Glass Half-full: Half The Sky

Somalia, Eritrea, Latvia, Slovakia, Poland, Lithuania, Russia, Iraq, Kurdistan, Palestine, Iran, Pakistan, India ... we’ve had women from all these places coming to ‘Your Learning' over the past two years at Coventry Jesus Centre. They usually come in with smiles but every life carries a story with it ... sometimes I’m told a little, I never probe. Sometimes the story is left untold.

I’m reading ‘Half the Sky’ at the moment (authors: Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn). Shocking in its revelation of the extent of the suppression, oppression and abuse of women globally, it offers a persuasive call to empower women through education and micro-financing projects - among other things. The empowering of women in such ways, the writers tell us, is a sure way to better the prospects of societies generally that are struggling with poverty in the developing world. A new breed of ‘social entrepreneurs’ has/is arising to arrest the problem of gender inequality worldwide - described by Kristof as the ‘paramount moral challenge’ of this century.

It’s one of those must-reads for women (indeed, men as well) that care; it’s greatly changed my understanding of just what women throughout the world suffer. Now when they come and take their place in class I wonder ...

Recently two female students from Kurdistan introduced me to one of their heroes, Hapsa Khani Naqib, a twentieth century Kurdish social entrepreneur. With their help I wrote out the story of her life and I asked one of them to lead a group involving reading and talking about her life. After reading ‘Half the Sky’, I can understand a little more why she is their hero. 

My friends, Ro and Mim, are starting a new project ‘Glass Half Full’. Their aim is to encourage small scale manufacturing in the developing world (starting with Bangladeshi women) by finding a market for their goods in the UK.

Glass half-full? A situation (such as a woman’s prospects in the developing world) can be a cause of optimism (a glass half-full as opposed to empty) or pessimism (only half-full or half–empty).

Personally I find such projects exciting; they’re providing new opportunities for people with little prospect; they’re doing something and every little something is better than nothing.

Meanwhile, these women are also on our soil, actually down the road, next door, in our class. It’s an opportunity...
   
 The empowering of women, enlarging the often narrow visor of their life-possibilities, is a must. As the Chinese saying goes, ‘women hold up half the sky.’

Hapsa Khani Naqib: Kurdish Hero

HapsaKhani Naqib and her brother

This is a reading text I wrote for two of my Kurdish female students, Siti and Silan. They asked if we could learn about her in our ESOL class. For very obvious reasons, she is one of their heroes.

The story is written simply so it can be easily understood. Silan led the group, reading and discussing Hapsa Khani Naqib's life.

Hapsa Khani Naqib (1891-1953) was a strong and determined reformer. She campaigned for independence for the Kurdish people. She also campaigned for women’s rights.

Hapsa Khani Naqib was born in the city of Sulaimaniyha in 1891. Sulaimaniyha is in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq. 

Hapsa Khani Naqib was married to Sheikh Qadir Hafid. The British forces occupied Iraq at this time. Many of the people of Iraq wanted independence. Sheikh Qadir Hafid played an important role in the revolution against the British forces.

Hapsa Khani Naqib, like her husband, wanting freedom for the Kurdish people. She also wanted freedom for women. She believed that women as well as men should be educated. At that time, most women were not educated in Kurdestan.

Hapsa Khani Naqib started a night school for women in Sulaimaniyha. She also campaigned for the downtrodden and oppressed women living in her neighbourhood.

Hapsa Khani Naqib founded the first Kurdish women's organization in Iraq. This was called the ‘Kurdish Women's Association’. 

 Hapsa Khani’s house became a centre for Kurdish women’s rights. 
 Hapsa Khani said, "There is no difference between men and women...so I am going to continue..."

 In 1930, Hapsa Khan sent a letter to the League of Nations. She asked them to support the rights of the Kurdish people.

The Republic of Kurdistan was founded in 1946 by Qazi Mohammed. Hapsa Khani supported the Republic.

 Hapsa Khani Naqib died in 1953. She was 62. After she died her home became a school. This is just what she wanted!

Today Hapsa Khani Naqib is greatly admired by the Kurdish people. She lived for them. She struggled for them. She did not give up! She played a very important role in their struggle for freedom.

Christianity, a Generation Away From Extinction? The Wisdom of the Old

Lord Carey, former Archbishop of Canterbury

Here I am, chatting to my elderly Dad (87). He’s just out of hospital, foot bandaged and propped up on a stool, but still  a keen reader of the Daily Telegraph. 

‘Here you are, this will interest you,” he says and hands me an article headed: ‘Lord Carey  warns that Christianity is a generation away from extinction in Britain.’ It’s all rather depressing ... the Church of England, indeed Christianity in our country, on the brink of demise?  A gloomy picture.

