Awesome God

Awesome ... it’s a word, rather like ‘wonderful’ or ‘dreadful’, that was originally brimming with meaning and now filtered out by modern usage. No doubt you’ve heard expressions like, ‘That film was awesome!’ 

Originally, it would describe, ‘an otherness’, something outside the familiar, eliciting a mixture of fear, wonderment and a sense that we are out of our depth in terms of our human experience; we are entering or have entered the unknown and we can only respond ‘in awe’.  

I’ve recently read the story of a most unexpected visitation in the book of Judges: an angel of the Lord visits an ordinary, nameless and childless woman and tells her she will have a son. What next? Her husband, Manoah, and she offer a goat in the angel’s presence and the angel ascends in the flame of the altar and disappears. How awesome is that? Manoah and his wife fall on their faces to the ground. Wouldn’t you? They were encountering something truly awesome, something ‘wonder-ful’. When disciples of Jesus, Peter, James and John, saw Jesus, Moses and Elijah, clothed in splendour from another world on a ‘high mountain’ they were overwhelmed - awe-struck. The Bible is full of stories of people encountering awe-inspiring happenings.

But let’s bring it down the earth - with me, actually. I’ve never seen an angel, a burning bush, entered a cloud dense with the divine presence or heard an audible voice from Heaven for that matter. Yet, countless people like me have had one of those moments, let’s say extra-ordinary, God-charged moments, when He appears to have stepped into the ordinary -  unexpectedly, perhaps momentarily, and life has changed. 

I first had a moment like this when I was around twelve or thirteen; it was just before ‘reporting time’ for bed in the boarding school I attended; I was sitting alone, by the window in an upstairs classroom, reading the New English Bible which had been recently published and had been given to me as a Christmas present. Starting at the beginning, I had only reached Matthew 5 when I began reading:  “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.”

It is hard to describe this moment: it was charged, it was the weightiest moment of my life; it probably lasted only a second or two but the memory of it has remained impressed on my mind ever since. In a moment, I decided, I knew, that this was the way I would live, to love and not to hate, to follow this teaching. There was no sinner’s prayer or moment of conviction of sin but yet a radical turnaround, a moment of repentance, a decision to follow the Great One; it was a divine moment.

Was it awesome? Well, not scary as some awesome moments are. Yet, it was electric, impregnated and completely unforgettable.

I have known similar moments since: they have come unexpectedly and often in a time of great need. Some would use the jargon, ‘God showed up’. God doesn’t show up; He is present all the time. But, He does choose His moments ... and perhaps part of His awesomeness is that He is God of the unexpected. Often, again ‘the interruption’ has been but for a moment but how weighty the content and, after, I have seen my life situation quite, quite differently. 

Truly there are God-encounters described in the Bible that are truly awesome, to use modern jargon, ‘enough to blow your mind away’: Moses encountered the divine presence in the burning bush and on Sinai, Ezekiel saw the moving throne of God, Daniel had awe-inspiring encounters of angels and Christ Himself, Mary had a conversation with the angel Gabriel. My experience at school was nothing too awesome perhaps, but enough for me! God had broken into my little world and that has made a massive difference ever since.

Calais Refugee Camp - Enjoying Eritrean Hospitality

“If you come to the UK and to Coventry, come and see us! You’ll find us at the Jesus Centre!” We’re in the Calais refugee camp this week, dropping off some socks and blankets from the Centre - and making some new friends. As a teacher of English, many of my students were former residents here. They all know about Calais ...
Outside, long stretches of high fences and curvy barbed wire line the highways and flashing blue-lighted police vans are parked in nearby laybys. Inside, we step into a different world – one of undulating dunes and puddled, muddy tracks, a sea of make-shift shacks and tents and quickly erected shops – Europe’s most notorious township. A cool off-shore breeze ruffles the remaining strands of straggling grass.

We’re  met by warm ‘hellos’, and smiling friendly faces; people stop to talk and immediately we’re offered a meal, barbequed on an open fire. Graciously we decline; we’re heading first toward the Eritrean church. Yes, the wooden cross stands tall and stark against the greying winter sky that canopies this ramshackle city ...

