tudubUcVFZYX7c6GhHjji4SAC9fEI4bHwn-BvHi1RfEiRTv_bxPtCzim3oZpi7oFGGBnK3bVFPVa6CIVEcSKrT62M/s1600/Bills+-+Nothgate+Hall.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="350" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrVXQhtceB2zUlwxXgD2ezYtRbgYE_VE925pe-do63Yw8Fv1Q3-tudubUcVFZYX7c6GhHjji4SAC9fEI4bHwn-BvHi1RfEiRTv_bxPtCzim3oZpi7oFGGBnK3bVFPVa6CIVEcSKrT62M/s320/Bills+-+Nothgate+Hall.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The North Gate Hall today</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To my complete surprise, he said, “Well you have probably
guessed why I am here. We would like you
to be Outreach Secretary on the Exec next year.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My response could not have been any clearer, or more
unplanned. I fell off my chair. Quite literally!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I went to the wrong kind of church. A few months ago, I had been a cause of
division and dissent. I had betrayed
OICCU’s Evangelical ethos not only by organising a meeting with Roman
Catholics, but then also refusing to back down and call it off. I went to OICCU but not to the whole range of
weekly Bible Expositions, Evangelistic Evenings and Prayer Meetings. Why could
they possibly be asking me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When I asked that question, the answer I received painted
a very different picture. The Exec had
noticed how, despite our renegade tendencies, the Christian Union in Brasenose
was actually getting on with what we were supposed to be doing. We had grown, some people had become
Christians, and others had deepened their faith. The current Outreach Sec who sat before me,
had come to one of our events – a gentle mix of music, readings and personal
stories which we held in one of the Lecture Rooms one evening. He had liked what he saw (even though a Roman
Catholic was one of the people who talked about her faith and sang a song –
perhaps he didn’t notice!) The Lecture
Room was full. There was a good mix of
people who identified as Christians and people who did not. That was why I was being asked to be part of
the new Exec and why they wanted me to be Outreach Secretary.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Even after I had got back on my chair, I was still
incredulous. I had been looking forward
to handing the college CU over to new Reps at Easter, having more time to focus
on my degree and enjoy student life. Now
I was being asked to step up to something even more demanding. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Each member of the Exec had a specific role. There was the usual Chair, Secretary &
Treasurer, but also the Prayer Secretary, Outreach Secretary, and so on. The year ahead was an OICCU Mission year. They were held every three years and it was a
huge undertaking. There would be a big-name
speaker and around 60 missioners coming to Oxford for a week of evangelistic
events. There would be events in every
college and the main University meetings could attract up to a thousand
students some evenings. The publicity
alone was a major piece of work with every undergraduate in the university
receiving not just a flier, but a Mission Pack and invitation. The Outreach
Secretary was not in charge of the whole thing, but was expected to play a big
part in the planning, preparation and execution. Quite apart from the shock I was feeling, I
was also aware of the huge commitment which was being asked of me. I said I needed time to think about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I went a talked to other people about it, mostly people
who didn’t like OICCU. I talked to
Jonathan, my co-rep in Brasenose – he really didn’t like OCCU. I spoke to Jeffrey John, my college Chaplain
who had decidedly mixed views about OICCU.
I went to see Philip Ursell, the Principle of Pusey House. Surely they would tell me what a cracked-pot
idea this was? The problem was, they all
thought I should do it!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So with some trepidation I said yes and a whole new
challenge began.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It wasn’t long before my trepidation was proved
right. In the lead up to our hand-over
at Easter, the new Exec was brought together for training and preparation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I met my fellow Exec members. We were a mixed bag of people, from very
formal and earnest to people who were more like me, but the centre of gravity
was definitely at the conservative, traditional end of evangelicalism. Some were so Puritan in their faith (and I
mean this in a historical context not as a dismissive comment) that there was
no church in Oxford where they felt at home.
Every Sunday they travelled several miles out of Oxford to find a church
where they felt comfortable. Given the
huge concentration and diversity of churches there was in Oxford, I found this
astonishing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then we were taken away with the new Cambridge Exec for a
weekend of training by <b><a href="https://www.uccf.org.uk/" target="_blank">UCCF</a></b> (the University and Colleges Christian
Fellowship). UCCF are a national evangelical
charity which support Christian Unions across the country and they had two travelling
secretaries who were tasked with supporting Oxford and Cambridge in
particular. As well as offering
encouragement and advice, they were also there to ensure we didn’t stray from
the straight and narrow.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
All in all, the training boiled down to understanding
both the ‘opportunity’ and the ‘responsibility’ which we had been given. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The ‘opportunity’ was presented like this. The future leaders of this country are among
your fellow students at Oxford and Cambridge; politicians, scientists, bankers
and business leaders. If we can ‘win
them for Christ’ now, then in 30 years’ time Britain will be a more Christian
country. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmprT7i1QTBI0BH5BZiLmjzZIcHqS1qmCRzMRJLJk0FFT81oqpm50biy3Ki1un3IGbmCyGBXmFHaqyil0chsIehrTuVyt_OCExUU6GarXgO-KUgTVZEzSjMrohVq9GUD7Di89TUNd7WI/s1600/Trickledown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="598" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmprT7i1QTBI0BH5BZiLmjzZIcHqS1qmCRzMRJLJk0FFT81oqpm50biy3Ki1un3IGbmCyGBXmFHaqyil0chsIehrTuVyt_OCExUU6GarXgO-KUgTVZEzSjMrohVq9GUD7Di89TUNd7WI/s320/Trickledown.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Immediately I felt uncomfortable, but it took me a while
to realise why. Today I would now have
no difficulty in expressing my discomfort.
The idea of targeting people for their future worth in the same way that
trickle-down economics favours the rich in the hope of it tickling down to the
poor is just plain wrong. The disconnect
with Jesus’ opening sermon is startling, where he pledged his ministry to the
poor and the powerless, not the cream of the crop. In my eyes, the Christian faith has always
been the best offer ever made to everyone, not some kind of web to spin for
strategic or political goals.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On the other hand, it was so tempting. We were being offered a chance to change the
world! To look at some great leaders in
years to come and say, “They became Christians at Oxford when we ran OICCU!”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If that was the opportunity, the ‘responsibility’ we were
given was even more insidious. Right at
the start of our year we were reminded forcefully that we were only being entrusted
with OICCU for a season. We were being
entrusted with an old and distinctive organisation which had brought great
blessings to many over the years Our
primary responsibility was to ensure that we handed it on to the next Exec in
good shape and faithful to this long tradition.
We were not there to innovate. We
were not there to rock the boat. We were
part of a continuum to uphold the traditions of the institution we had been
entrusted with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The effect of this approach can be very powerful,
especially on people who are new in role and enthusiastic to do a good
job. It can change your whole outlook to
a kind of ‘not on my watch’ mentality which I have since observed numerous
times in the Church.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have seen this in conflict with the Church
Commissioners who can become so wedded to their investments on behalf of the
Church of England, that the purpose and ideals for which the money is raised
can become secondary – or lost altogether.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiUZbWlm84X2YIyIuXWHucOw2EhidU7Yqqxd8JVgcuhyphenhyphen50r7D0kuBD26Gl9iLsBGJeypgkchVvUHh4n1qUfxEZpnDMlzfN21N3aCCWLIWhlvMbswS0832pLUTGGiq6SOSZ399_aUgAn4/s1600/Canterburycathedralthrone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiUZbWlm84X2YIyIuXWHucOw2EhidU7Yqqxd8JVgcuhyphenhyphen50r7D0kuBD26Gl9iLsBGJeypgkchVvUHh4n1qUfxEZpnDMlzfN21N3aCCWLIWhlvMbswS0832pLUTGGiq6SOSZ399_aUgAn4/s320/Canterburycathedralthrone.jpg" width="213" /></a>I saw this in a meeting about sexuality with Rowan
Williams when he was Archbishop of Canterbury.
We should have been pushing at an open door as he had gone on the record
many times before he was Archbishop in support of inclusion for LGBT people in
the Church. What we heard however was
very different, as he talked about the office of Archbishop in terms of being ‘<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/the-power-behind-throne.html" target="_blank">the present occupant of the Chair of St Augustine</a></b>.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He talked of the weight of history and responsibility
which the occupant of that Chair carries. He talked about the need
to preserve what had been entrusted to him. He told us that what he
thought (as an individual) was irrelevant because his job as Archbishop was to
hold together the great responsibility which the occupant of the Chair of St
Augustine is given. We had hoped to meet
with an anointed leader for the future - instead we found a guardian of the
past. We had met someone who had been called to leadership because
of his great gifts – but then neutered by the power of the institution which
had called him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The same thing happened to us in our year as the Exec of
OICCU. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I am ashamed to say that we un-invited <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Green_(theologian)" target="_blank">Michael Gree</a></b>n to
be a speaker because he refused to sign the <b><a href="https://www.uccf.org.uk/about/doctrinal-basis.htm" target="_blank">UCCF Doctrinal Basis</a></b> – the
Evangelical touch-stone which all CU members and speakers had to sign. It wasn’t that he disagreed with anything in
it but rather he felt, as someone entrusted and licensed by the Church to preach,
that he shouldn’t have to sign this piece of paper every time he came to speak. We black-balled one of the most gifted
evangelists in the country on a technicality because we believed that the institution
had to be upheld at all costs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We had been institutionalised.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There were other ridiculous policies which the Exec adopted
during our year. On a majority vote the
Exec decreed that there would be no music or drama at the main Mission events
because of a mantra that says, “it is by the preaching of the Word that people
are saved and nothing else”. This was in
spite of the fact that the previous Exec had already booked two professional
Christian musicians for the whole week. I hope it goes without saying that I didn’t
vote for this one, especially as I then had to work out what we were going to
use their skills!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My other worry, which quickly became realised, was that
the work load was immense. Just the
weekly meetings I had to go to were enough to fill a diary. First was the Exec meeting each week which
could last several hours. Then there was
the Exec prayer meeting at 9am every Saturday morning – which I am sure was
designed to mess up any student night life we might aspire to! There were the regular OICCU meetings for
Bible exposition on Saturday night and Evangelistic address on Sunday
night. I had regular Mission Planning meetings
to attend and ran my own Outreach group who delivered events around the
University. In the lead up to the
Mission, I went and spoke to over half of the 30 college Christian Unions to
help them prepare. The list went on and
on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdcckzBKVRdpygzKYStRkrs1qKIJp3qySeChXQXGXQ5awgDqkmU7dpfaw15Xlfoh4TMUY0Y2f-rtCJnWyTd1dW2pWO-skAuecMgZEC2p1KwtPfmUup66ToQTJk4T0ArldAIfNSdFGKzA/s1600/RC+Chaplaincy+Oxford.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdcckzBKVRdpygzKYStRkrs1qKIJp3qySeChXQXGXQ5awgDqkmU7dpfaw15Xlfoh4TMUY0Y2f-rtCJnWyTd1dW2pWO-skAuecMgZEC2p1KwtPfmUup66ToQTJk4T0ArldAIfNSdFGKzA/s1600/RC+Chaplaincy+Oxford.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Catholic Chaplaincy Chapel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I also made my own life even more busy. Still coming across prejudice against Roman
Catholics, I heard that the University Catholic Chaplaincy were short of a guitarist
at the weekly Folk Mass and was asked if I would help. Wanting to reach out a hand of friendship, I immediately
said yes. I’m sure it was the right
thing to do but when I added everything together, I worked out that I was
involved in Christian ministry for over 45 hours every week – and then there
was a degree to study for.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There were some funny moments too. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was amused by a very serious visit I received from our
UCCF Traveling Secretaries one Saturday morning (why do they always pick
Saturday mornings?) They had been told
that I was planning to share a student house with ‘non-Christians’ (their
words) and had come to talk me out of it.
When they learned that some of my housemates would be women, they were
even more shocked and asked me what sort of a witness this would be to other
Christian Union members. Wouldn’t it
lead them astray? From somewhere in my
bleary Saturday morning head, I responded that the problem most Christian Union
members had was that they didn’t have any ‘non-Christian’ friends, let alone
friends who would trust them enough to share a house with them. Anyway, I was the Outreach Secretary, so isn’t
that exactly the kind of thing I should be modelling? They left disappointed but never came back
for another go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then there was the morning when I arrived at the Exec
morning prayer meeting, visibly tired and pale.