Now Dad has been a church-goer for much of his life and he says to me, in his old-age wisdom: ‘I think people these days just can’t see the point of Christianity – that’s the main problem.’ Before you know it, a letter is crystallising in my mind, I write it and check it with Dad (because really it all started with him) – and so here it is, editor! 

Lord Carey has warned that Christianity is, "a generation away from extinction" in Britain.

‘So what is the problem? We can blame the apathy of the masses; we can blame ourselves for our lack of zeal for evangelism.

For me, one of the keys to unlocking the difficulty we’re facing is this: people have to see the point of Christianity. After all, it’s not just about maintaining church services, important as they are for replenishing and encouraging spiritual life. 

People have to see that Christianity, the embracing of the teachings of Jesus, receiving Christ and all He is, makes a difference.

When the church can be shown to demonstrate Jesus’ teaching in action, it has every chance of growing ... but people must see it first.

I both work and volunteer at a church-based drop-in centre in Coventry. What we do is minuscule compared to the great need that is all around: we supply free breakfasts several times a week, offer help to find homes, run small skills classes to equip and enable people to be ready for work, however low-paid and offer a hand of friendship. We don’t evangelise much; we just try and serve, meet a need where there is one - and people come.

For many homeless and vulnerable people, our centre is their church; people come to help and join us.  You see, they can see there is a point to it all; a true embrace of Christianity issues in love for all, particularly the disadvantaged and poor.

Small expressions of such church-service to the surrounding community are common; where they exist, the boot is on the front foot; we’re moving forward. It’s our small way of replicating Jesus’s story of the ‘Good Samaritan’ – a call to practical love.

So, what’s the point of Christianity?  – “Don’t tell us,” they say, “we can see!”

The letter, somewhat abbreviated, was published in the Daily Telegraph on the 23 November. Daily Telegraph letter 23 November

Love Is Never Intentions Only: William Booth's Legacy

Simple stories sometimes say everything you want to say. Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan, simple, uncomplicated as it is, never fails to reach my heart; it searches me, inspire me, galvanises me and directs my gaze – to others.

The other Sunday morning I had to tell our folks about how ‘Your Learning’ (Skills project) is progressing at Coventry Jesus Centre and I couldn’t resist telling them the following story: 

William Booth died in 1912 and his funeral cortege brought London to a standstill. 150,000 filed passed his casket to pay their last respects and his funeral was attended by 40,000 people. 

William Booth: Funeral Procession

Queen Mary, wife of George V and an admirer of Booth, attended the funeral at Olympia. She did not come as a dignitary; rather she sat unnoticed near the back amongst the vast crowd of, 'thieves, tramps, harlots, the lost and outcast to whom Booth had given his heart' (The General Next to God: Richard Collier: Collins 1965). Next to her sat a shabbily but neatly-dressed woman who had once been a prostitute and when the coffin passed by, the woman placed some red carnations on it. Turning to the queen, she said, “He cared for the likes of me.”

That’s it. Love is expressed in care and care has hands and feet and is never intentions only. At the Jesus Centre we can theologise on what we do, not always a bad thing, but let’s hope the people we work amongst can similarly summarise our work:  “They care for the likes of us.”

Up The Mountain: Teach Us Your Ways

And it will come about in the last days
That the mountain of the house of the LORD
Will be established as the chief of the mountains.
It will be raised above the hills,
And the peoples will stream to it. Many nations will come and say,
“Come and let us go up to the mountain of the LORD
And to the house of the God of Jacob,
That He may teach us about His ways
And that we may walk in His paths.”

Micah 4: 1-2

It’s great to have hungry people around, people you haven’t got to entice to eat, dangling morsels before them in case they  may just fancy a little something, but people who are hungry, hungry for the word, the ways, of God. 

There’s nothing much better in life, as far as I am concerned, than for people to come to us mountain dwellers (see above verses) and say, “We want to learn God’s ways so that we may walk in His paths.” It was happening last night at the New Friends course at Coventry Jesus Centre. 

We asked our new Middle Eastern friends if they had managed to read anything from the Bible this week. “We’ve been very busy this week,” they said. “We’ve only managed to read Luke and John’s Gospel.”

I remember days when, at school as a teenager, I could not put the Bible down. Bible verses were written in my rough book, pondered and learned; it was food for a hungry soul. I longed and longed for God, to know Him more. Yet, last night I felt a little ashamed: my new friends are hungrier than me.

Such appetite is a mark that God is doing 'His thing' - creating passionate followers of Jesus who long to love and know Him and love all that He loves. 