Yes, here’s the church in a little compound of its own, beautifully clean in contrast to the heaps of rubbish strewn around, often discarded by those now moved on.

We enter the tent-shaped building and quietly join the circle of fervent prayers, so intent they hardly seem mindful of us. ‘Let’s pray for the government,’ says one. ‘Which government?’ I think? Ours? The Eritrean? The French? Perhaps all, it’s certainly needed. The tide of prayer is amazing, ebbing and flowing, rising crescendos, falling diminuendos. We leave some mince pies and home-made flapjack – the pray-ers are still lost in prayer and hardly notice as we creep out ..

We walk down the main street – at times impassable because of late rains and walk up the steep incline of the bank to avoid the puddles. Everywhere, there are tents or little shacks, some painted, others covered in graffiti. Shops have sprung up selling food, one even advertising hot showers. We pass l’école, I put an ear to the door; something is going on, I’d best not go in. I see a sign for free English classes (now that’s my field) but it is closed today (it’s Saturday). Shame ... I would love to have gone in.

Everywhere people are smiling at us and saying ‘hallo’. I keep forgetting I’m not En Angleterre but I still hear more English than French. There are Africans ... Afghans ... Syrians ... and nearly all men, some riding by on bicycles. 

 I say ‘hallo’ to a couple of young Africans and quickly we are invited back to one of their shacks. Let’s take our shoes off, stoop through the door, this is someone’s home. The floor is swept clean, blue sleeping bags, a huge Barcelona football flag and children’s clothes line the walls. A large candle is lit and two mattresses lie on the floor. The hospitality here is awesome! We are offered a quilt to line our back and an orange blanket to cover our legs. It’s certainly cosy. The gas primus is lit and an old can is placed full of water to boil; at intervals a spoon of coffee is put in and stirred... this is coffee Eritrean style.

Twenty minutes later a pan of hot food is passed through the door. There are no plates but we are given bread and together dip it in the one pan and share the meal of vegetables. It’s delicious; this is African hospitality and it is wonderful!

Our host tells us of his adventures: the harsh government; escaping army conscription; his walk across the Sahara and  arrest by bandits wanting money; being given a handful of food, passed down into an underground hide-away and that only  every other day; his eventual release and later being shot at by Daesh (IS) when sadly some of the party were killed; the flight across the Mediterranean; up through Europe to the camp and now the repeated attempts at reaching the UK – night visits to the train station, the entrance to the tunnel, the port – with always the fear of arrest; a violent attack in Calais by someone with a strong dislike for ‘unwelcome refugees’ and, deep in the heart of this ‘Jungle’ there is theft – the poor steal from the poor. We pray for our new-found friend, who, despite all, still manages a brave and cheery smile and warm goodbye. We wish him well and tell him we hope to see him again!

A young man passes me and offers me a chocolate. I can’t get over the generosity; there is no begging, asking for anything in return, everyone smiles and calls me ‘mama’ (must be the grey hair and grandmother look.)

Back to the church ... o no! Flames are licking the outsides of the nearby mosque. The  pastor rushes over with an extinguisher and people are running. It’s out! The mosque is saved. Fire is a real hazard round here - naked flames in tiny spaces.

Yes, we glimpsed a darker side of Calais too; one of my students tells me of a near knife-attack – there are religious and racial differences and sometimes the little one has is stolen. As everywhere on this troubled planet, the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, exist side by side.

We take a final walk through this little township. The smiles, the generosity and hands held out for friendship are something I will never forget.

Back now, through the tunnel and time to stop at the M25 services; slick shops selling expensive computer accessories and luxury gadgets. What a contrast! Not a single smile greets me here; not a gesture of hospitality; no chocolates held out in an act of generosity; I could be here hours and no one would even say hello, let alone invite me to share a coffee with them. Each to its own; I have seen real poverty today but who really is poor?

And now I’m back at the Jesus Centre; it’s Monday morning. I greet my students again – many of them have come through ‘Calais’. I know a little more about what they have endured and the pain that often lies behind their cheerful smiles and warm handshakes. Sometimes I notice a distant look in their eyes, today they seem withdrawn. I understand, now, yes, just a little better ...