I was asked if I was ok. When I
said I had been helping with an all-night prayer vigil, there were nods of
approval until I mentioned that it was at the Roman Catholic Chaplaincy. There followed a stony silence until someone
changed the subject. I just smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QMbdj0LhzWbBpof7K3QMD1ToeQGxD1ki1SGPOah8ZTnIsLHphZMFopiNGrHGUZXfe2oauMpAfirmO22VVzeu5JTzV7qu7YYlMlmEFJqVldCyNfADWjnhANCkh9O_8uxIRLfP2Q4rR-4/s1600/Corpus+Christi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="580" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QMbdj0LhzWbBpof7K3QMD1ToeQGxD1ki1SGPOah8ZTnIsLHphZMFopiNGrHGUZXfe2oauMpAfirmO22VVzeu5JTzV7qu7YYlMlmEFJqVldCyNfADWjnhANCkh9O_8uxIRLfP2Q4rR-4/s320/Corpus+Christi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On another occasion, I was taking part in the Corpus
Christi procession of the Blessed Sacrament from Mary Mags Church to Pusey
House, and saw some other members of the Exec in a group of protesters objecting
to such idolatrous behaviour! I waved at
them but they pretended not to see me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I learned new skills too, like finding myself having to promote
and organise a concert with Christian pianist and composer, <b><a href="https://www.adrian-snell.com/index" target="_blank">Adrian Snell</a></b>. It was booked by the last Exec but then I had
to make it happen. This meant
advertising, ticketing, sales, as well as the concert itself and making sure it
broke even. As a published artist with a
string of albums to his name he didn’t come cheap, but the icing on the cake
was when he informed me that he would need a concert grand piano for the event. Where was I going to get a concert grand for
one night? Amazingly (to me) I
discovered that it is possible at a price!
It was delivered from London two days before the concert, tuned the day
before the concert when it had acclimatised to its new surroundings, and was
collected the morning after. I think it
cost more than the artist’s fee!
Fortunately we sold out of tickets and the place was packed, so we did
break even. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ5BKDLpeofu_qbKfN2KNkLLnTUTChsxgB-DghmsoXzS2VsjgkfgEXUUNzHGVEgfH9cZ72_267bIKQuC-zCv3UB2TDGXI6fWP4eR-_woccAtxh-Q2LyDEUd9hE4JNB39lap7ygaeI5-HA/s1600/Martyn+Joseph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ5BKDLpeofu_qbKfN2KNkLLnTUTChsxgB-DghmsoXzS2VsjgkfgEXUUNzHGVEgfH9cZ72_267bIKQuC-zCv3UB2TDGXI6fWP4eR-_woccAtxh-Q2LyDEUd9hE4JNB39lap7ygaeI5-HA/s320/Martyn+Joseph.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then there were the two musicians who had been booked for
the Mission week – <b><a href="http://www.martynjoseph.net/" target="_blank">Martyn Joseph</a></b> and <b><a href="http://www.crossrhythms.co.uk/artists/Barry_Crompton/9083/" target="_blank">Barry Crompto</a></b>n. As they couldn’t now sing at the main events,
I got a small group together who arranged for each of them to go to different
colleges each day. They played and sang
in college bars and Christian Union meetings.
For this we needed to hire portable lighting rigs and PAs as well a
finding some way of transporting them around.
We were kindly offered use of a vehicle and found it was a long
wheelbase Land Rover - the old indestructible type. It felt like overkill until on the second
night of the mission when temperatures plummeted and Oxford was covered with
snow. This quickly turned into packed ice on the college back-lanes where we had
to deliver the equipment. I remember
praying, “Ok God, now I understand – you knew what we would need!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On balance, I am glad I did it. I was able to be a visible alternative to the
silo mentality that afflicted so many of the Christian organisations I
encountered. I do regret falling for
the institutionalising power of OICCU and I became determined never to allow
myself to be suckered like that again.
It was a good lesson to learn and one which would need recalling
numerous times in the ministry God was calling me to. It also taught me to recognise when others
were falling for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Church is not an institution. It is the living, breathing, Body of
Christ. When it allows itself to become
anything less, it ceases to be the dynamic, revolutionary, saving grace that
the world needs. It simply becomes
another self-interest group. However
uncomfortable it is for those who refuse to be conformed, and however
uncomfortable that becomes for the institutional church, their voice and
actions are vital in the continual renewal and recreation that the Church
needs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This was a lesson that I would not forget.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Next week, something a little lighter – practical jokes
and student humour. The things that make
life fun…!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/03/runcie-and-palin.html?m=0" target="_blank"><br /></a></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/03/runcie-and-palin.html?m=0" target="">Click here for part 18 - Runcie and Palin</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html" target="_blank">Click here for and Introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s1600/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s320/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com3Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-52019858994490973032018-02-25T21:41:00.000+00:002018-03-04T21:17:48.686+00:00Seconds out... Round 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjddMp7bzYjHnPepP5QFhNVVPAkGli56v068rAhbtMnp-IFYEp0uPVk-k6_OH38lzBfgto8OkGEs0CpTuFz_tLZwTfUlo31dBNUurXNmu8H_h484gEk23S-YTuHjv_S1ELbJ-wNq5Q2Bz0/s1600/seconds+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="425" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjddMp7bzYjHnPepP5QFhNVVPAkGli56v068rAhbtMnp-IFYEp0uPVk-k6_OH38lzBfgto8OkGEs0CpTuFz_tLZwTfUlo31dBNUurXNmu8H_h484gEk23S-YTuHjv_S1ELbJ-wNq5Q2Bz0/s320/seconds+out.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 16</h3>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
I went back to Oxford with a plan.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In college, I would go to the Christian Union every Wednesday and the
Chapel for the main Communion service each week, which was on a Saturday. In Oxford more widely, I would go to <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxford_Inter-Collegiate_Christian_Union" target="_blank">OICCU</a></b> (pronounced
Oy-Cue) and more importantly, I would
find a church that suited me. There was
nothing wrong with St Aldates, the church I went to in my first term. It was full every Sunday with lively worship
and world class preaching, but it wasn’t me.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I started the term by attending a different church each
week. I went to student churches whose
ministry revolved around attracting and meeting the needs of students. I went to local parish churches which were
much more like what I was used to at home.
I went to quirky churches who didn’t really care who came – they just
did their thing. I prayed as I went
along and in the end, my decision surprised me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVrmWORub9awVSarrfXxWXKLEmvbQYrsVgJVFPPPpkUUy5yBUPmgq9y28VsBW1VLlgVGQVU_k8EilSu-sPHBIdpySsz7954jAA1dHB48qRaALSVTom43S2kFCKQjhjbppWXdYuylwST4/s1600/Pusey+House+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVrmWORub9awVSarrfXxWXKLEmvbQYrsVgJVFPPPpkUUy5yBUPmgq9y28VsBW1VLlgVGQVU_k8EilSu-sPHBIdpySsz7954jAA1dHB48qRaALSVTom43S2kFCKQjhjbppWXdYuylwST4/s200/Pusey+House+1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worship at Pusey House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><a href="http://www.puseyhouse.org.uk/" target="_blank">Pusey House</a></b> was a shrine to the Oxford Movement, which
had attempted to reshape the Church of England in a more catholic direction in
the Victorian era. There was a team of
priests there who celebrated all that was good about an Anglo-Catholic approach
to worship and theology. The
congregation was small on a Sunday, often only around 40 or so people. They had a choir which sang anthems and
provided the backbone for much of the congregational singing. Sermons were short, often by guest preachers,
some of whom were famous in the Anglican world.
The use of incense was profuse, with one thurifer feeling he had not
done his job if he didn’t set off the fire alarms in the college beyond. Three priests would robe in elaborate
vestments and process surrounded by a phalanx of servers and acolytes. They celebrated communion with their backs to
the congregation. Everything was very formal,
choreographed to perfection, and woe betide any server who put a foot out of
place. It was definitely not charismatic
or evangelical and yet something spoke to me in the worship there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Being in the congregation there was more about being than
doing. However you felt, the worship
went on around you, enveloping you in God’s presence like sinking into a deep
luxurious cushion. So much of my busy
life was about doing rather than being and this was the balance I needed. I didn’t have to be enthusiastic, engaged, or
even sing if I didn’t want to. I could
simply go and be carried along by a river of prayer and sacrament.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Some of my friends in the Christian Union were surprised
by this decision. Most of the people I
was getting to know in OICCU were shocked, but that was ok. I was not conforming to what was
expected. I could be at OICCU on a Saturday
night for the main Bible Exposition of the week and in Pusey House on Sunday
morning for High Mass. I was learning to
cross lines and to inhabit both spaces, whatever they thought of each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There were also others in college who were attracted to
Pusey House. There were two Jonathans in
the same year as me in Brasenose, who were also involved in the Chapel and
Christian Union in college and they began to worship at Pusey House. One became the Sacristan there, living above
the chapel and providing the practical logistics for the daily services. We became prayer partners, meeting to pray
for each other every week or so. The
other Jonathan … well that’s the next part of the story.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then towards the end of my second term, there came a
complete surprise. Each college had two
Christian Union leaders and they were appointed by OICCU. Technically they were the ‘OICCU Reps’ in
each college, although the reality was a little more complex. Our reps needed to find their
successors, and have them approved. To
our astonishment, they invited Jonathan and me to take on the role and lead the
CU in college for 3 terms, starting after Easter. Jonathan was a Methodist by upbringing but
was definitely discovering a more Catholic spirituality at Oxford. I can’t remember who we talked to before
agreeing to do it, but we accepted the invitation. OICCU didn’t usually have college reps who
worshipped at Pusey House.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vx74pCZL6WuGEjFHlxWoHvikwj1nEnCIco4inK3dJ20J5-6FGhWkhmrQnm0uyTczULeGaWCO8L1oyw5FDqC1behqm4WRiH5R8DEBinC1mlyQEPKRHPNZN2Q8RtPhgX1duXeXop4H_2k/s1600/BNC+Chapel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="169" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vx74pCZL6WuGEjFHlxWoHvikwj1nEnCIco4inK3dJ20J5-6FGhWkhmrQnm0uyTczULeGaWCO8L1oyw5FDqC1behqm4WRiH5R8DEBinC1mlyQEPKRHPNZN2Q8RtPhgX1duXeXop4H_2k/s1600/BNC+Chapel.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brasenose College Chapel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Our first term was spent largely delivering the programme
that our predecessors had planned but we did began meeting with our college
chaplain, Jeffrey John, for croissants and pain au chocolate after early
morning communion once a week to foster a closer relationship between the CU
and the Chapel. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the summer break, Jonathan and I met together to plan
the term ahead. Independently, we both
came with the same Bible verses in our minds, from John’s gospel where Jesus is
praying for all believers before his betrayal and crucifixion. After praying for his disciples, he continues,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
“My prayer is not for them
alone. I pray also for all those who
will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one Father,
just as you are in me and I am in you.” (<b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+17%3A20-26&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">John 17:20-21</a></b>)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We both took this to heart, and built a programme for the
term around these verses.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When we got back to college, another surprise greeted us.
The Christian Union and the Roman Catholic Society had always been a bit tetchy
with each other. The RC Society liked
drinking, enjoying life and not bothering anyone else; the CU liked to appear
holy, earnest and evangelistic. There
was very little overlap between the two, but now a new RC Committee had been
elected with a more open attitude. In
particular, there was Sarah, who was a devout Roman Catholic (alongside
enjoying life, a drink and not bothering anyone else). Sarah also came to Chapel & CU and was
now a leading member of this new committee.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sarah made the suggestion that we should have a joint Christian
Union/Roman Catholic meeting in college to set aside any previous animosity and
meet each other as equals. It was a
wonderful opportunity and we began to plan the meeting. We agreed that our college chaplain, Jeffrey John would be a
suitable speaker, respected by both groups.
We set a date and started to advertise it. That is when the shit really began to hit the
fan – and in case you are wondering, that really is the only adequate way to
express what happened next.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsT7TfyEq4uvQkOAZmrKz7bHtagFGT9K2B3GA4yzeoYvI-7bRc1AJIotWBhF4ArZdiciyyfpv3UkyOGF9lotRUBt_zyHtaYNSlWxnk2xhWVxx1FIKI_62dq1LMl0EVLB5P0TwfqA5UpA/s1600/OICCU+North+Gate+Hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsT7TfyEq4uvQkOAZmrKz7bHtagFGT9K2B3GA4yzeoYvI-7bRc1AJIotWBhF4ArZdiciyyfpv3UkyOGF9lotRUBt_zyHtaYNSlWxnk2xhWVxx1FIKI_62dq1LMl0EVLB5P0TwfqA5UpA/s200/OICCU+North+Gate+Hall.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OICCU's HQ - The North Gate Hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I foolishly mentioned our joint meeting at an OICCU
prayer morning, expecting at least some understanding of why this was a good
thing. Quite the opposite! At the end of prayers, I was pulled aside by
members of OICCU’s Executive Committee to tell me why it was a bad idea. Things quickly went from bad to worse. After the next OICCU committee meeting, Jonathan
and I were told that the joint meeting could not happen; that it would
compromise the clear Evangelical identity of OICCU; that we had to cancel it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When we said ‘no’ the response was equally swift. If the meeting went ahead, we would be sacked
as OICCU Reps in Brasenose and other reps would be appointed to lead the CU in
college. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We were astonished.
So were others. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Members of the CU in Brasenose started to say that if
they sacked us, it didn’t matter who OICCU appointed, we would carry on as
before. We started to get messages of
support from some OICCU Reps in other colleges, saying that if we were sacked,
they would resign, potentially taking their college Christian Unions with them. It was all getting out of hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Jonathan and I knew that we couldn’t cancel the meeting,
even if we wanted to. The damage if cancelled
would create a greater divide than the fracture we were trying to mend. It would send all the wrong signals to our
Roman Catholic brothers and sisters and further entrench divisions. For me, this epitomised everything that I had
come to hate in my first term and had decided to challenge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I also recognised that escalating confrontation and
further division was not the way forward either. I began a kind of negotiation with
OICCU. There were some reasonable people
on the Exec and we began to explore a way forward. Eventually after a great deal of shuttle
diplomacy, a compromise was agreed.