Healthy babies guzzle and grow - very quickly in fact. If we need anything, it’s hungry babes. No, they are not streaming to us, not yet, but they’re coming, and in my heart, I find little more exciting.

Diamonds in the Rough - Addicts, Prostitutes, Old Ladies

Diamonds in the Rough - that’s the name of my blog. It’s called that because I believe, I know, that sitting in the garbage-littered streets, sheltering in the dark alleyways where men bed for the night, tucked away in the secret places where people are abused, raped, imprisoned, paralysed by fear or overcome by deep grief, yes, there, in the deep, darkened places of the earth, are the hidden 'diamonds in the rough'.

Some may describe these places as god-forsaken but that is far from true - God hasn’t left them at all; here He walks, calls out to His lost people; He’s doing His thing ... and He wants us, His people, to do it with Him.  

Now, to illustrate my point, here’s an account of a few 'diamonds in the rough' I have met in the last week or so.... 

G... was helping his friend  who was intoxicated, asleep and lying on a bench, sorting out his clothes and stuffing them into a bag which unfortunately had split. Now, G... had had a few drinks himself but wanted to talk and asked us if we could step aside to talk alone. He told us he was homeless and really loved Jesus, that Jesus had never left him, was always with him - even in his present plight. He had been to Bible college, been baptised in the Holy Spirit and even belonged to Hillsongs  Fellowship but his life had taken a downward turn. “Can I pray for you?” he asked us. (We don’t often get asked that!)  “Of course,” I said. He put his arms around us, prayed and then we talked.

G... confessed his life was not given fully to Jesus at this present time. We all knelt down on the grimy, sunlit pavement and, at his suggestion, sang together, “I surrender all.”  I’m not the best chorus leader but what a moment it was! It was my birthday too and what better moment than to sing that old-time hymn again.
 
                                               *         *         *
Then there was A..., sitting alone and passing the time of day in the last of the autumn sunshine. A... told us he had had an out-of-the-body experience a few years ago when on drugs. He saw sparks, human souls, leaving the earth. Was this his time? A voice, official-sounding, like the bank manager, announced, “This one is not ready yet.” That had jolted him to ponder eternal matters. 

A... was interested in Islam and wondered if Jesus and Mohammed would be friends if they had lived at the same time. We explained that being a Christian is not about following a code; it is primarily about meeting and having a friendship with Jesus. One of my friends with me was once a Muslim and A... was intrigued. She must have travelled a long way in herself to convert, he commented.

As we talked to A..., an old lady appeared, broached and smartly dressed. “Can you pray for me?” she asked. Her brother-in-law was very ill. Tears rolled down her cheeks. A..., my two friends and I held hands in a circle with her and prayed. She thanked us sincerely and we hugged  and then she walked humbly away. A... shook his head; he was clearly moved. “I felt the power of that prayer,” he said.

 Leaving us, A... said he would go to a church he had connections with. 

                                        *         *         *
"'My son, you are destined for better things than this. It’s time to get yourself together.' I’m a Hindu but the Holy Spirit spoke these words to me in a dream a few months ago,” C..... told me as we sat and chatted and added,  “I know it was the Holy Spirit.”

“Following my broken marriage, I’ve been homeless for ten years, sleeping rough on a piece of cardboard somewhere. In the past two years I’ve had ten friends who have died.  Two died of hypothermia under the bridge when it was very cold (-7). When you have alcohol in you, you can’t feel the cold.

“I’ve had a huge capacity for drinking but, after my dream, little by little I cut back. I’ve not had a drink now for 2 1/2 months."

                                    *         *         *

And the end of my week I was pelted with an egg (glad to say not a rotten one) and suffered a bruised and cut face but you know, I’m glad. That’s what happens to the prostitutes round our way and, we know, there’s plenty of rough diamonds amongst them.  In fact, two days later I met one of them, sitting in tears in the bus stop opposite where we live. “I’m selfish, I’m broken,” she sobbed, “and I feel alone.” I prayed with her and, you know what? I knew Jesus had already been there, with her, in the darkness, doing His thing.

 
 Rough diamonds? They come in all shapes and sizes - respectable old ladies, alcoholics, drug addicts and prostitutes included. They're God’s speciality! I only pray that we, Church, will not leave them in the dark places but work with our Father who longs to mine them and bring them up, out of the darkest places, into Light.

Eternal Home: September Flight

When my mother was pregnant with me and overdue, my grandfather (a doctor) told her I would arrive the day the swallows left his garage to make their arduous journey south. He was no man of faith but, for sure, what he said came true. I was born on the first day of autumn. Maybe that’s why I always get excited at the sight of the returning swallows every spring. Certainly, contemplating the awesome, dangerous journey these tiny creatures (weighing around 20g) make to South Africa across the Pyrenees and Sahara fills me with wonder.