My hope – that I, that we can display a little of that overflowing generosity that I experienced – the Jesus Centre, our church, my city, my country. Jesus said, “When you give a lunch or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your rich neighbours—for they will invite you back, and in this way you will be paid for what you did. 13 When you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind; 14 and you will be blessed, because they are not able to pay you back. God will repay you on the day the good people rise from death.” Luke 14: 12-14

Go! Go! Go! Come! Come! Come!

Echoing Jesus’ call

“Have you friends?”

“No, no friends in England.” 

It’s Sunday morning, a new visitor has arrived at the drop-in (we call it the Bridge because we want it to be a bridge from loneliness to friendship, hopelessness to hope, faith and a future). The visitor pulls his phone from his pocket and shows me some grainy, grey footage he has taken of himself, lying uncomfortably in the darkness in the back of a lorry, in transit from the Middle East.

He looks around at the rough faces of many of our Bridge visitors: hard times, hard lives, sometimes years of alcohol abuse, are etched on the contours of their worn faces. Others are just passing through, seeking work and finding the UK is not the land of opportunity they had hoped for or perhaps have failed asylum claims. In broken English my friend explains, “My country ... nothing like this  ... it's go, go, go.”

Language is limited. Our shared words are few. I attempt to explain: “With Jesus it’s ‘come, come, come'. That’s what makes the difference.”

I think he understood.

My friendless friend may well get moved on to another city. “Find the Christians,” I said! “Find a church where they say, ‘come, come, come!’”  

Saying ‘come, come, come’ is echoing the Master, after all: “Come to Me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” We know, too, Jesus has many friends. My friendless friend, we can be yours too!

Refugees' Prayer - Exciting Times

There’s excitement in the air! We have international Bible study every Tuesday at the Jesus Centre and last week two members are soon to be baptised.  One had had a night-time dream; the other came to faith two weeks ago after he sensed an image of a man with a heavy load being unburdened as he found Jesus.  Yes, it's exciting to see first-hand the supernatural work of the Holy Spirit! We live in Acts 29,30, 31 ... the Acts of the Holy Spirit.

Coordinating a Bible study with several different languages present is not always easy! People often pray in their own languages and we all say ‘Amen ‘ at the end. But, you know, there is a great sense of unity and most people linger at the end for a chat. I feel we are on a journey together, learning and growing as one band. 

A little while ago I asked the five guys present to write a prayer. They’re all refugees and when they finished I combined their prayers into one! The above is what it looks like! One of them read it out before our gathered church at Sheffield ... Yes, we live in exciting times!

Do You Mind If I Tell You My Story?

It’s Tuesday, its International Bible study at the Jesus Centre ..

 A refugee comes in, unknown to me, and sits attentively and quietly, taking in everything. At the end of the session, she says, “Do you mind if I tell you my story?” 

“Of course not, let’s wait for everyone to go ...” and Betty, my assistant, and I sit down to listen. 

Shyly and a little haltingly but with good English, she begins:“A little while ago I had a dream. A Man stood before me, dressed in white: He spoke to me: “My daughter, why don’t you come to My church?”

 At the invitation of the Man in white, our new friend had gone to a church in the town and someone  directed her to our International Bible Group.  

Some call it the refugee 'crisis'. I call it 'opportunity'. If Jesus is issuing invitations to refugees to join His church, I only hope we are one with Him in that invitation!  Let’s be friendly, let’s be family ... 

 Church, let’s open wide the doors of our hearts! Jesus is issuing His invitation and we must be ready!

Listening is Magic: Migrants at Coventry Jesus Centre

Another new ESOL student ... so many young men from overseas have arrived in our city over the summer months ... and he lingers after the class has finished. It’s time to pack up but he wants to stay ... and, sensing this, I sit down and listen.

Listen  ... listening is magic.