OICCU would not take action if we renamed the meeting with the snappy
title “A meeting for all Christians in college organised by the leaders of the
CU and the Roman Catholic Society”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuH5T-jtWqzNmKIOGjMnthxczh_BaLarNxwJZpT0JKQS6-K0qE-SGiF-6atsU6S-jdmfeCZmIhg7mIfME63cL5Ma0dlpldGcVaRGJxfrvPvTuR8hmgGUF5M6JUwBstewE_tba5hHEnVM/s1600/Fudge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuH5T-jtWqzNmKIOGjMnthxczh_BaLarNxwJZpT0JKQS6-K0qE-SGiF-6atsU6S-jdmfeCZmIhg7mIfME63cL5Ma0dlpldGcVaRGJxfrvPvTuR8hmgGUF5M6JUwBstewE_tba5hHEnVM/s200/Fudge.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
It was a fudge of course.
OICCU could then say it wasn’t a ‘joint meeting’ and we could go ahead as
planned. The posters were already out
around college and the date was only a few days away, so in practise this simply
meant me writing the ‘snappy title’ on the blackboard in the porter’s lodge
which announced events on college.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The evening went ahead and was a great success. Some of the old prejudices from each group
were challenged or melted away. Jeffrey
John spoke well and we prayed together before enjoying a glass or two of wine
together.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Why should something like this be so hard? I still don’t know the answer to that, except
that it usually happens when people become too religious to the exclusion of
others. I find this particularly
annoying because it is the opposite of what I read about Jesus. He constantly crossed the lines of control
which criss-crossed his world. Eating and drinking with sinners; calling
nationalist zealots and traitors (tax collectors) to be among his closest friends.
Going the Pharisee’s house but then letting a prostitute wash his feet with her
tears to the disgust of his host. Healing
the centurion’s servant, even though he was part of the occupying army. Overturning the tables of the free-market
capitalists in the Temple. Talking to
the Samaritan woman at the well, breaking 2 taboos in one go. Indeed, shaming his Jewish brothers and
sisters with the story of the good Samaritan who does what their religious and
political icons failed to do. I could go
on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Standing up to such sectarianism can be difficult. In some places in the world it can put you at
risk of violence or even death, but then Christians do follow the man who gave
his own life to bring others peace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Round 2 had been fought and won – but there was more
to come.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/03/the-power-of-institution.html?m=0">Click here for part 17 - The power of the institution</a></b></div>
<br /></div>
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<o:p><b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an Introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s1600/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s320/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com0Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-87278522025934020032018-02-18T14:05:00.000+00:002018-03-04T21:21:09.328+00:00Dreaming spires?<h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKAW1_x3H6XfmNl1eUjlA0wB-B13Wz6NNgPV7QKk72NFQ3-O2IXdf0Ny_RSpSFYqYdMdm3oP3kvhKNwO53_grSVCw9QpiP0CvmOx5XFWsnkZAu5mby3fbCanZD9rOR0Ot3XYUDh5HIfs/s1600/Oxford+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="1600" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKAW1_x3H6XfmNl1eUjlA0wB-B13Wz6NNgPV7QKk72NFQ3-O2IXdf0Ny_RSpSFYqYdMdm3oP3kvhKNwO53_grSVCw9QpiP0CvmOx5XFWsnkZAu5mby3fbCanZD9rOR0Ot3XYUDh5HIfs/s400/Oxford+1.jpg" width="400" /></a>Crossing the Line - part 15</h3>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I arrived in Oxford in October 1982 with my grant cheque,
luggage and music – a collection of vinyl & cassettes, a powerful
amplifier and huge speaker bought from my friend Neil who hand-made the speaker
cab himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My parents drove me down and we went to the porters lodge
to find out where my room would be. I
was given 8:2 – Staircase 8 Room 2 – and shown where to find it. Most of the staircases were in Old or New
Quad, but staircase 8 was tucked away between the kitchen and dining hall, up
narrow stairs and room 2 was just below the roof.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HQmhy4gIBQdxPGm9C1Rczi8c-UnuVOEWC0Th0CUiB_RJ-JJ6O2cKuwac4NDb6plBRndlkGpqgY982783XXmgw583i3u0e9ZqZDFt3wfz3UpSR1-QwNKcqZStV-l84_TE9hydc4FtmjY/s1600/BNC+-+view+from+my+window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1452" data-original-width="1600" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HQmhy4gIBQdxPGm9C1Rczi8c-UnuVOEWC0Th0CUiB_RJ-JJ6O2cKuwac4NDb6plBRndlkGpqgY982783XXmgw583i3u0e9ZqZDFt3wfz3UpSR1-QwNKcqZStV-l84_TE9hydc4FtmjY/s200/BNC+-+view+from+my+window.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from my window</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was amazed to find that I had been given a suite of
rooms! There was a large living room
with a three piece suite, an old fashioned desk & captain’s chair, a welsh
dresser and coffee table. Then there was
a small bedroom and a loft room, which would come in handy for storing my kit
during the holidays. There was a
pleasant view over the ridiculously named Deer Park (a piece of lawn half the
size of a tennis court) and the dome of the Radcliffe Camera beyond. On a mild October afternoon, I thought I had
been granted a taste of paradise. What
is more, there were just two rooms on Staircase 8. With no other bedrooms nearby, I quickly realised that if my neighbour was out, I could turn my music up as
loud as I wanted!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzgJgaOzKWIKT256QDHvtjZK72g4s9QnB4Ef2y4sgQqiCxmp2CrP5LdHMUdaTH9jwIfGbXp95c5cFh8qUIEczVoXpeFWZgxKD3BONBt919QbFgB08Q0Etd6p5ovwMWkmPWQXwm-fOjHc/s1600/BNC+-+my+rooms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1347" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzgJgaOzKWIKT256QDHvtjZK72g4s9QnB4Ef2y4sgQqiCxmp2CrP5LdHMUdaTH9jwIfGbXp95c5cFh8qUIEczVoXpeFWZgxKD3BONBt919QbFgB08Q0Etd6p5ovwMWkmPWQXwm-fOjHc/s200/BNC+-+my+rooms.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:2 up at at the top</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The downside of 8:2 quickly became apparent. The nearest toilet for students was on the
opposite side of Old Quad which meant getting soaked in the middle of the night
when it was raining. Later I discovered
the staff toilets for the kitchen which I could sneak into at night, as long as
I didn’t mind sharing them with a few cockroaches. There was a shared sink in a cubby hole half
way up the staircase but no bath or shower nearby which meant another long walk
for anything more than washing your face, but by far the worst thing was the
heating – or lack of it. For this big
suite of rooms I had one 2-bar electric fire mounted on the wall and nothing else. It was the kind of heater which toasts
whatever is within 2 feet of it, but does nothing to warm the air. Added to that, 8:2 was at the top of the
oldest surviving part of the college, dating back to the 15<sup>th</sup>
century with no insulation in the roof above me. Through the winter it was freezing!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wgjhzuqmS1_jobutNpDO7E3LGVadp-iAqHB9fopJ8Ejlcqa6qCZeKoQv1n32y9DuzkF-nWxH2Fgenuy8XlI3oUjD7WjK0jt0Uydi2WWxSGKS4WTtm04h-qn_qDOtMhZNQ0dZDs90mU0/s1600/BNC+-+my+sitting+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="738" data-original-width="1600" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wgjhzuqmS1_jobutNpDO7E3LGVadp-iAqHB9fopJ8Ejlcqa6qCZeKoQv1n32y9DuzkF-nWxH2Fgenuy8XlI3oUjD7WjK0jt0Uydi2WWxSGKS4WTtm04h-qn_qDOtMhZNQ0dZDs90mU0/s320/BNC+-+my+sitting+room.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My living room with the useless 2 bar electric fire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
During my year in college, I learned how to make the most of
it. I bought a fan heater which sat next
to my bed. I could lean out to switch it on when I woke up and wait for
the bedroom to warm up a little before getting up.
Even then it was not unusual to find ice on the inside of the lead
lattice windows. I also decided that, as
there was no bath nearby, I was going to find the best bathroom in college to
use. Soon I discovered the sumptuous
bathroom in Heberden staircase above the JCR (Junior Common Room). I had a huge
Edwardian bath, green tiled walls and unlimited hot water. Bliss.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The first week was a whirlwind of new experiences. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54190GcaKWswTBGYRZ7OwboiC1XqEffEts8RL2lYENFyrDEXr1IqDNR_LB2HnUfwRQRqElIi3QYaQ66KR-MBU3qqq_9ZEVCqKFpCAfWeBTdPaTP6OgDoxwKkYTqooOQsHRM5ghcFlEXY/s1600/BNC2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54190GcaKWswTBGYRZ7OwboiC1XqEffEts8RL2lYENFyrDEXr1IqDNR_LB2HnUfwRQRqElIi3QYaQ66KR-MBU3qqq_9ZEVCqKFpCAfWeBTdPaTP6OgDoxwKkYTqooOQsHRM5ghcFlEXY/s200/BNC2.jpg" width="200" /></a>First, I had to obtain a gown and mortar board for
matriculation (the act of joining the University). Fortunately, there was an easy way to do
this. Every student was assigned a scout
– an employee of the college who looks after you and cleans your room on the
one hand, while acting as eyes and ears for the college on the other. Writing this, I am amazed to find that the
<b><a href="http://cherwell.org/2017/06/12/the-scout-system-at-oxford-must-be-scrapped/" target="_blank">system still prevails today</a></b>. Gowns and
mortar boards are bread and butter to scouts, and provide a handy income on the
side as they supply second hand ones for a fee.
Gowns also had to be worn at formal dinner each evening, at the main
Sunday service in the college chapel and at exams, so getting one was a
priority.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Students were also required to wear something called <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Academic_dress_of_the_University_of_Oxford" target="_blank">‘subfusc’</a></b>
to matriculation, celebration dinners and exams. For men this meant a
black dinner suit, a white wing collar shirt and white bow tie topped off by the
gown and mortar board. I felt like a
stuffed penguin from a cartoon. Gowns
were also graded by success and ability.
Scholars and Exhibitioners wore full flowing gowns reminiscent of
teachers in the Harry Potter films.
Commoners wore something which looked like a half-shredded prop extra
for a servant in a Dracula movie. I was
a Commoner, of course. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Matriculation ceremony itself consisted of being
marched into the Sheldonian Theatre, listening to a few mumbled words in Latin,
and then being marched out again. Was
that it, I thought.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhAl3lcldFuKYUE4vKRIRLqxXn6I2Jz4hd08E8Ket5133SiJity96FA4Rr22AqESCKuGR-MOIj0LOhcBn6fg73UMtTemk0Mjm7Ko5ApSaX4hK9-96ko45sqv509tzhD6ypKNCv5lx8Zo/s1600/BNC+Freshers+1982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1600" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhAl3lcldFuKYUE4vKRIRLqxXn6I2Jz4hd08E8Ket5133SiJity96FA4Rr22AqESCKuGR-MOIj0LOhcBn6fg73UMtTemk0Mjm7Ko5ApSaX4hK9-96ko45sqv509tzhD6ypKNCv5lx8Zo/s400/BNC+Freshers+1982.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Class of 1982</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><a href="https://www.bnc.ox.ac.uk/" target="_blank">Brasenose</a></b> was a fairly small college with about just over
100 new undergraduates arriving each year.
That meant that you came across almost everyone in your year – from the
public school toffs who didn’t much care for anyone outside their social class
to the more ordinary students like me. I
didn’t much care for the toffs and there weren't many, so that wasn’t a problem and I did
discover that money doesn’t always make you objectionable. In my first week, during an evening at the
college bar, I had a wonderful conversation with a final year student called
Henry. He put this naive fresher at ease
and made me feel welcome and listened to. When the conversation came to a
natural end and he moved on, someone else came up to me and said, “Do you know
his father owns most of Hertfordshire?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I got to know my fellow Maths students. We were a pretty disparate bunch of people
but I formed a lifelong friendship with my tutorial partner Anne. Nick, a friend from Bolton School also went
up to Brasenose and through him I got to know the lawyers who were a much more
interesting group! I signed up for
rowing, much to my regret at 6am on cold winter mornings in the dark. I also joined the college record lending
library which had two categories of LPs on offer – Classical and CRAP
(Contemporary Rock And Pop). I always
borrowed CRAP.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The place where I thought I would feel most at home, was
in the huge variety of Christian churches and organisations which buzzed around
Oxford. The Mathematician who had hosted
us when we came for interview was also the co-leader of the Christian Union in
college, so an invitation quickly came to that and <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxford_Inter-Collegiate_Christian_Union" target="_blank">OICCU</a></b> (the Oxford
Inter-Collegiate Christian Union). I went along and met some nice people, but also
felt that some were a bit intense.