Even the psalmist gives a special mention to the swallows. Expressing their own love to be in God's presence in His Temple, they clearly felt at one with these tiny, fragile birds - commenting that even the swallow had found a nest for herself to lay her eggs within the sacred temple precinct (psalm 84:3).

A little while ago, I wrote this poem about the swallows:

Swallow .. where will you fly to
Now that summer's gone?
The leaves have turned,
The autumn chill
Sweeps though your summer down.
Your chicks have flown,
Prepare, prepare
To make an uncertain journey
To that far-off place - of warmth and light
A welcome land - your home.

My soul ... where will you fly to?
When winter 'last shall come
The time to shed this tired old shell
And lay it in the dust.
Your spirit soars
Upon its rapid course
No uncertainty now
Your time has come
And like the swallow
You find your welcome home.

Biryani and the Bard: A Kurdish Picnic Besides The Avon

It was their idea: a trip to Stratford. And so it was ... the other Thursday we took ten learners from Coventry Jesus Centre to Stratford – from Iran, Iraqi Kurdistan, Latvia and France. The Kurdish ladies were attired in their best clothes; indeed, I felt positively under-dressed. The best costumes in the theatre exhibition we were later to see were barely an equal match to theirs!

None of them had ever been to Stratford before. Everything was exciting! Everything was interesting. How good to see the obvious pleasure in their eyes at observing, for so many of us, quite ordinary things! It’s strange how you look at the old familiar sights with fresh eyes when you are with people who are seeing those things for the first time. The old heron sitting in the tree, the gracious swans and narrow, summer barges, the ancient, timber-framed buildings; even the word ‘royal’ takes on an exciting new meaning as RSC (Royal Shakespeare Company) has to be explained.

Threatened with a thunderstorm which never happened, we jumped off our transport and wended our way through the crowded streets up to Shakespeare’s birthplace, taking countless photos, and then onto New Place and back onto the riverside park.

Lunch was the best; it’s got to be the finest picnic I ever had; I’d bought some honey sandwiches but I certainly didn’t need them! Our Kurdish mama had bought a picnic for fifteen and more!  This was Siti from a previous blog The silver tray was bought out and we all were given abundant portions of biryani and a highly colourful dolma dish. It was a feast and the likes of such a splendid picnic can rarely have been seen before on that park besides the Avon. Passersby's heads turned - intrigued at the unusual sight.

After that, we walked along besides the river to the parish church to see the bard’s burial place, then back across the ferry - pretty exhausted actually.

For all our faults, the UK has a brilliant heritage; when you get to know these Iranians and Iraqi Kurds and what they have suffered, you realise just how fortunate we are on this little isle of ours. We have known civil wars about the very things they have – who is going to rule – but we’ve come out on the other side.

 But for all our rich heritage, we have so much to learn from our friends ... their appreciation, their pleasure at the simple things of life and above all their hospitality and open-hearted friendship. Teachers only have students for a short while.  For us, to know them for this brief spell in time is a privilege.

Sanctions, Sanctions and the Vulnerable Poor

food bank

Life at Coventry Jesus Centre

It’s Friday afternoon and, letter in hand, they walk into the training room; heads are bowed, spirits low. They speak little English and don’t understand: they’ve had a letter from Jobcentre Plus to say they will receive no JSA (Job Seekers' Allowance) until October; that’s several weeks and they can’t make ends meet ....

 I ring up Spire House (home of Coventry city council offices); are my friends eligible for a Community Support Grant? No, not if they are on sanctions. Are they on sanctions? The trouble is, they don’t seem to know. I ring up Jobcentre Plus on their behalf and after a wait, yes, I find out, they are on sanctions - definitely. What’s more, they’ll be on sanctions for three years if they don’t do what is required. The trouble is, my friends don’t seem to have a clue as to what is required or even why they’re on sanctions.

Sanctions aren’t necessarily bad. It’s no good for anyone’s self-respect to live off benefits if they’re fit for work. And, believe me, I come across very few people who don’t want to work. They’re desperate to work.

But who’s worked this one out?  There’s a very vulnerable group of people who find the new benefits system and this new system of sanctions a bewildering maze, simply because they don’t understand: their English is not sufficient. And they end up destitute.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard this story.  A few weeks ago a young African walked into the centre; he was on sanctions too, simply because he had not understood what was expected of him.

There’s only one thing I could do: write to Jobcentre Plus on my friends' behalf: a Polish interpreter is needed - please. I just wish someone had thought of it before. And yes, a form please for a Hardship Payment.

They’ll be in the food bank queue, next week, most likely.