He tells me his story ... a close family member finds he is guilty of illicit activity and informs the police; his life is in danger, he flees to a neighbouring country; there he goes ‘underground’ and finds illegal work; he daren’t appear in public because ... what if he is found and deported home? Long hours labour, a pittance for pay, sleeping under the work benches of the factory at night; eventually he moves on, working his way across Europe until he reaches the UK.

He’s so relieved to tell someone ... listening is magic. Now he wants to volunteer at our centre: he wants to help others; he knows what it’s like to be homeless, stateless, hungry, afraid ...

I’m glad the tide has turned. One photo, a drowned little Syrian boy, has done more to awaken the world than a thousand headlines and set of statistics to the tragedy of our European maritime graveyard – the Mediterranean: thousands drowning on our doorstep. One picture has taken the tragedy to a new level – a human one.

Doors are opening; many arms are opening wide – at last.

Migrants at Calais, dark faces, usually blurring into the darkness of the night, voiceless, nameless young men jumping or creeping through fences, trying to make their way through the tunnel surrounded by tight security - caught briefly on camera. But the drama reaches a new level, an altogether human level, when they come – into the classroom: Sudanese, Ethiopians, Eritreans. They’re so bright, so full of life, half at least are professionals or university students; the smile on so many of their faces doesn’t give away the hideous things some of them have seen, experienced, and yes, they love England, they say.

From the Middle East they continue to come too, often in the back of lorries. Three barely escaped crushing or freezing to death, they tell me. What of the ones who never make it? And what of the student who rolled up his sleeve to show me knife scars - the result of a frenzied attack in his country because he is a Christian. Albania, Iraq, Iran, Syria, Pakistan ... they are coming

Family is what they need, to feel they are useful too, despite the bar on work and people to listen – listening is magic. Why? Someone is heard, understood, unburdened, at least for a while – and me? My heart is melted, widened – and yet again I am refocused – on the things in life that really matter – people

Two Knocks on the Door: Coventry Jesus Centre

Its 11:55am, Tuesday, and I’m just getting ready for the international Bible study at the Jesus Centre when there’s a knock at the door of the training room and I see a  youngish couple standing outside; ah yes, I recognise the lady, she is an English student here and known to me. I have never met her husband.

“We want to find out more about Jesus!” the husband tells me as he explains the reason for their visit. “Well, come in!” I say, “You are most welcome!” The husband’s English is good and he ends up interpreting for me! 

I have often seen this couple since and now the husband tells me he wants to get baptised. 
...........................................................................................................

A man of African descent knocks on the door and enters the training room; he tells me he wants to improve his English.

We talk about his English needs and he explains how he was once a visitor at our drop-in when life was very tough for him. That was several years ago. He left us and got a home, a job and most important, found faith in Jesus. Yes, he tells me, he has known his ups and downs as a Christian and has known a period of serious backsliding. Now he’s doing OK. He loves the Jesus Centre and what we do; it’s like home to him; we pointed him in the right direction and now he is a Christian. He works at present but, if the busyness of his working schedule allows, he would love to volunteer at the centre, a sort of repayment for what he received here from God.

“Let’s pray together,” I say, “let’s pray God so arranges your life that one day it is possible to volunteer here.” The man gets on his knees. I pray. He cries. He gets up from his knees. I find some tissue. The man is clearly deeply moved; what’s touched him, too, is that his mum had the same name as mine, ‘Julia’.

These encounters are touching, humbling and lead again and again to another, ‘Thank you, Jesus!’  The beauteous work of the Holy Spirit is going on here, there, across the world, often hidden, unseen. 

Indeed, His is a humble work for, it would appear, the Holy Spirit loves to work unseen, unnoticed, intending always, only, in bringing  glory to Jesus. 

I firmly believe that many of the things that happen at the Jesus Centre are unrecorded, unknown even to us. Our part is to live available and willing for the extra stretch; God does the rest.

Glad Turnaround: The Tale of a Syrian Refugee: Life at Coventry Jesus Centre

Something beautiful happened the other day ...  In my busy life, I don't always have time to recount these stories as they happen but now, I have a quiet afternoon ....