I went to St Aldates Church which was the biggest Anglican charismatic
church in Oxford at the time and had a famous preacher and author as its vicar
– <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Green_(theologian)" target="_blank">Michael Green</a></b>. I went to the college
chapel where I met someone who was to become a major influence on my life and
faith. He was the college chaplain –
<b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeffrey_John" target="_blank">Jeffrey John</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
I even started going to Maths lectures, although I gave
that up in later years. I found walking
into the Maths Institute was a sobering experience; finding myself surrounded
by Mathematicians, many of whom were geniuses was quite overwhelming.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The central method of teaching at Oxford is the
tutorial. A couple of times each week,
we would meet with our tutors in pairs.
Our tutor would give us work to do between tutorials which led to
regular all-nighters for me and Anne before tutorials, to get the work done,
fortified by Martini and Death Burgers from the all night van near the
college. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If we had a Monday morning tutorial there was a
problem. Anne’s boyfriend would often
come over for the weekend and catch the early coach back to London for work on
Monday morning. Just after he left, I
would arrive, so Anne and I could get ready for the tutorial later that
day. Invariably, Anne’s scout, Armando would
see her boyfriend leave and me arrive.
He was Italian and although he had lived in Oxford for many years, he
still spoke with a thick accent, sounding like an Italian version of Manuel
from Faulty Towers. After a few Mondays,
he would pull me aside on the way up to Anne’s room and say, “I know sir, itz-a-right,
I know” and tap his finger against the side of his nose as a promise he
wouldn’t say anything! No amount of
persuasion would convince him that he had got it wrong. My scout and I also developed a healthy
relationship during my year in college.
I didn’t mind if he didn’t clean the room that well, and he didn’t mind
if I broke a few college rules. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My biggest shock however, was the way different
Christians viewed and treated each other.
I encountered a culture where Roman Catholics were not seen as Christians;
where people were questioned to see if they were ‘sound’; where there were more
churches and chapels than anywhere I had ever been and yet most tended to
retreat into their own cosy silo, looking down with suspicion or derision on
the other silos around them. I know
that Universities are hot houses of opinion and heated discussion. I know that Oxford is probably one of the
more extreme versions of this, with institutions like the Oxford Union embodying
polarised debate. But this ran
deeper. The latest intake of new
Christian students seemed to be pushed into choosing an allegiance, then called on to defend it against all-comers, and recruiting more people into their religious silo. It was more competing spires than dreaming spires.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I felt caught between silos. I was an Evangelical
Catholic Charismatic Christian and I didn’t want to pick a side or be backed
into a corner. Coming from a year in the
open environment of the <b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/02/moving-on.html?m=0" target="_blank">Scargill Community</a></b> where all views were valued and our
commitment was to live together in diversity, I found myself way out of my
depth amidst a clamour of different voices, vying for my attention.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At the end of my first term I returned home for Christmas
and after a few days my father took me to one side. He had noticed a weariness about me and
wanted to know how I was really doing.
As we talked, he said to me “You look like you have lost your first
love.” Knowing the Bible verse in
Revelation, I knew exactly what he meant.
In the visions for the 7 churches, the believers in Ephesus are
commended for their hard work, perseverance and endurance, but then God says,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
“Yet I hold this against you;
you have lost your first love” <b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+2%3A1-7&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">(Rev 2:1-7)</a></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I realised he was right.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While trying to navigate my way through the contesting
voices, I had lost my first love of God.
I was becoming more wrapped up in issues than people. Theological disputes were replacing life-giving
faith. I was becoming infected with a
version of faith where being right was more important than loving others. I had lost my first love and for someone who felt called to be a priest, this was
serious. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Paul’s words to the Corinthian church rung out in my
head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
“If I have the gift of
prophesy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith
that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.” <b><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">(1 Corinthians 13:2)</a></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Whatever I did when I went back for my second term, I had
to rediscover the love that is at the heart of the Gospel. I had to resist the divisive
intellectualisation of faith which I was encountering. I had to find a way to be counter
cultural. I had to find a way to cross
the lines that were being laid out for me by others.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It felt daunting; I worried that it would be a lonely
road; but I knew it was what I needed to do.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/02/seconds-out-round-2.html?m=0">Click here for part 16 - Seconds out... Round 2</a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
</div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com1Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-87972346570566317482018-02-11T13:11:00.000+00:002018-02-18T18:45:16.038+00:00Moving on<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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</div>
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 14</h3>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As sixth form progressed,
I had to decide what to do next.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In one way this was
easy. I wanted to go to university. When I was about 15, I had made the audacious
statement that I wanted to go to Cambridge.
I say audacious because I had only just made it off the bottom of my
class into the dizzying heights of mediocrity at the time. Somehow, my teacher managed not to burst out
laughing and told me that if I worked hard, why not?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I only said Cambridge
because we had visited it on a family holiday.
The rarefied atmosphere of the colleges won me over, from the grand to
the quaint. The thought of living in one
of these ‘other worldly’ quads captured my imagination.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This was all fine until I
mentioned it to Lesley who was my girlfriend at the time, and she said, “But I
want to go to Oxford.” So when I saw a
young vocations weekend advertised at Jesus College Oxford, I knew I had to go. What a great opportunity to kill two birds with
one stone – I could go to a weekend about ordination and see Oxford properly at
the same time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Two things stood out for
me over the weekend. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
First was the morning I
spent with the chaplain at <b><a href="https://www.oxfordcastleunlocked.co.uk/about/news/marking-20-years/" target="_blank">Oxford prison</a></b>.
It was a time of extreme overcrowding in British prisons and the sight
of Victorian cells designed for one or two prisoners, but crammed with up to four
inmates was shocking. There was so
little space that if anyone needed to get to the cell door, the others had to
jump on their beds to allow him through.
It was also in the days of slopping out where the toilet consisted of a
bucket with a towel over it, which was slopped out each morning before
breakfast. The smell must have been
unbearable at times.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Second was an afternoon
wandering about the colleges of Oxford.
I decided that I would walk around as many as I could and see if any of
them ‘felt right’. This was not a very
scientific approach for someone looking for somewhere to study maths, but as I
have since discovered there is an intuitive side to my personality which
sometimes has the upper hand. As I walked around the colleges, I came to a very
definite decision that there was one which felt right. <b><a href="https://www.bnc.ox.ac.uk/" target="_blank">Brasenose College</a></b> was a smallish college on
Radcliffe Square and as I walked around I could imagine myself living and
studying there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So I came back to Bolton
and told Lesley the good news that I had decided to apply to Oxford – except
that when it came to filling in our applications, Lesley applied to
Cambridge! Perhaps there was something
she was trying to tell me? Our
relationship actually lasted over 3 years, ending during the summer holidays just
after A levels. It was a happy time and
through lots of ups and downs we made it work – a romantic relationship between
two Christians which helped us both to grow without falling into the usual
teenage pitfalls. Lesley applied to
Cambridge, and I applied to Oxford.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then came the question of
what to do with the time I would have off between the Oxbridge exams in
November and starting university the following Autumn (wherever that might be). During childhood, another place we had visited often was <b><a href="https://scargillmovement.org/" target="_blank">Scargill House</a></b> in the
Yorkshire Dales. Set in the picturesque
landscape of Upper Warfdale, Scargill was a Christian community of about 30
people who ran a conference, holiday, and retreat centre for about 90 guests.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For most people the words
‘Christian community’ bring visions of pious looking monks or nuns in religious
habits, but Scargill was nothing like that.
Most of the community at Scargill were in their 20’s and wore jeans not
habits. When a member of the community was
invited onto local radio to try to explain what it was like to live in
community, he began by saying, “We do everything together; we work together, we
eat together, we...” and everyone wondered what he was going to say next! Thankfully he finished the sentence with “We
pray together.” This religious community
was predominantly a group of young people who chose to live there for a time to
find out more about themselves and deepen their faith, joining for anything
from a few months to a several years.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZR-iZHrhXzjU-vVJOVHybLndAl22kGI2SrHcetqxw8ODloMGCED1n8QjHLwTlt1JPM10yOYbAqDGvp7PaudFgy5d1nbHu4kJ0_Hv3aS9xTIlP5kuk6tq8tTOMiqbTf3QZ4H2_hcQwbJs/s1600/Scargill+Community+1982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1262" data-original-width="1600" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZR-iZHrhXzjU-vVJOVHybLndAl22kGI2SrHcetqxw8ODloMGCED1n8QjHLwTlt1JPM10yOYbAqDGvp7PaudFgy5d1nbHu4kJ0_Hv3aS9xTIlP5kuk6tq8tTOMiqbTf3QZ4H2_hcQwbJs/s400/Scargill+Community+1982.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scargill Community 1982</td></tr>
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We certainly worked
together and looking after the guests involved cooking, cleaning, as well as
managing the 96-acre estate under the leadership of a Chaplaincy Team. We also took turns to be on the Guest Team,
leading whatever conference, retreat or holiday was on the programme for that
week. This involved making everyone feel
at home, leading worship, drama or meditations, and accompanying our guests on
walks around the Dales.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Scargill has the most
beautiful modern chapel which somehow set the ethos for the whole place. It is in the shape of praying hands under a
huge wood shingle roof. We sat around
the altar on its large stone dais which doubled as a place to kneel for
communion or as a stage for drama or dance.
Each end of the chapel was completely glazed in clear glass, revealing the
beauty of God’s creation with views of across the dale or up into the forest
behind. Every morning we would meet
there for prayers after an early breakfast.
It set the scene for the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I applied with excitement
and got an interview. It was the week
after Easter and I borrowed my parents’ motor caravan to drive up in. As I set off from Bolton it started to
snow. By the time I reached the
Yorkshire Dales it was a blizzard. The
last 15 miles from Skipton to Kettlewell were going to be a real challenge, and
one which proved too much. I finally
gave up when the snow plough I was following stopped because the snow drifts
were too deep. Returning to Skipton, I
phoned Scargill in bitter disappointment, only to be told, “Don’t worry, we’ll
pick you up!”</div>
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Sure enough, about 40
minutes later a land rover arrived driven by a member of the community who was
an ex-royal marine commando. I quickly
learned that his strategy for snow drifts was simple; the bigger the drift, the
faster you drive at it! We arrived in
one piece just in time to find that the power had gone out and there were 70
guests to look after. It was an eventful
weekend with the snow 2-3 feet deep in places.
After managing on emergency power overnight, the electricity came back
on in the early hours of the morning and I spent most of the weekend in a team
shovelling snow from the long driveway to make sure our guests could leave.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So it was that I was
offered a place on the community and immediately after my Oxbridge exams, I
left home on a new adventure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, nothing is ever
what you expect it to be. For me, the
most important lesson of going to Scargill was to begin at the bottom
again. I left my church in Bolton and
the youth group where everybody knew me and often looked to me for advice and
leadership. I arrived at Scargill where
nobody knew me, and I didn’t know them.
The first week was spent washing up.
The second week, I was moved to House Team who cleaned the house from
top to bottom every day. Any romantic
notions of the joys of living in community are quickly dashed when you are sent
off to clean the 30 or so toilets around the house before 11am! Then there was changeover day, when one group
of guests left and another group arrived.
Every bed in 50 rooms needed changing, before cleaning and setting up
just right for the new arrivals. It was
hard work and there was a ‘Scargill way’ of doing everything, from folding the
sheets to arranging the furniture in the large meeting rooms.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Looking back, I learned there
what it really means to serve people in Christian ministry. Not up the front with everyone looking at
you, like being a priest at the front of a church, but in the simple unseen
acts of service which no one notices, except if they are not done – like
cleaning toilets. It was a good lesson
for me to learn.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few weeks after I
arrived at Scargill, I had to go to Oxford for interview. It was another cold and snowy few days,
trudging through the snow from college to college for interviews. When I looked at the other candidates I
didn’t think I stood a chance. There
were only 6 places for Maths at Brasenose and there were 12 of us there. All of them appeared to be much smarter than
me. At one interview, after we had
talked about maths for a while, I remember being asked about my application.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He showed me two
consecutive lines on the application form.
The first asked for my chosen subject – mathematics. The second asked
what career I wanted to follow, and I had written “Priest in the Church of
England”. He looked puzzled and said,
“So you don’t want to do anything with your maths after you finish then”
quickly followed up by “So why do you want to study maths?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember saying that I
enjoyed maths and didn’t want to be the kind of vicar who didn’t know about
anything apart from theology. He smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Looking back, I am sure
that this question got me a place at Brasenose.
It was the only thing which set me apart from other applicants, the only
thing which would have been memorable when the time came to choose who to offer
a place to. I think it was just after
Christmas that I got the letter inviting me to Brasenose College Oxford. It took me a while to really believe it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The time at Scargill
passed all too quickly. As I got used to
the work there it became more and more fun.