But, who will stick up for these voiceless people? They're being overlooked, misunderstood just because ... English is not their mother tongue and they have not understood.

Waiting, The Gethsemane Experience and Excited Anticipation

"Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and His disciples followed him. On reaching the place, He said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground."  Luke 22: 39-44

That’s how Doctor Luke describes the depth of agony Jesus experienced as He waited in Gethsemane for arrest, torture and crucifixion.

It appears that Jesus’ emotional stress was so great that He excreted bloodied sweat, a condition known as hematidrosis or hemohidrosis. In extreme stress tiny capillaries in the sweat glands can rupture, causing sweat and blood to mingle  – a condition Doctor Luke was very likely aware of. 
about hematidrosis

Waiting can be agony and often waiting for the thing is even harder than the thing itself.

Last Saturday my friend texted me to say her husband was having unexpected and major brain surgery on Monday. Eleven hours of surgery awaited him and on Monday she was waiting, waiting for him to go in, waiting for him to come out, a Gethsemane  experience. Agony.

I’ve had the experience myself, waiting, waiting in an ante-room as my father was given treatment for a heart attack, the outcome being so unsure.

Waiting can be a 'Gethsemane' experience.

Yet, not all waiting is bad. We’re waiting for a New Earth, for the mortal to be swallowed up by immortality, for the untold splendours of eternity.  Now, that’s a different kind of waiting. The sting of dread is not present; waiting is marked by excited anticipation.

I remember this latter kind of waiting when I was at boarding school. Not having seen my parent for several weeks, the excitement of seeing them again built up so the heart itself raced and time seemed to move slower; it was a waiting game. Then the sound of the old familiar school buzzer that dictated our movements for weeks on end broke the air and we could go; the term was finished.

Sometimes I think about that moment of excitement. It speaks of eternity.  The term has finished, we are released, and the holiday has come.


Does lingering on future excitements and living filled with hope cause us to be wasted idealists? Not according to  CS Lewis who wrote: "If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next."

Excited anticipation of eternity puts a different light on present suffering and all our  Gethsemane’s, whether small or great. And yes, my friend’s operation went well. Thank God ...

Twin Sisters: Love Obedient and Love Unoticed

I was hoping for a relatively quiet morning in the Bridge (Coventry Jesus Centre’s drop-in for homeless and vulnerable people) this morning but, as it goes, the team is down one member and you know what that means?  Me, in the kitchen, on the baked bean trail again: 35 breakfasts AND the washing up is piling up and up and UP.
Read previous blog: destitute, homeless, the baked bean trail
 
As it happens *** (she won’t like me mentioning her name) was in the bathroom early this morning and she felt one of those inward nudges to come down to the Jesus Centre. No, she’s not on the rota today, she’s got a morning off, but a nudge is a nudge (I call it the Holy Spirit’s whispering) and she has come. 

Yes, she came, unasked for. And there was I, struggling. And there she was, hands deep in the washing up – and there was a lot of it. O no, here we go again: another call at the hatch from the guys, “We’ve run out of knives ...”,  and another, “We’ve run out of forks ...  more cups please...” Yes, yes; can’t you see? I’m, I’m drowning in demands.  But she was there.

Now, if dear Holy Spirit, You had given me one of Your nudges today, I think I may have said, “No, it’s my day off, I’m not on the rota the today.” But she heard You and she came. 

One hour later, we’re in our Sunday morning meeting and we sing those priceless truths from the book of Lamentations: “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness (Lamentations 3:22,23).

Yes, I thought, God is very faithful but often He shows that faithful character of His through others. And God’s faithfulness is often displayed in a very practical way – in this case, help with the ever-increasing pile of washing up. 

You can have all the great preachers you can think of and the gifted and the great in your church but, if I had my way as to who I could build the church with, hands down, I’d choose a group of people ready to choose a path of love obedient and love unnoticed. 

When Jesus said, ‘If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me (Matthew 16: 24),’ I’m sure He was talking about the possibilities of martyrdom.  But He was talking about Sunday early morning risings too, going to places when you aren’t asked or even expected because you love Him ...

One of our church mottos is, ‘Love, power and sacrifice.” I’m not sure if I like it. Why? Because we don’t always own it.  But this morning it was apparent alright; I saw love and sacrifice and within it the faithfulness of God. And whenever love and sacrifice are present, the power of God is wedged between the two, abundant, bursting out, filled with unexpected anointing.

And those nudges ... they don’t have to have great ‘spiritual’ contents. I’ve learned for sure, God is interested in the practical things of life - even washing up. 