 I was running late, yes, I should have left for home an hour ago and, suddenly, one of our former students burst into the room. Yes, I remembered her, a tortured soul, a Syrian refugee: two of her four children were missing, somewhere in Syria, and she had no food (I had met her in the food bank); anguish was written on her tired, worn features.

I wonder what she wants? I thought .. but her face was beaming.

She didn’t want anything - only the opportunity to say 'thank you' to me. “This is the third time I have come looking for you!" she said. "You prayed to 'the God' from your heart and your prayer is answered. I can stay in the country, I have found my daughter. I have come to say 'thank you'.”

We prayed again, this time to say 'thank you' to God and pray for her missing son in Syria. It was a loaded moment, a timeless, never-to-be-forgotten moment; who felt more moved? Her?  Me?

It reminded me of that acount in Luke's Gospel, relating how Jesus healed ten lepers - and one returned, thankful, thankful, thankful.

And I, in my turn, say, 'Thank You, thank You, thank You, God, for the turning of this women’s fortunes, thank You for answering our prayers – and thank You for the blessing this grateful woman's words brought to me!

 Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus travelled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed.

One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.” (Luke 17:11-19)

Mediterranean Migrants: A Harrowing Journey

We’ve got an influx of students from East Africa at the Coventry Jesus Centre – particularly from Sudan and Eritrea. When they arrive in class with their smiling faces and eagerness to learn, I wonder just what they have been through on the way here.

If we want to travel to East Africa, we go by plane, no doubt:Nairobi or Khatoum International airport. These guys (mainly guys) have come by desert and sea – making a hazardous journey across the Sahara and the Mediterranean. Many of their fellow countrymen set out on the long journey too but never make it to the shores of southern Europe. The recent tragedy of April 27 when 800 died in a single disaster is a grim reminder of that. Indeed, an estimated 1,750 people have died in the Mediterranean since the start of the year - 30 times more than the previous year, reports the International Organisation for Migration.

Don’t be deceived into thinking these are all poor, low-skilled migrants, merely looking for a better life and wages in Europe. They have left all and carry the pain of that; one of our students is a qualified doctor; another is an engineering student.

The chances of dying on the way to Europe are 50-50. Worth the risk? Well then, perhaps you can understand now just how desperate these people are.

The UK government is intent on slowing down migration from the Horn of Africa and destroying the smugglers' vessels of transport.  It is also increasing a limited search-and-rescue programme.Much more can be done to save and better lives.

Two of our students agreed to tell me their story.  You may like to read this and sign a  petition calling on the government to stop the increasing death toll in the Mediterranean and to strengthen search and rescue operations. 

Ordinary People ... Extraordinary Hearts

Last week my friend Abdul (not his real name) had an appointment at the Solihull Home Office; he is an asylum seeker and and this was a particularly important one. He left well on time but unfortunately got on the wrong train.

Clearly Abdul wasn’t going to make it for the appointment. He felt upset and stressed when he found out his mistake. Sitting near him in the train was a middle-aged couple who noticed his angst as he relayed his problem to another person in the carriage. They were getting off the train shortly and, leaning over to Abdul, said, “No worries! We’ll get you to the Home Office on time!”

True to their word, at their station, the couple disembarked with Abdul, walked to the adjacent carpark and drove him all the way to Solihull and dropped his off outside the Home Office buildings - on time!

My friend, Abdul, was amazed by their generosity. “You are so kind!” he said.

The wife turned to him and said kindly, “But I would have done it for my son and I’ll do it for you!”

When Abdul came home he was euphoric. It was a miracle!” he told us.

It reminded me of another story told a long time ago: a man was walking to Jericho and fell into the hands of thieves and someone stopped ... and that made all the difference.

God often does His miracles through very ordinary people ... with quite extraordinary hearts.

UK: a Mix of Cultures: Imports, Immigrants and Refugees

The tragic events in Paris and subsequent surge of unity, alas, may give rise to further social fragmentation, a polarisation of views, a further division between East and West, the sense of ‘them and us.’

Freedom of expression is one of the foundation stones of our society but so also is tolerance and respect for others’ viewpoints.