I shared rooms with Simon who was mad about pot-holing and climbing,
even taking me down the wet and slippery <b><a href="https://ukcaving.com/wiki/index.php?title=Providence_Pot" target="_blank">Providence Pot</a></b> on one occasion. As a community we welcomed everyone from
Bishops to borstal boys. Music, art and
drama were a normal part of our weekly activities alongside cleaning the house,
day in, day out. I even got used to the ‘Scargill way’ of doing things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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During one summer
house-party when I was on the Guest Team, we organised a cross between ‘It’s a Knockout’
and a commando course around the estate complete with being drenched by fire
hoses and a zip-wire ride! Everyone had
to complete the course in pairs and it started with a three-legged race, tied
up with strips of old pillowcases. “Keep
hold of the pillowcases when you untie your legs” I said, “You may need them to
staunch the blood later!” - trying to add to the excitement. Imagine my face then the guest speaker for
the week arrived at the finish line needing several stitches with blood
dripping from the old pillow case wrapped around his arm!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I did start to think that
Scargill would be the place I would end up, but then some of my youth group
from Bolton came to visit and said “No – you need to be out in the world.” So in September 1982, I left for Oxford with
something of a heavy heart. It was like
finding somewhere you felt you belonged, but then knowing you have to move on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Scargill became somewhere
I went back to many times. The chapel
there became the place where I would return when I really needed to hear from
God. In the stillness, enveloped in
those praying hands, surrounded by the beauty and majesty of creation, I always
knew I would meet God there. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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It is some years now since
I last went back, but I hope to visit again soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You never know, perhaps I
will hear something new?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/02/dreaming-spires.html?m=0">Click here for part 15 - Dreaming spires?</a></b></div>
</div>
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<b> <a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com1Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-73788316079995232992018-02-04T18:52:00.000+00:002018-02-05T20:29:08.190+00:00The New Normal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is now 7 months since I first knew I had cancer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Although at times the days and weeks have dragged by, the
months seem to have gone so fast. As I
look back, I find it hard to fully appreciate how much my life has changed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before then, being healthy was simply a case of watching
what I ate, trying to get enough exercise, not drinking too much and taking my
daily vitamins. That was normal life then. Some days I would do better than others, and
some days I would fail completely!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Since then, being healthy has been turned on its
head. What would have been considered
deeply unhealthy before, is now a staple part of my life. Things which normal
human beings would avoid like the plague have now become part and parcel of extending
my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the bleakest terms, this new normal consists of
chemical castration by hormone therapy, subjecting my body to radioactive
bombardment, and having poison pumped into my veins every 21 days. That is
not to mention all the tablets, blood tests, x-rays, scans and medical
appointments which have become a normal part of life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I wonder how many people know that the average CT scan
exposes you to ten times <b><a href="https://informationisbeautiful.net/visualizations/radiation-dosage-chart/" target="_blank">more radiation</a></b> than two weeks in the <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_reaction_to_Fukushima_Daiichi_nuclear_disaster" target="_blank">Fukushima exclusion zone</a></b> in Japan and almost twice as much as an hour in the grounds of
the <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chernobyl_disaster" target="_blank">Chernobyl</a></b> power station in 2010. Radiotherapy treatment is measured in many more multiples again, which is why radiologists don’t just go behind a screen, they have to retreat to a separate room down a
corridor before flicking the switch. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then there are the steroids given to ward off an adverse
reaction to chemotherapy; a low daily dose and then a blitz of 2 weeks-worth of
steroids in 2 days around each infusion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s hardly what I would have called normal before and
yet, for so many cancer sufferers, this is the new normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There have been other changes too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before cancer, the kind of church service I looked for would
have been full of lively worship, with a band rather than an organ, lots of
spontaneous participation, modern prayers and a sermon peppered with humour to
liven it up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now (and I amazed that I am saying this) the service I best
connect with each Sunday is 1662 Prayer Book Communion. I have never been one to do away with BCP
services (Book of Common Prayer) in the churches I have served in, but it has
never been my cup of tea. Since my
diagnosis, that has all changed. There
is something about the gravitas of a 1662 Communion service which now feeds me;
something about being carried by the liturgy which sustains me; something about
the stillness which offers no answers but assures me of God’s presence. They are the things which meet my needs now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It has given me a new understanding of those who
faithfully and resolutely come to church, often early on a Sunday morning when
the church is still cold, to bathe in the 450-year-old language of this act of
worship and prayer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then finally, there is a new awareness of those around
me, who are also battling cancer – friends & neighbours, colleagues & those I network with via social media.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It is a bit like being inducted into a secret society, then
having the doors opened wide to reveal a whole crowd of people in the same
club, many of whom you knew, and yet didn’t know. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It seems that there is still a subtle taboo in talking
about cancer, particularly among men, despite all the media publicity. In the <b><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-42890405" target="_blank">news this week</a></b> were new
statistics which show that more men now die from prostate cancer than women
from breast cancer. Yet breast cancer
has achieved a national profile that prostate cancer has not. I have
become accustomed to a man drawing me aside to reveal in hushed tones, that
prostate cancer is part of his life too.
It’s almost like a confession of some dark secret or clandestine
conspiracy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Discovering this wider community leads to sharing in
other people’s journeys too, for good or ill.
On the same day a few weeks ago, I received two Facebook messages. One from a friend who has been given the all-clear,
and another from a friend who has been supporting me through chemo, to say that
her treatment was no longer working. She
now has just months to live. Joys and
sorrows walk hand in hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the new normal.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s a world where drugs and needles, poisons & radiation,
spirituality & community, elation and grief are all integral parts of our
day to day journey. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So to all who are touched by cancer, I wish you every
blessing as you navigate these very different paths in life, both fellow
sufferers and their loved ones. On this
<b><a href="http://www.who.int/cancer/world-cancer-day/2018/en/" target="_blank">World Cancer Day 2018</a></b>, let's break the taboos which still keep people silent and
increase everyone’s awareness of a road better travelled together.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Let this be the new normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<o:p style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><br /></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKZ6iARWXhKI-_3wNMXv0DCZ-_N2x0rCxJPhggX_5OYZBdUwPX06k8BZaZ91JvxdzcO5cTPC88L6lm_nvx7TdougXYdOR8fOlSLGtrIyyrlCv_JVYV7C45ABnxTfFjtXZbAKcBpwWays/s1600/Mles+head+shave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="320" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKZ6iARWXhKI-_3wNMXv0DCZ-_N2x0rCxJPhggX_5OYZBdUwPX06k8BZaZ91JvxdzcO5cTPC88L6lm_nvx7TdougXYdOR8fOlSLGtrIyyrlCv_JVYV7C45ABnxTfFjtXZbAKcBpwWays/s200/Mles+head+shave.jpg" width="148" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white;"><i>Many readers will know that my wife, Mel Hazlehurst, is having
her head shaved to raise money and awareness for Prostate Cancer UK. If you would like more information or want to
donate simply visit</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><a href="https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/melhazlehurst" target="_blank"><b>https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/melhazlehurst</b></a> </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white;"><i>and a big thank you to all who have already given so generously. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white;">In Mel’s words – you Rock!</span><span style="background-color: #fce5cd;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<br />
<br />
PS Back to Crossing the Line next week...<br />
<br /></div>
Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com0Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-42131407553600885482018-01-28T17:33:00.000+00:002018-03-04T21:11:46.099+00:00First steps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRcJD14hsMtZBjvcqjeXb5RsY8Bbi-oUsC2EON_S8po-Uab7PJwd2ptVnnuf5Y_hXOV3AE40mRKBl8_Cx-mxjhJXM3HjgZUSySGs5llo_nBDPwUOsiNEphfOykQHpQeEny_mMA5547AI/s1600/First+Steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRcJD14hsMtZBjvcqjeXb5RsY8Bbi-oUsC2EON_S8po-Uab7PJwd2ptVnnuf5Y_hXOV3AE40mRKBl8_Cx-mxjhJXM3HjgZUSySGs5llo_nBDPwUOsiNEphfOykQHpQeEny_mMA5547AI/s200/First+Steps.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 13</h3>
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<br /></div>
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It’s all very well hearing the call – but what do you do
then? Especially when you are 16 years
old and still at school.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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There was a lunch-time Christian group at school, but I
had steered clear of it until now. For a
start, it didn’t have a very inspiring name.
Most schools and colleges had Christian Unions or Fellowships – we had
the Christian Education Movement. Usually
this was abbreviated to CEM which was even less appealing. It seemed like a name designed to put people
off giving up their lunchtime. It was
certainly sterile enough for the secular agenda of the school. It was safe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In fact, I was only just old enough to go. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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My school was divided into a Boys Division and a Girls
Division. The two operated as two
separate schools, a mirror image of each other in gender, ethos and
architecture. The buildings spread out
along Chorley New Road in almost perfect symmetry, either side of a central
arch. On the right were the boys, on the left were the girls, with everything designed to ensure that the two should
not meet. Separate play grounds and
sports fields, separate bus stops and separate Great Halls for assemblies, staring
at each other across this central no-man’s land. The Boys Division didn’t want the distraction
of girls interrupting the finely tuned exam factory. The Girls Division didn’t want those annoying
boys getting in the way of producing ambitious young ladies. When I started going out with Lesley from the
Girls Division, it was mentioned at her next parents evening as something
undesirable for a young lady studying hard.
There was almost no opportunity before 6<sup>th</sup> Form for boys and
girls to meet together yet somehow we had circumvented this prohibition by
living in the same village.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaY2X-E8RxUk20vczkaJPqgO3YQJGoaVFjZKoPlpZKpecHqUqgi2irSeEOTRDW9o8V7CQEtUKpiOwt1ZPh3W-emqZUSBVu6DFdl7O7H9dJzlwzuWxjgFbIKbkNXA-SiIoZ7hu-CbMpY0/s1600/Centre+Arch+BS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="600" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaY2X-E8RxUk20vczkaJPqgO3YQJGoaVFjZKoPlpZKpecHqUqgi2irSeEOTRDW9o8V7CQEtUKpiOwt1ZPh3W-emqZUSBVu6DFdl7O7H9dJzlwzuWxjgFbIKbkNXA-SiIoZ7hu-CbMpY0/s320/Centre+Arch+BS.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Girls Division on the left - Boys on the right</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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In spite of this division, the Christian Education
Movement was a mixed society of both boys and girls, so no-one below the age
of 16 was allowed to go. I had turned 16
a couple of months before my ‘Gotcha’ moment but trying out CEM was something I
was still keen to avoid.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I think it was Lesley who got me there one Thursday
lunchtime. She had a close friend who
went, and one day she suggested that I should go - and that she would go
too. The CEM met in the Tower Room just
above the central arch which divided the schools. It was the only room in the entire school
which had doors that led directly to both the Boys and Girls Divisions. It felt a little like entering a diplomatic
neutral zone – a gendered DMZ between two opposing worlds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When I got there, about 8 people were holding a Bible
study and I saw a group of dispirited boys and girls with heads down listening
to someone holding forth about his own views to the exclusion of everyone
else. It was just as I had feared. On the way there, I had decided not to say
anything at the meeting, keep a low profile and drift away at the end; but
listening to this monologue dominating the proceedings and getting more and
more aggressive, awakened something in me.
I tried to keep quiet, but the more I saw how everyone else had been
cowed into submission, the less I was able to remain quiet. Eventually I snapped. I opened my mouth and out came something like, “Oh come off it!” I
can’t remember if those were my exact words, but they certainly express the
sentiment of what I said. Everyone
looked up in shock. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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At the end of the meeting, the leader announced that they
needed to elect a new member to the committee which organised CEM. Before I knew what wat happening, and without
offering, I had been elected. “So much
for keeping a low profile” summed up my thoughts as I went to afternoon
classes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Over the months which followed, we changed the whole feel
of CEM. Argumentative debates went
out. In came more prayer, music and
fellowship. Before I knew it, I was
leading the committee, and we were booking more local ministers and preachers
as visiting speakers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Over the two years which followed, more and more people
came. We went from single figures to
forty or fifty people on a good day with an exciting speaker or worship leader. We got permission to start an early-morning
prayer meeting each week, with about a dozen of us gathering at 8:15am to pray together
for half an hour before school started. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79oR5jCy7W1aW67AGJtAIyEJSrRDrCG1HpQx1fmbpJjDdaYuV-7zElGj0ot6qCFxU_TKvB6DlRuZL0YITVeyRBj5kTcHGLmuHn2ow4AeMswdR5uRc30zOsqUGxpGuq-cpkg5hf5Mc9k4/s1600/Who%2527s+wearing+sunglasses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79oR5jCy7W1aW67AGJtAIyEJSrRDrCG1HpQx1fmbpJjDdaYuV-7zElGj0ot6qCFxU_TKvB6DlRuZL0YITVeyRBj5kTcHGLmuHn2ow4AeMswdR5uRc30zOsqUGxpGuq-cpkg5hf5Mc9k4/s320/Who%2527s+wearing+sunglasses.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who was the only one wearing sunglasses <br />
for the school photo?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When churches in Bolton came together to organise a
town-wide mission, I got permission to bring a Christian rock band into the Boys
Division for a lunchtime concert in the theatre. We could have filled the theatre twice over
with those trying to get in, and I was invited by the headmaster to speak at
the whole school assembly about the mission.