Loan Sharks, Credit Unions and Justin Welby

“Walking up the shadowy, half-lit path towards the flat where we sat, he knocked on the door and entered.  He did not look round at the little group of people sitting in the room.  Instead his gaze went straight toward the older lady in the wheelchair by the door. She felt for her purse and handed him some money. Then he was gone. “A while ago he lent me some money,” she explained. "Now I have to repay at 30-40% interest.”

‘Loan shark!’ I thought.  ‘What a beastly thing to do!  Preying upon the poor who find themselves in debt and then charging them exorbitant interest.'

In ancient Bible times God commanded His people never to charge interest on loans to their neighbours. Why? Because God is on the side of the disadvantaged, the poor and the destitute and is against all who oppress them. He does not want anyone to be short of food and the everyday things that are needful.  God says that when the poor cry to Him, He will hear for He is full of compassion towards them (Exodus 22:25-27).


The above is an extract from my diary when I lived on the St Ann’s estate in Nottingham.  (I lived there for seven years: 2004-2011.) The woman mentioned did live in poverty and, no, she did no smoke, take drugs or for that matter drink alcohol to eat away her benefits.

 Middle-class people take some things for granted; an annual holiday (at least one), new furniture when the old gets scruffy, enough credit to pay the electricity bill, a car. Indeed, one middle-class colleague at the college where I worked made this comment to me when a fourteen year old girl, Danielle Beccan, got shot and later died whilst walking home one late evening from the Goose Fair: “Why didn’t her parents pick her up from the fair?" I looked at her, incredulity in my eyes. Most people I knew in St Ann’s did not have a car. In the close where I lived, only one person out of twenty-two, as I far as I knew, owned a car.

In the same year as I wrote this extract (2008), Nottingham City Homes, which manages council owned properties in Nottingham, published this statement: "Up to 10,000 households in the East Midlands are exploited by loan sharks each year. Loan sharks charge extremely high rates of interest and often use violence and intimidation and blackmail people who fall behind with payments.”
 
 I really welcome Justin Welby’s intervention in recent days, his support for credit unions* with their low interest rates, his offer of church property to house them and his encouragement to church members to offer their expertise in running the unions and so help the poor out of debt.  He’s siding with the poor. He’s standing in a great tradition.
“If you lend money to one of my people among you who is needy, do not treat it like a business deal; charge no interest.  If you take your neighbour’s cloak as a pledge, return it by sunset, because that cloak is the only covering your neighbour has. What else can they sleep in? When they cry out to me, I will hear, for I am compassionate.” Exodus 22: 25-27 NIV

*Credit unions are organisations offering financial services and are owned and run by their members for their members. Interest rates offered by credit unions are much lower than most loan companies.

Mrs Prim: Memoirs of a Shop Assistant

It’s Wednesday night, 9.30pm at Promise House (the community house in Coventry where I live). Actually, it’s been a really hot day and we’re all winding down; the guys have been out evangelising on the Foleshill Road and have come back rather excited because of their encounters and the praying they’ve done on the streets. Then the conversation turns: one of them in about to clock in on his nightshift and he’s dreading it as a guy he’s working with has got that sort of attitude that would wind any of us up; he wants to be the boss when, well, he just isn’t. We all know that type - superior tone, condescending remarks – and he’s only a workmate!

 “I just don’t know what to do. What shall I do?” the conversation runs.

So I tell him my story. I used to be a shop assistant in a busy health food shop in Leicester. We had all sorts come in, old, young, wealthy and not so wealthy - anyone seeking a healthier alternative.
 
Mrs Prim (not her real name) used to come in to buy her expensive,

not-so-healthy cheeses.  I couldn’t like her and her approach gave me that sinking glad-when-you’ve-gone sort of feeling which leads to a show of forced politeness.  She was a sophisticated lady, a member of that class bracket when you are used to telling people what to do. I could happily spend the time of day with many of our customers, chatting over the counter about the ordinary things of life – but not her. Her presence made me feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she reminded me of an old schoolteacher. And I can never forget those startlingly-red high-heels ...

This afternoon was no exception. Mrs Prim was approaching the cheese counter where I stood. Then, it happened, one of those moments, flashes of revelation that comes in a moment and shatter all hitherto preconceptions. With my inner eye, I saw Mrs Prim, the child of a different era, a young girl, well-dressed, well bought-up and well-to-do but conspicuously surrounded by – the absence of friends, alone, isolated, lonely because of her aloof attitude. That’s how she had always been. My heart gasped inwardly and the thaw was instantaneous. I rose in myself to greet and serve her. I looked at her with different eyes. I wanted to serve her. I wanted to somehow reach out and touch the unloved bit, the un-befriended part.

I saw her a few more times. Each time I had the same response. In a flash, an instance, something had happened. She had not changed; I had. I had been given a gift; I think it is called compassion. 