It’s not a time to antagonise; it’s a time to concentrate on fostering friendships across the cultures; indeed we are indebted in the UK to other cultures: imports, immigrants and refugees have added huge richness to our language, our culture, our way of life.

I’ve just started running a new course at Coventry Jesus Centre: ‘UK: a Mix of Cultures: Imports, Immigrants and Refugees'. As a teacher (I’m an ESOL teacher) I want to show my students there’s more than one side to every story, point the way out of negative mind-sets and stereo-typing and yes, most important, inspire – in this case, to inspire them that they too can make a positive contribution to UK life - like many others have done before them.

Did you know, for instance, that the Romans were responsible for bringing onions, garlic, cabbages, peas, celery, turnips, radishes and leeks to our shores ? And you, nation of coffee drinkers, remember that coffee came from Ethiopia.  (The Arabic qahwa has become our ‘coffee’.)  Arabs grew it in the 14th century. When you visit the chippie tonight for a real Brit meal remember it was actually refugees fleeing Portugal, France and Spain who brought fish and  chips to England.

Last week we learned that about 13% of English words are of ancient Greece origin (including democracy) - and, no, democracy was not our invention.  About half the words we use are Anglo-Saxon words – that means they  originated from the northern European mainland, not our island. 

William the  Conqueror’s unwelcome invasion gave rise to 10,000 French words being  introduced into our language  and our towns, village, cities and rivers are named by foreigners, albeit 
many of whom became settlers.  ‘Thames’ is a Celtic word (the Celts coming from central Europe) for dark River.

11 refugees or children of refugees from the UK are Nobel Prize science winners.  Refugees have made their impact on British life: Sigmund Freud (psychoanalyst), Joseph Conrad (writer), Michael Marks (founder of Marks and Spencers) to name but a few. We’ve looked at the life of Malala Yousafzai and Mo Farah  and next week we’re going to read about Alec Issigonis (car designer) and Jacob Epstein (sculptor with connections to Coventry).

Social cohesion comes with respect, with listening, with learning from others; that’s certainly not the same as always agreeing and it doesn’t have to mean antagonising. Far from it.Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers,’ those that bring peace, harmony between people, who foster understanding, listen and draw people together, not split them apart.

In these divisive times, let’s look out and support those who are today’s peacemakers.

A Kick at the Door and a Year For New Things

1.1.15. Our first visitor to Promise House yesterday didn’t knock at the door – they kicked it. At 8.00am we went out to find the reinforced glass lined with ugly cracks. (Promise House is the community house where I live with twelve others.) 

Perhaps this is not surprising because earlier, at 12.00am, after a beautiful meal cooked by our friends and singing worship songs around the bonfire, we were praying. We want a God-filled 2015; more than anything, perhaps, we want His presence among us – God to make His home - and feel at home - amongst us. Then anything can happen.  Someone, something didn’t like it.

It feels like the impetus is increasing and why not? Three more people have declared their intention to be baptised as soon as possible.  They bring their friends along. There’s a buzz of warmth, of friendship, cultural barriers are being crossed, hopefully broken down. Everyone is pulling together.

Indeed, the impression I have had on my mind is that of someone staggering with a bag full of fruit; it’s bursting in fact; they were grabbing the apples as they began to fall.  God is saying, ‘I am willing. Are you?'God is willing to bring us a harvest of the best fruit (people turning to Jesus, joining the church family.) The challenge is to us. The best place to begin in 2015 ... on our knees at 12.00am. In the closing seconds of the old year the words of the old hymn come to my mind, 'Nothing in my hand I bring, simply to the cross I cling'.

Empty we come, even empty of willingness at times. 'Find us, make us willing. Let our self-agenda be crucified and Christ be living in our hearts, our works matched with faith and prayer. Let none of this precious fruit fall to the ground.'

Not everyone agrees with me; our damaged door testifies to that. Something tells me, 2015 is going to be quite a year.