I told the story of meeting a drug addict at the mission meeting in the
Town Hall the night before, and how he wanted to change, but didn’t think he
could. Perhaps we are all like that
before God, I suggested to 800 of my peers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It would be wrong of course, to suppose that this was all
my doing. We worked as a team. God brought people to us. Then they introduced their friends, and
before we knew it, it was unusual to have less than 20 teenagers meeting
together in this very secular school. We
met for prayer and reading the Bible together, for worship and for fellowship.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Alongside this, my father had changed parishes, and we
had moved from the village at Blackrod into Bolton, close to the school. There was no youth club or fellowship at the
church, and before long I invited the handful of other teenagers to my room in
the Vicarage for a kind of Youth Fellowship.
I had no idea what I was doing or supposed to do, but saw the need. We prayed and read
the Bible together and for many months it stayed at about 6 of us, (some under
pressure from their parents) and nothing seemed to be happening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Then I sensed God prompting me to talk about being
Baptised in the Holy Spirit, sharing my story and how God had changed my
life. It started to strike a chord and
others began to come. Some were from the
Christian Education Movement at Bolton School, but more were from other local
schools. David and Catherine from Smithills
School came and started to bring others.
David was very gifted on the guitar, and a natural salesman. Catherine was the quiet and highly practical
person that every group needs to flourish.
Then Neil came and introduced us to<b> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W7me-UnwCjg" target="_blank">100% Proof</a> </b>– not a whisky but a
Christian Heavy Rock Band with a sound like AC/DC! We started taking other people to their
concerts around Manchester and as they shared their Christian faith without
compromise, others saw that you could be a Christian without being a wimp!
There were others too like Janet, Tim, Robin and Douglas – too many to mention. We all grew in faith and learned to encourage
others in theirs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqSAbcAkzlyHA649NoECqHqJCdc8L7NBGLgYS4wdgdDUx1lrRqVXJqL8Jj-FgEYnqcdXV3RqX-9WILfOUB6Lkm71ZqjHKqUri2KJ4ccrHqMMZ4gLihPyoNwtDdGHFcySbqby7ahl_Dek/s1600/Heavy+metal++at+its+best.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="1600" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqSAbcAkzlyHA649NoECqHqJCdc8L7NBGLgYS4wdgdDUx1lrRqVXJqL8Jj-FgEYnqcdXV3RqX-9WILfOUB6Lkm71ZqjHKqUri2KJ4ccrHqMMZ4gLihPyoNwtDdGHFcySbqby7ahl_Dek/s400/Heavy+metal++at+its+best.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100% Proof in Concert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<o:p>In time, </o:p>St Margaret’s Youth Group grew out of my room into the
Vicarage dining Room. Then it out-grew
the dining room and took over the living room.
When finally we could not squeeze anyone else into the Vicarage, it had
to move to the new Church Hall and continued to grow, with David leading after
I left home for a gap year before university.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.roycaswell.co.uk/St_Margarets.html" target="_blank">St Margaret’s Church</a></b> was in a fairly ordinary part of
Bolton surrounded by traditional streets of terraced housing and the old cotton
mills for which Lancashire was once famous, now empty and silent. The church had a problem with vandalism. It had huge windows at the back made up of
thousands of squares of glass held together in a lead lattice. One of the jobs over the weekend was to sweep
up the broken glass from the stones which had been thrown to break them. One weekend my dad counted over 100 broken
panes of glass in the church. It was
just too tempting for kids with nothing to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtXoEk8IimXKJXO4hiawaTft_k_AGYceRG3N7Zs8dR48M-uDsC5MwLOQPkDl33h8fdNu3BDNCuPQosHQCafzdFehmpefRbISD5VLKvoJOXMzaVtFNprvLv6pgvfNyNUlII7nZuiOO1vI/s1600/Broken+glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="432" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtXoEk8IimXKJXO4hiawaTft_k_AGYceRG3N7Zs8dR48M-uDsC5MwLOQPkDl33h8fdNu3BDNCuPQosHQCafzdFehmpefRbISD5VLKvoJOXMzaVtFNprvLv6pgvfNyNUlII7nZuiOO1vI/s200/Broken+glass.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So what could we do about it? That was the question. The Youth Group started to organise “St
Maggie’s Discos” for teenagers, in the Church Hall (it was the end of the 70’s
when discos were still cool). At the first
one, about 50 turned up. By the 3<sup>rd</sup>
or 4<sup>th</sup>, we were turning people away because we had already filled the
hall with around 300 young people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The discos were never problem free and we couldn’t have done it
without the stalwart support of some of the men in the church who controlled
the door and provided back-up if anything started to get out of hand. One night when we were preparing for a disco,
a phone-call came from the police. They
had received a tip-off saying that a knife fight was being planned between two local gangs, at our disco. Cancelling was not
an option. The idea of having 300+ young
people in the street outside the church with nowhere to go was not a good
plan. When they were inside, we could
ensure there was no alcohol, but outside, they would have been knocking back
the Tenants Extra or Strongbow unabated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We decided to go ahead, with two plain clothed CID
officers in the Church Hall and 2 police riot vans parked up a couple of
streets away. Soon after the disco
started, David and I found out which gangs were planning to fight, and got
their leaders together. We said to them,
“If you do this, this will be the last St Maggie’s Disco ever. Everyone will suffer.” To our amazement, they gave us their word
that there would be no fighting at the disco that night. We learned later that they adjourned to a local
park after the disco to settle their scores after the disco had finished, but
they respected what we were offering to teenagers with nothing to do, and they
didn’t want to be the ones who put an end to it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Alongside this, the vandalism on the church dropped to
zero without the church ever having to get anyone arrested or charged or taken
to court.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHuBNuwqZNokDeH2vjbBPI0trOpXFikIuxyO4Km_O_KaQw2Vz7rdCitc_PZOGqGX290b2jh4HO4UiZGWmoLCRNIpb-32X68D8AbUg2ZSt0SItSJD6RcMJ5n6cibFVitu_DhF2ESuujdc/s1600/St+Maggies+Youth+Group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHuBNuwqZNokDeH2vjbBPI0trOpXFikIuxyO4Km_O_KaQw2Vz7rdCitc_PZOGqGX290b2jh4HO4UiZGWmoLCRNIpb-32X68D8AbUg2ZSt0SItSJD6RcMJ5n6cibFVitu_DhF2ESuujdc/s320/St+Maggies+Youth+Group.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of St Margaret's Youth Group on a Good Friday Walk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We also found that some of the disaffected young people
who came to the discos also started to come to church and the Youth Group. Side by side, posh pupils from Bolton School
and teenagers with drink problems and criminal records were praying and
worshipping together. We even had one
teenage girl whose Saturday job was as a prostitute until she gave her life to
Christ in the Youth Group.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Reflecting on those first steps in ministry, I am amazed
by two things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
First was the trust which was placed in us by my dad and
our local church. We were left to run
the Youth Group ourselves without interference.
We planned the worship, led the Bible studies, wrote the talks, prayed
and ministered to each other and those in need.
We saw God heal broken hearts and soften hardened hearts as we prayed,
without the need to call a grown-up in to do the 'important stuff'. While recognising the need for good
safeguarding in youth work, I wonder if we now tend to professionalise it too
much, rather than letting young people reach young people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Second is how God honoured everything that we did. As I look back to that time, I can’t believe
how much I crammed in. I was doing my
A-levels, working a part time job, was in a 3-year committed relationship with
my girlfriend and leading a youth ministry the size of most churches. By rights, it should have all collapsed in a
heap at some point, and yet it didn’t. I
even finished my A-levels with four grade A’s – something I couldn’t have even
imagined a few years earlier. God
honoured the commitment which had been required of me and I was not alone. The other leaders all went on to college and
university. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8rKpg7xmkvlLW7Wjs-bzvaROfpl8bGMHc0s55BfHj6XU8fhtDC8I6HzBWbxMITeSyGdCwCJr83l3lV0KSGN3pBMhGNsro-nmciyZ-7db9sBpMaKVojYlnBwW_ZNZpiPmn1yTtzZKNiA/s1600/Greenbelt+.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1254" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8rKpg7xmkvlLW7Wjs-bzvaROfpl8bGMHc0s55BfHj6XU8fhtDC8I6HzBWbxMITeSyGdCwCJr83l3lV0KSGN3pBMhGNsro-nmciyZ-7db9sBpMaKVojYlnBwW_ZNZpiPmn1yTtzZKNiA/s320/Greenbelt+.JPG" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neil, Benny and Tim drawing attention<br />
to themselves at Greenbelt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I guess both of these things come back to trust. Trust in the God who calls us, and trust in
one another. I wonder how much we miss
out on because of our reluctance to do either.
I remember an former bishop of Southwark Cathedral advising his clergy
to experiment; to see what would work and what wouldn’t in their parishes. Experiment, experiment and then experiment
some more. He recognised
that some of these experiments would go wrong but then we pick ourselves up and
learn from them. The other option is
always playing it safe, repeating the things which have worked in the past
until they finally bury themselves. For
young people in particular, this is simply not an option in a fast changing
society.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Over the past few years, I have had the privilege of
being in touch with a good number of people from St Maggie’s Youth Group, and I
am constantly delighted and amazed by the way so many have carried on with
their Christian faith. Some are even worship
leaders, pastors and vicars. All through
the trust which was placed in us by the church in our teenage years. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It is perhaps worth remembering that the greatest calling
of all time was entrusted to a <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary,_mother_of_Jesus" target="_blank">teenage girl</a></b> in a village in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps the church should be looking for more
teenagers to invest with trust?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/02/moving-on.html?m=0">Click here for part 14 - Moving on</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to 'Crossing the Line'</a></b></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com2Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-27145361177201381052018-01-21T19:11:00.001+00:002018-01-28T17:49:33.016+00:00Gotcha!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<h3>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Crossing the Line - part 12</span></h3>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">It was also in my early teens
that I first sensed that God was calling me to be a priest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Soon after I was Baptised
in the Holy Spirit, I began to get the strangest sensation. It was like someone tapping me on the
shoulder and I silent voice almost whispering, ‘I want you to do that’. It happened in church during the communion
prayer, or the sermon. It happened when
I read the Bible and came across the story of someone being called by God. It happened in my prayer life when I was thinking
about the future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">There was only one
problem. I didn’t want to do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When I was little there
was a time when, like lots of other boys, I wanted to do what my dad did. By
the time I had reached the grand old age of seven however, being ordained was
the last thing in the world I wanted to do.
I had seen how hard my father worked and the uncompromising grief he was
given by some members of the church. I
had seen the strain that put on my parents’ marriage and on us as a
family. I had seen how little he got
paid and lived through the winters in a house we could not afford to heat. All these things had brought me to the very
definite decision that it would be the very last thing I would ever do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The tapping on my shoulder
was not welcome. The silent whisper was
not welcome. So the response I gave to God was plain and simple. It was a definite “No!”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I started to search around
for what I might want to do with my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">First, I was going to be a
lawyer. I was good with words and could
be quite persuasive in arguments.
Lawyers get lots of money. That
will do nicely. But as I thought more
deeply, I found things I couldn’t reconcile.
How could I defend someone who I knew was guilty? While I knew that our legal system requires
defence for everyone, I knew I couldn’t do it.
What would I do if I was being asked to help a client exploit loopholes
against the spirit of the law? I soon
realised it wasn’t me too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Then I wanted to join the
RAF. I went to see the recruiting
officer who came each year to our school but then the thought of civilian
casualties from indiscriminate bombing or human error became something I was
not willing to live with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I wanted to be an
engineer. Making things that improve the world we live in. I lived with this
idea for a while but I couldn’t get excited enough to be sure I could spend my life doing that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">And so it went on. Lunchtime after lunchtime in the school’s
careers room trying to find the thing which fitted my gifts, personality,
principles – and which I would enjoy doing.
In the background, all the time, was this tapping on the shoulder and my
very firm answer – No!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The argument went on for 2
years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God:
I want you to do this…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Me:
No!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Then one Saturday, I
remember that I went with my parents to a Day of Renewal in Manchester. I even remember the church where it was held
– <a href="https://www.achurchnearyou.com/church/15918/" target="_blank">Church of the Holy Family, Failsworth</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The day was a wonderful
celebration of faith. It was so life
giving, so real, so inspiring, that in the back of the car on the way home, I
started to have a conversation with God in my head. It went something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Me:
Oh God, I really want to tell people about how wonderful you are; about
your amazing blessings are and how good it is to be a Christian.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God: … silence…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Me:
But Lord, it’s so difficult to tell people about you. At school I get ridiculed because of my
faith. People who were friends don’t
want to know, and I’m not brave enough to talk to strangers. It’s so hard.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God: … silence…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Me:
I know… if I got ordained and wore a dog collar, it would be easy –
because everyone would expect me to talk about you!</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As soon as I had said
this, I realised what I had said!</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
immediately started backtracking…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Me:
Oh no, God. I didn’t mean
that. Don’t get any ideas now…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">What followed was
remarkable. It is one of the very few
times in my life that I believe I actually heard the audible voice of
God. The first thing I heard, in the
back of my parents’ car, was a chuckle.