My night-shift friend, I hope my story helps. Insight, revelation that comes, to the inner heart and eye, can’t be forced but sometimes it just arrives – a little miracle.

Mrs Prim, you were the means of turning my water into wine, the very best vintage, on that otherwise mundane and long-forgotten afternoon. I wanted, yes yearned, to serve you!

Joined at the Heart: Bonds Across Cultures

A few years ago, I remember my late grandmother, in her eighties and having lived through two world wars, turning to me with a troubled face and saying that she never recalled seeing anything more horrific in her whole lifetime than the plight of the Iraqi Kurds.

Iraqi Kurdestan, an autonomous region of north-east Iraq, has had a troubled history, particularly under Saddam Hussein, the President of Iraq from 1979 -2003. During the Iran–Iraq War (1980 -88) the Iraqi government used chemical weapons against the Kurds and thousands died. The large Kurdish town of Qala Dizeh (70,000) was completely destroyed by the Iraqi army.

There are around 200,000 Kurds living in the UK today (these include Turkish, Iranian, Syrian as well as Iraqi Kurds). 

The story below involves two Iraqi  Kurds, Siti and Silan  and a French Angolan, Alexandrie who attend classes at Coventry Jesus Centre. (These are not their real names).

Siti looks lonely this afternoon. That’s because her 'daughter' is not with her. Her ‘daughter’ Silan, is an adopted one because her own daughter is far away, in Kurdestan.  

Siti and Silan are inseparable. 

Silan is better at English than Siti but I can’t put them in different groups. They are inseparable, tied at the heart. But today Silan is not here.

Siti tells me she is missing Silan.

Alexandrie comes in; she is smiling, smiling all over, like she always does. She sits next to Siti and helps her because the spelling is difficult today, difficult for them both and usually Silan helps her.
 
Siti is a Muslim and Alexandrie is a Christian but that doesn’t seem to matter. Today Alexandre has decided to treat Siti like mum. She helps her with the spelling. At the end of the class she gives her a big hug. 

Siti is someone who shines, shines with the smile and heart of a mother. She draws people. Alexandrie, too, the sun shines from her and when the sun shines, there is cheer. Even a darkened soul lights up; even a tired, tired Friday afternoon. 

.

Jesus Is Still Offering Living Water, By The Water, in Trafalgar Square, Today.

Jesus sits down by the well, alone. It’s midday, it’s Palestine and it’s very hot. He’s weary (and hungry) from His journey and the disciples have gone into the town to buy something to eat. He’s thirsty too but the well is deep and he hasn’t got any means of drawing water. A woman arrives and she’s equipped with suitable utensils and he asks her for a drink. It’s free - and it’s customary for women to draw water.

Customary? Yes.  But this is no ordinary scene. You see the woman is that kind of a woman. I mean, one has to ask the question, what was she doing here at noon? Usually water was drawn at sundown, in the cool of the day. Was she trying to avoid someone? Or some people? Was she, in some way, ostracised by women in her social grouping? As the story unfolds, we find out she’s led a loose sex life, she’s had six partners ...

So, Jesus, what are you doing? You’re a Jew after all and you’re asking a Samaritan for a drink of water? I mean, have you forgotten that you can’t drink out of Samaritans’ buckets or utensils? They will make you defiled. But you don’t seem too bothered. And then, your disciples come back and wonder what on earth you’re doing because you’re talking to a woman, a Samaritan woman at that, on your own and in public. Whatever is happening here? These things really are not done.

But is all leads to a revolution in this despised-by-Jews Samaritan town. Jesus offers her the gift of God, free living water, and she takes up his offer – as do many in her town. He even ends up staying for a couple of days. Such a thing is not done.

                                                  *

He sits there, by the fountains, in Trafalgar Square, breathless, uncomfortable. It's hot, very hot. He keeps on dipping a finger into the water and wiping his forehead.

“Do you want some water?” I ask (hoping he’s not going to pass out).

We find him a bottle of water and he offers to pay. Of course not.

We get talking about this uncomfortable ailment and find he's got whooping cough; he’s had it for months and the doctor has told him to travel to warm climes aboard as this will be the cure but he can’t because of commitments. But there’s sunshine in London today alright and he’s out, soaking it in, uncomfortable as it is.

We offer to pray for him and he accepts. He tells us every reason why he doesn’t believe that Jesus is God incarnate. Yes and we find out that in the past some of his family have been, one can only imagine, rather too law-abiding, religion-upholding Christians - too much for a young man and he reacted. 

We listen. We tell him about Jesus. We pray.

Jesus is still offering living water, by the water, in Trafalgar Square, today.

Destitute, Homeless, The Baked Bean Trail

It all began last night actually ... slicing bread. Two black bin liners full of leftover unsliced bread - kindly donated by a sympathetic bakery. I thought we’d finished till my friend, Ann, announced there was still another bag to slice!

Our drop-in at Coventry Jesus Centre is called the Bridge; here lonely and destitute people, mostly men, come for free breakfasts; that includes asylum seekers whose application has failed and who, for very good reasons, cannot return to their own country; they have no access to housing or benefits and no right to work. But the destitute does not just include asylum seekers. What about the penniless young woman from France looking for work, whose application for benefits has, for the moment, been turned down?

I’m on, you see, today: the baked bean trail: baked beans on toast for 20-30-40? Not sure how many. 

Now, let’s open the first tin but, alas, me and anything but the simplest gadgets don’t usually get on. And yes, this is no exception. Can I work out how this new super-design tin opener works? No. How on earth ...?  I’d better pop through into Bev’s kitchen and borrow the good old-fashioned sort. I can manage those.

“Are you ready?” team-leader Connor calls through the hatch. “It’s 9.00am.” And in they come ...

I soon realise I’ve not heated NEARLY enough beans. I mean, NOT NEARLY enough. Quick, open another three tins.
 
The first customer prefers white toast.  Well I’ve only toasted last night’s brown cut-ups so - I’m sorry - you’ll have to wait.

 “On the toast, please.” 

“On the side of the toast, please.”

 “I prefer unburned toast, please."

Well, this is when I discover that what I call ‘burned’ isn’t the same as someone else’s!  I turn the toaster’s heat settings down and the next visitor says he really likes toast properly done. Well, can I win? But, no hard feelings. Would you ever think there could be so many VARIATIONS on beans on toast?

I hear raised voices: the visitor waiting for the white toast is getting involved in heated debate. Distraction is the answer so I call him over to collect his breakfast. He comes eventually ... sorry, my friend, your beans on toast are a bit cold now. 

“More coffee needed, more sugar please  ...” comes the cry at the hatch. Yes, yes, I’ll be as quick as I can. 

And yes, help! We’re running out again. .. I really did not heat ENOUGH beans.

Meanwhile, the washing up is piling up in the hatch as the guys bring their empty plates and cups. Sheka comes to my rescue. He’s a good sort. Multi-tasking on this scale, at this speed, is not my sort of thing. Remember, I’m a teacher, not a multi-handed chef. And you need at least three pairs of hands for this job anyway!

10.00am. I’m the proud presenter of 30 breakfasts (I have to thank Sheka for this great accomplishment).

11.00am. My penniless friend from France arrives. She’s managed to acquire two tins of baked beans; she pulls them out of her bag with a cheerful smile and we place them at the front of our church, along with other tins people have bought for the drop-in, to see us through another day.

Does it remind you of another story? A poor widow, 2000 years ago?

Later, I spot my Nigerian friend Alice; she’s all dressed in her African attire and looks beautiful today. She’s tells me she did 42 breakfast, single-handed, last week with no help. Easy? Not for me.
 
Who knows how many are destitute, living on the fringes of our society? You can’t count them, so many have gone ‘underground’. And how many have been left in poverty and without a home in these tough financial times? The huge rise in people using food banks in the last few months tells some of this story.

But a few beans, from a poor, penniless French woman, can make a difference.

For an article on homelessness:
www.jesus.org.uk/blog/theology-and-social-comment/life-streets

One Small Giant Splosh: A Young Man's Baptism

It’s a quiet sunny Sunday afternoon in June – idyllic actually. The white waters, swollen with late rains, race under the old mill bridge; speckled sunlight breaks through upon the swirling waters. 

The grassy slope leads downwards to the mill stream; we line the bank; a brave young man, with earnest face, clambers down the slope and wades into the water, waist deep, and others join him.
 

Passers-by lean idly over the old bridge to take a better view of this unusual Sunday afternoon spectacle in this quiet and scenic spot.

“I baptise you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit ...”

I hear the sudden splosh as he is plunged downward, under; somehow that single, brief sound resonates in my ears; it feels alive, electric, purely natural but of great eternal significance – and now he’ s up again, dripping wet, worshipping, trembling with the cold - and clambers out.

A watery death ... down and up ... alive with resurrection life ... to follow Jesus. One small splosh, one giant act, of enormous significance. Here heaven and earth have met, a wonderful supernatural-natural fusion.

 Young man, my friend of many years – you have a single-eye for all that is of God – many a battle fierce awaits – remain surrounded by the strong and stand solidly upon this act, this fact, ‘I’ve died

and risen; everyday - my resurrection day!’