An audible laugh which only I heard.
Not a laugh that was patronising or dismissive, but a gentle, warm
chuckle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Then I heard God speak
just one word to me…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">God:
Gotcha!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">... and I as sat in the car,
on the way back to Blackrod, I knew that he had. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">There was no getting away
from it. I knew that all my protests and
arguments were useless. They had been as
effective as King Canute by the sea, telling the tide not to come in.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I didn’t make any big public
statement. In fact, I didn’t tell
anybody for quite some time, but I knew deep down in my heart that God had
indeed got me. The tapping on the
shoulder continued, except now I didn’t say no. Instead, I asked God how? And as I lived with this sense of calling, as
my defensiveness melted away, I found myself realising that this did indeed fit. It fitted my gifts, my personality & my principles and as I began to embrace this call, I realised that it was the only
path in life which I would genuinely enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">So when I was 16 years
old, I filled in my first form for Manchester Diocese, asking to explore
ordination. I remember looking at the completed
form thinking that my handwriting looked terrible. I didn’t know if I’d
even answered the questions properly, as they were designed for someone much older
and wiser than me b</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">ut I had done it, and from
that day onward, I knew this would be my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As reflect on this now, in the light of my <b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/the-enemy-within.html?m=0" target="_blank">recent diagnosis</a></b>, and recognising that my life is going to be much shorter
that I had expected, I am so glad that I said ‘yes’ all those years ago. I am so pleased that I didn’t keep arguing,
or put it on the back burner, or file it away marked ‘maybe one day’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Following God’s call has
led me to the most amazing, challenging, times and places. I wouldn’t
trade it for anything. I am so happy
that I heard God chuckle and heard that immortal word…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Gotcha!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/first-steps.html?m=0"><b>Click here for part 13 - First Steps</b></a></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank"><b>Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</b></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com8Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-19650086947349507232018-01-14T16:23:00.000+00:002018-01-21T19:19:21.668+00:00Spiritual gifts, sarcasm and sex<h3 style="line-height: 115%;">
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Crossing the Line - part 11</h3>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Although I knew the direction my
life should take, that didn’t mean it was easy.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Disentangling myself from my
school persona took time and effort.
Some of my friends didn’t want me to stop doing the things I did. Saying ‘no’ to the temptations I had embraced
was hard enough, but telling people why was an even bigger challenge. Some friends tried to understand, but others
just wrote me off as a religious nutter – the sort of person you don’t want to
be around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
The school’s overwhelming
emphasis on competition and academic achievement had a darker side. There was a correspondingly inadequate
emphasis on personal growth and development. It was ideal for potential
investment bankers, lawyers and captains of industry, where winning is what
matters. Where it fell down was in
responding to anyone who was different. Sarcasm
and derision was the standard response to anyone who didn’t
fit the mould. Now I found that I was
the object of this ripping sardonic wit.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
At home, I stated reading the
Bible every day. I joined a home group
where we worshipped, prayed and discussed the scriptures together, while hoping
for the spiritual gifts which we had seen in evidence in the big meetings we
went to. The Bible started to make sense
to me in a new way. I did not approach
it uncritically but as I asked my questions, I found that the overarching
meta-narrative made sense. It held
together with a coherence which surprized me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthZZ9gBTcG8DBCtPvx8V_V-SriRzNLK3PleGM9HmSf8-xGFNp6q3gPuDEjB8Wl3jEFmNFDo11a_TZWon5Itymgt-nhdGITveNQ4O6PCCxzMbhe1Xj8HvH-PWbm5ni4v4xwSDB1SVW7nQ/s1600/Holy+Spirit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1182" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthZZ9gBTcG8DBCtPvx8V_V-SriRzNLK3PleGM9HmSf8-xGFNp6q3gPuDEjB8Wl3jEFmNFDo11a_TZWon5Itymgt-nhdGITveNQ4O6PCCxzMbhe1Xj8HvH-PWbm5ni4v4xwSDB1SVW7nQ/s320/Holy+Spirit.jpg" width="236" /></a>Then one evening at the home
group, I experienced what I had seen others receive – Baptism in the Holy
Spirit. It didn’t happen in the
over-hyped, noisy atmosphere of a big rally but in a time of silent prayer
among half a dozen friends. I began to
feel a warmth in my heart of a kind I had never known. It grew and grew until I felt I couldn’t
contain it in my body anymore. I thought
I was going to burst with a sense of God’s love, more real than anything I had
experienced before, with waves of gentle power washing over me. It was electric. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
In the middle of this, I sensed
God prompting me. “Now speak in
tongues.” It wasn’t a voice, but it was real.
With more than I little trepidation, I remember doing the only thing I
could think of. Under my breath, I
counted down. “Five, four, three, two,
one…” As I reached zero, I opened my mouth and to my great surprize, found I
was speaking out loud in a language I did not understand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
I don’t know who was more surprized,
me or the other people in the home group.
I was only 14. After I finished
we waited in silence. A few moments
later another person in the group gave an interpretation with God’s encouragement
for us all. I can’t honestly remember a
word of it – I was still in a kind of shocked rapture. My heart was on fire and I felt like I was
plugged into the mains.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
If I still had any doubts about
my new direction in life, this laid them to rest. At school, I responded to the sarcasm with an
even stronger resolve to follow God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDEoKf7ozLIiL5duqLB2nix7e1Ia7RnydQd1DGQ6624GPbD7QkPbs_8JDfalRWE5bMH3pUZXlssXwzgJpEnZee9q58QSsN6gmlKD8DZN2gj4GZJocWuofAgUntELknX_0B4axPd2GUpg/s1600/Benny+%2526+Chris+1977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1296" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDEoKf7ozLIiL5duqLB2nix7e1Ia7RnydQd1DGQ6624GPbD7QkPbs_8JDfalRWE5bMH3pUZXlssXwzgJpEnZee9q58QSsN6gmlKD8DZN2gj4GZJocWuofAgUntELknX_0B4axPd2GUpg/s320/Benny+%2526+Chris+1977.jpg" width="259" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Benny and Chris in our Sunday best!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was also not alone. God was working in the life of Chris, my
oldest friend who helped get me through my early years. We sang together in the church choir from the
age of 6 or 7 and now Chris’s faith also came alive. In a Pentecostal Church a few miles away, he
too was Baptised in the Holy Spirit and sometimes I went with him to church
there. I remember the fiery sermons, the
intense times of prayer, and the Pastor who couldn’t quite believe that an
Anglican could speak in tongues. Chris
was a huge encouragement to me and together we grew in faith. Chris eventually went on to be a missionary,
first in Turkey, then in Azerbaijan, and now heads up a support ministry for
Azerbaijan in the USA. God’s hand was on
both our lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
There was one thing that
bothered me though. When I had realised
that God was real, I remember worrying about a part of my personality which I
thought would be at odds with following God.
After shaking off my childhood fear of authority, I now hated being told
what to do and what to think. Authority in
and of itself had no authority as far as I was concerned. It had to be earned. If there were no reasons for the rules, the
norms, the expectations, then I was more likely to rebel against them. I had discovered my rebellious side and I remember asking God, “Does following you
mean that I have to stop being rebellious?”
The answer surprized me. “Not at
all – you just have to be rebellious for me!”
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
That was something I could do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
At school, when I was called
names or shunned for my newfound Christian commitment, I rebelled against this
mindless conformity. In fact, it
strengthened my resolve to follow God. I
started wearing Christian badges, putting Christian stickers on my exercise
books, and smiling a people who insulted me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1zUe3pAsf7ZJNOK7LCXXgkntQ73sGUgLDr8h91xbDIuZmtl4_Xmk6bfxf0yBr4dmoAtUsDfxl_7WXAMek8XMpSSn0Z7Hni7fVfxuUegxhArOmeyCvNvGV9pse8uCBEKpdatANJ1qxxk/s1600/I+love+Jesus.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="250" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1zUe3pAsf7ZJNOK7LCXXgkntQ73sGUgLDr8h91xbDIuZmtl4_Xmk6bfxf0yBr4dmoAtUsDfxl_7WXAMek8XMpSSn0Z7Hni7fVfxuUegxhArOmeyCvNvGV9pse8uCBEKpdatANJ1qxxk/s200/I+love+Jesus.png" width="200" /></a>I learned some years later that
this led to concerns among my teachers about ‘religious mania’. Apparently, my name came up regularly at
staff meetings. I didn’t fit the
school’s secular mould and was definitely seen as non-conformist in more ways
than one. Fortunately, I was saved in
the staff room by the fact that alongside my growing Christian faith, I was
also improving academically. I was moving
up the class in English and Maths to the point where I was fast-tracked with others,
going on to get grade A’s in both O Levels a year early – something which would
have been unthinkable 12 months before.
It is hard to fully explain this, except to say that alongside a growing
confidence in faith, there was a growing sense that nothing was impossible,
including school work!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Of course, I must have been
insufferable at times. Being filled with
a belief that God can do anything doesn’t make you as sensitive to the needs of
others as I would now hope to be. My
life had certainly changed though, and I thought there was no going back. There
was however, another way in which my growing commitment to Christ could be
undermined. One which I didn’t see
coming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
I first met Carol at the village
Christmas fair. In fact, she deliberately
tripped me up to get my attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Being at an all-boys school
meant there wasn’t much opportunity to meet girls. I felt awkward around them like any teenage
boy. I didn’t know how to talk to girls,
especially if I ‘fancied’ them. It was
the normal mixture of tongue-tied embarrassment, with the self-defeating desire
to run away as fast as I my legs could carry me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Carol was different. She was from the opposite end of the village
to me. I lived in a big house, an only child. She lived in a council house at the wrong end
of Whitehall Lane with her mum, step-dad and eleven other brothers, sisters,
step brothers and step sisters. It was
an overcrowded house full of shouting, and the loudest, most aggressive voice
usually won. At 14, she already had a
probation officer who she had to see every Thursday. Her last boyfriend had been a local gang-leader. She knew how to get what she wanted, and for
some strange reason she wanted me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
We were going out together
within 2 days. I fell head over heels in
love with Carol almost instantly, with all the intensity of a first romance. My parents were horrified, especially when
her last boyfriend’s gang knocked on the vicarage door summoning me to meet
their boss. The more my parents tried to
pull me away, the stronger my determination to stay with her. The relationship quickly became sexual and
although I didn’t stop going to church or reading my Bible, my faith was soon
taking second place and my relationship with my parents was becoming very
strained. I became manipulative,
deceptive and sometimes goaded them into losing their temper a little too much,
knowing that they would feel guilty in the morning and leave us alone for a
while.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Nor was Carol a bad person. She had many admirable qualities. She simply
wanted to escape her predetermined path and live a different life. Carol came to church with me and even joined
the choir. I went with her to see her
probation officer each week.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
But something wasn’t right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFIKWxxkti6vlRDDzybxzYY_ay1p3HV1cLLop6H-KP_KDFMmhQUuFQHJW9XIar98odkZD7HmmZ2b0xVn0cZ5zNY7JrxbUyz9tQDLCYxIjy4uB9JeQr2LnzJzAmRPzvxcc2pQflz09EOAA/s1600/Benny+1978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1309" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFIKWxxkti6vlRDDzybxzYY_ay1p3HV1cLLop6H-KP_KDFMmhQUuFQHJW9XIar98odkZD7HmmZ2b0xVn0cZ5zNY7JrxbUyz9tQDLCYxIjy4uB9JeQr2LnzJzAmRPzvxcc2pQflz09EOAA/s320/Benny+1978.JPG" width="261" /></a>Over the months which followed,
our relationship became unbalanced. Our
physical chemistry became overwhelming and put in the shade all the other
elements of a healthy partnership. I became
aware of the damage this was doing to my Christian commitment and my
relationship with my parents. As they
got better at holding back, I got better at seeing that we were not a good fit
for each other, but I was also scared of what would happen to her if we split
up. I began to feel trapped.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
My salvation came in the form of
a Mission to Manchester led by David Watson, vicar of St Michael le Belfry in
York, a well-known Anglican Charismatic Church.
I went twice during the week and then, at Salford Rugby Ground on Saturday
10<sup>th</sup> June, 1978, I knew I needed to go forward as an act of
commitment. I needed to repent of the things I knew I was doing wrong, and put
God back in the driving seat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
I had never felt the need to do
that before. After all, God had always
been there as I grew up; there was never a time when I didn’t know him. In that sense I had always been a
Christian. And yet now I knew I had to
make my adult commitment to God – a formal declaration, a definite
decision. I needed to grow up, and take
responsibility for myself before God. In
the words of the classic ABC altar call, I ‘Admitted’ my sins, ‘Believed’ in
Christ, and ‘Committed’ myself to be his disciple.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
The next day, as painful as it
was for both of us, I broke up with Carol and I promised myself that I would
never again go into a relationship which had the potential to undermine my
relationship with God.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Sometimes I hear people saying
that if you are not ‘right with God’ then you will find your spiritual gifts
drying up and God becoming distant. Behind it, I suppose there is a theology
which says that you have to be living a holy life to be used by God, or be close
to God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
I have to say that is not what I
have found in life. While I was with
Carol my faith did not dry up; neither did experiencing spiritual gifts in my
home group, prayer life and church. Despite
becoming aware that this wasn’t what God wanted for me, despite being decidedly
‘unholy’ in my dealing with my parents, despite realising in time, that it had
the potential to undermine my relationship with God, I continued to grow as a
Christian.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
Later in life, I saw this in
Hong Kong too, working with heroin addicts in Jackie Pullinger’s ministry (but
more of that later).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
God doesn’t come close to us
because we are holy. He comes close to
us because we need his holiness and grace.
We can never make ourselves holy enough to experience God. No matter how hard we try, there will always
be parts of our lifestyle, attitudes, or relationships that would disqualify us
from God’s power or presence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
God draws close to us simply because
he loves us. What opens the door to God
in our hearts and lives is not our paltry, pseudo-holiness – it is what Jesus
Christ has done for us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
As Isaiah says, “All of us have
become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy
rags.” (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+64%3A6&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">Isaiah 64:6</a>) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
The miracle of God’s grace is
that he comes to us, and sends his Spirit to us, even though we are
unclean. As John says, “This is love:
not that we love God, but that God loved us, and sent his Son to be an atoning
sacrifice for our sins” <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+John+4%3A10-13&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">(1 John 4:10</a>)
and he goes onto say, “This is how we know that we live in him and he in
us: he has given us of his Spirit.” (vs 13)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyZmkhFM5_qyypeyXkEhk34TwVO-6MMbUbxfKPmLDe864VvDJCxTLPfuCJLqKHyhSkqI87C3_O5aVF53IpbGtYCk84BSmXlN-yfW7eFObrr1SGtnq8KcDwjo4TG-qNgzmxPkLWkQviSE/s1600/Crosses.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="145" data-original-width="717" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyZmkhFM5_qyypeyXkEhk34TwVO-6MMbUbxfKPmLDe864VvDJCxTLPfuCJLqKHyhSkqI87C3_O5aVF53IpbGtYCk84BSmXlN-yfW7eFObrr1SGtnq8KcDwjo4TG-qNgzmxPkLWkQviSE/s400/Crosses.webp" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
There are two dangerous mistakes
in thinking that particular sins can close the door to God in our lives. The first is when we think that God won’t
have anything to do with us if we stray from his way. Falling into that trap means we assume God
will be distant from us at the very time when we need him most! Time and time again, I have found that it is
God who sticks with me no matter what, not the other way round. And when I am lost, he comes after me <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+15%3A1-7&version=NIVUK" target="_blank">like the shepherd</a> who leaves the 99 sheep on the hillside while he searches for the one who wandered off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
The second danger is that we try
to use our sense of closeness to God as a kind of spiritual barometer for how
well we are doing. This is sometime
expressed as <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%; margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<i>“If God is
still with me, then the things I do must be ok.
My attitudes, my lifestyle, my relationships must be ok if he is still
using me and pouring out his Holy Spirit on me.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
I cannot think of a single verse
in the Bible which would back up that kind of twisted theology. It is the sort of theology which results in
TV Evangelists using prostitutes, or church leaders abusing children. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
It also makes ‘successful
Christians’ less willing to examine their attitudes or prejudices towards
others – whether in racism, homophobia, or social stigma. Just because God is blessing us, doesn’t mean
that we have got it right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
It was through God keeping close
to me when I was going wrong, that I became aware that I was going wrong. The challenge then, is to respond in a way
which continues to build our relationship with God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 115%;">
So that is what I began to do.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/gotcha.html?m=0">Click here for part 12 - Gotcha!</a></b></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line</a></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s1600/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgRA6_Ol_4hmhgFy6cRHhLrmBZF-1h0_Ia5ZafD9EIr6KpYq2sa2NEvNXxSu8NU97dFCg0TjB7xmfcXUZSG8MK6zSAWkKPZ5jpx1ahTUnYx-S3BLGUZGYPbDHmHixCKFp_IiHKg3Lg5w/s320/Crossing+the+Line.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com2Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146780325302102876.post-21416975429181717142018-01-06T18:01:00.001+00:002018-01-21T19:18:03.564+00:00Real or imaginary?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3>
Crossing the Line - part 10</h3>
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Starting senior school was great.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I joined the prep school, I joined a year late. Everyone else started there aged 8, and I
joined a class where everyone knew each other and knew how the school
worked. I knew no-one and every day was
a new experience of uncertainty and finding my way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When we moved up to the senior school, all the prep
school classes were jumbled up and we were joined by an equal number of boys who
were new. This time I was one of the
boys who already had friends and knew how the school worked. I soon found my place in our new class,
manipulated the seating plan so that I sat with my friends, and discovered a
new confidence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not that my academic achievement improved. I was still bottom of the class in English
and Maths but there were new subjects to get stuck into. Some like Latin were a disaster but others,
like Physics and Geography caught my imagination.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By half way through my second year I had successfully
partitioned my life. At home I was the
vicar’s kid. I sang in the church choir,
attended church without complaint and was polite to everyone. At school I was a typical pre-teen, starting
to discover a bigger world and make my own decisions. I was also very careful to keep the two
apart. I got the occasional detention
after school but not enough to attract much attention. The only time my parents were called into
school was after I threw my bag across the classroom at another boy after an
argument. He ducked and my bag smashed a
large glazed print of Picasso’s Guernica on the wall behind him, showering him
in broken glass. That was a bit
difficult to hide.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I learned the art of not getting caught when I broke the
rules. The class I was in had an
obsession with gambling, and I discovered an entrepreneurial streak, renting
out packs of cards and poker dice to my classmates on condition that my name
was kept out of it if they got caught. I
kept my stock of cards in the class library desk. After the key to the desk had been lost, I
was the only person who could pick the lock and was rewarded by being appointed
the class librarian. It was the perfect
hiding place and before long I was also storing my classmates inevitable ‘dirty
mags’ there too, for a fee. As a result,
if our classroom was searched during lunch or break (when classrooms were out
of bounds) nothing untoward would be found.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Increasingly however, I began to recognise the emerging contradiction in the two lives I was living. The Christian faith which I lived at home and
my school persona were pulling in two opposite directions. I realised that I would have to choose one or
the other. One night, I remember coming
to the conclusion that I needed to decide whether this God who I had been
brought up to believe in was actually real.
If he was real, there was no question in my mind – I had to follow him
wholeheartedly. But if he wasn’t real, I
could do whatever I wanted! To be
honest, I was looking forward to the latter.
I had discovered a rebellious part to my personality which didn’t like
obeying rules and my fear of authority was waning fast. I wanted to run my own life, making my own
decisions unencumbered by divine expectations.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the 12 months which followed however, God left me in
no doubt that he was real.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first part of my reality check came as my parents
started to explore <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charismatic_Movement" target="_blank">Charismatic Renewal</a></b>.
The years at Blackrod and the abortive defection to Rome had resulted in
a dry period for their faith. They both
faithfully continued to follow God’s calling, but the joy and sense of
direction had gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then mum read a book called “<b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Nine-OClock-Morning-Dennis-Bennett-ebook/dp/B006TZC99U/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Nine o’clock in the morning</a></b>”
which talked about a renewed faith, lived in the tangible presence of God
through the power of the Holy Spirit.
After patient perseverance, she persuaded dad to read it too. Soon they began to look for events and
meetings to explore this ‘new life in the Holy Spirit’. Manchester wasn’t far away and there were
lots of opportunities there. It was in
the days when preachers like <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colin_Urquhart" target="_blank">Colin Urquhart</a></b> and <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Watson_(evangelist)" target="_blank">David Watson</a></b> were filling major
venues, and my parents took me along to the meetings with them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the first time, I saw Christians who actually looked like
they were enjoying their faith. I heard contemporary
worship songs with a beat and saw people enraptured as they sang them. I also heard stories of God’s healing, of smuggling
bibles behind the iron curtain, and saw people being ministered to in prayer. This was a new, vibrant, exciting Christianity
and while part of me had reservations, and some of the things were more than a
little strange, I recognised something significant was at work here.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The second part of my reality check was much more disturbing
and happened a long way from home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was 12, I went on a school trip to Paris with a
coachload of boys from my year. During
my first night there, on the 7<sup>th</sup> floor of the hotel, I tried to kill
myself in my sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I had always had a problem with dreams, as long as I
remember. I used to have night terrors
as a small child. As I grew older, I
began sleepwalking and the dreams became more violent, resulting in me hitting
or kicking my parents more than once as they tried in vain to wake me. Although I never told anyone, I also heard
voices from time to time, calling my name.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That evening in Paris, I heard the voices again, but for
the first time they were angry. That
night, in the hotel room I was sharing with two others, I dreamt that I was
responsible for the deaths of millions of people. The feeling of panic and remorse was so vivid
and I couldn’t live with myself. I got
out of bed, walked over to the balcony doors and tried to open them. One of my room-mates woke up and asked me
what I was doing. I replied “I’m going
to kill myself”. My plan was
simple. I was going to get out onto the
balcony and jump off, seven floors down to the concrete below.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What saved me was being unable to open the doors. <br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was no reason for that. There was no lock on the doors, and we had
been out on the balcony earlier that evening without difficulty. Now the doors would not open, no matter how
hard I pushed and pulled on the handle.
After a few moments of futile frustration, I realised that my roommates
had turned on the light and were starting to get out of bed. I stormed into the bathroom, locked myself in
and started to run a bath with the intention of drowning myself. Looking back, I realise how futile this would
have been, but at that moment, the wish to die was so much stronger than the
will to live, and any possibility of achieving this was an option. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As the bath slowly filled, something began to
change in me. The will to live started
to resurface. Although I still believed that
I had killed millions of people, something inside me started to draw me back
towards life rather than death. As that feeling
grew within me, the strength to live began to grow too, until after what seemed
like an age, I reached out and pulled out the plug. The water started to drain away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That was the last thing I remember of that night. My roommates told me in the morning that I
came out of the bathroom, threw myself on the bed and didn’t stir until
morning. When I awoke, the memory of the
previous might was still in my mind, but I thought it was simply a horrible dream. It is hard to overstate the shock when they
told me it actually happened. I was
terrified. What if it happened again
tonight, or another night? What if the
doors to the balcony opened next time?<o:p></o:p></div>
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During the day we went to the Sacré Coeur Basilica. Amid
the throngs of tourists, I managed to find a quiet corner set aside for
prayer. There I sat, pouring out my
fears and bewilderment. As I did this, I
found a strange peace enfolding me, and a sense that God was putting his arms
around me, saying, “I am here, and I will protect you”. It wasn’t a voice, but something deeper and
stronger. I left there with a remarkable
sense of assurance that everything would be ok.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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What I didn’t know until later was that back in England,
my mother had woken up and the same time as my ordeal the night before, with a
strong sense that they needed to pray for me.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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While I was in France they had travelled to stay at Whatcombe
House in Dorset. At that time, it housed
a charismatic community of healing called the Barnabas Fellowship. While they were there mum was healed both
emotionally, from many of the traumas of her childhood, and physically, from
increasingly severe arthritis. It was a turning point for them in their
Christian faith. At the very time I was
distraught and trying to kill myself, she was waking dad to pray for me. The coincidence was uncanny and to this day,
I believe that their prayer is what stopped me being able to open those balcony
doors.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw that God was real.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I got back home and told them what had happened,
they were horrified and then deeply worried.
I was taken to the doctor and referred for psychiatric tests. I remember being wired up for an EEG scan
(Electroencephalogram) to look for any abnormalities in my brain patterns. Although I didn’t know it at the time, there
were also worries about schizophrenia.
In the end, all the tests came back ok, but my parent’s understandable
fear remained, and they took me to see a wise Christian leader in the Anglican charismatic
movement called<b><a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=_Qtv7gJMIFUC&pg=PT2066&lpg=PT2066&dq=whatcombe+house+barnabas&source=bl&ots=iuhEdfzMgm&sig=1VukRJajkr9ZD8pS5r5imLRBPi4&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiN4LOUzsPYAhXDCcAKHXGMAvwQ6AEIVzAI#v=onepage&q&f=false" target="_blank"> John Gunstone</a></b>. After we
talked for a while, he said some simple prayers with me, casting out any evil spirit
which may be behind my experiences. I
have never been the sort of Christian who sees demons around every corner or
spiritual warfare as the reason for every testing time, but I do know this; after
his simple and undramatic prayers with me, I never heard the voices calling my
name again and my night terrors stopped.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I now knew that God was real – and I knew that I had to
follow.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/spiritual-gifts-sarcasm-and-sex.html?m=0">Click here for part 11 - Spiritual gifts, sarcasm and sex</a></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://benny2010.blogspot.co.uk/2017/10/coming-soon-crossing-line.html?m=0" target="_blank">Click here for an introduction to "Crossing the Line"</a></b></div>
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Benny Hazlehursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11106740133903626260noreply@blogger.com0Dorset, UK50.7487635 -2.344478600000002250.106424000000004 -3.6353721000000023 51.391103 -1.0535851000000023