A Trip Back in Time: First Century Palestine

 21st century, 20th, 19th ... 4th,3rd, 2nd ...We’re turning back the clock now, and I’m paying  a lightning visit to first-century Palestine; I’ve come to visit an unusual grouping – well, that’s an understatement – an extraordinary, raggle-taggle collection of people - the disciple band of Jesus of Nazareth. They’re sleeping under the stars tonight and they’re a right mixed bunch; there’s even some women here, that’s unusual in these parts, well, unheard of actually. I’m intrigued ....

I can hear some snippets of conversation; there’s a few sparks flying, tempers ruffled, but one thing’s certain: listening to leader, Jesus of Nazareth, I can see, beyond doubt, he’s a man on a mission and He’s taking this motley crew with Him; I’m not sure if he can knock them into shape, he’s got quite a task on him hands but we’ll see. But he’s determined, that’s for sure: He’s telling them this mission they’re sharing is top priority, over-toppling all other priorities. “Bums off seats, guys and girls, are you ready to go?’ He says.

Jesus of Nazareth, you’ve certainly got an urgency about your mission and, I observe, it’s getting you into all sorts of scrapes, including death threats; what about that deranged guy you met the other day coming out of that graveyard? And all that silly nonsense about whether you should or shouldn’t be doing your ‘healing bit’ on the Sabbath day? Well, I guess that’s when tools, cooking pots etc. are put down and ordinary people have time to listen? I can’t understand what the fuss is about ...

Yes, I notice you make allowances for rest, prayer, instruction but then, it’s bums off seats again; you mean business. Why, why this urgency? Is time short?

Yes, time is short and how else could/can the ‘kingdom come’?  By tellin’ ‘em and showin’ ‘em of course! Our mission is to show people out there who God is, what’s He like, what He’s done and what He wants; we want to lead people to God. It also brings health to sick, lukewarm hearts and churches. Haven’t you noticed how the warmth and fire of God returns to the belly when one talks to people about Jesus and His kingdom?

Last week a young African came to our house and we invited him to study the Bible with us. Although not a practising Muslim, he comes from a Muslim family and, listening intently, he prayed out as we finished: ‘I’ve not been bought up this way; I’m a long way from ‘getting it’  but will You help me, God, find Your Way.”

What did that prayer do to me? I’m burning! I’m on fire. I’m excited, my heart’s swelling with joy – like just being born again, again.

You know what, I long for us to experience that urgent, pressing need, not to get our lives together and find what’s comfortable but to follow the great Missionary/missionaries whose priority is/was to take and show the good news of the King, the kingdom, to all and sundry – especially the needy and the poor.

“Bums off seats, go and do it, go and say it,” I hear Jesus tell His disciples.

 Fire of God, Spirit of Urgency, come down and fill our hearts again.

Christian Community at its Best! Extend the Family!

Now, let me explain: Ramin and his dad, Hossein, (not their real names) are frequent visitors to our house and we really love them. It was Ramin’s birthday last week; he’d just turned 14 and his Dad asked if we could make him a birthday cake. You see, Hussein can’t cook cake and Ramin’s mum is thousands of miles away and so is his sister. Indeed, it’s Ramin’s first birthday away from home - a young asylum seeker.  

Ramin and his dad duly arrived with a friend, as expected. We’d cooked the tea (fish) so let’s begin. What are we waiting for, guys?

But Ramin and Hossein have also invited their friends (7). I fling open the door, “Welcome, welcome! Come and sit down at the table, everyone!” but quietly, I’m wondering, ‘how shall we feed this multitude?’ ‘They do not need to go away. ‘You give them something to eat,’ Jesus says! (Matthew 14: 16)

Josie, Izzie and Jane dash into the kitchen and augment our meagre offering of fish and rice; ‘Our food needs multiplying!’ they joke. ‘What can we find?’

The trio did us proud, really proud. Food kept arriving at the table, all sorts of things I didn’t think we had in our well-stocked pantry ... popcorn, muffins, spicy peas and more ...

Then comes the birthday cake. ‘Will it go round?’ I muse but it does, as Ramin blows the candles out twice over. Yes, we’re all having a great time, I mean a great, great time, not least Ramin and his dad. Then the singing and the bongo playing begins ...

                                   *                    *                  *
The party’s over now: everyone’s gone home. Some of us sit around the kitchen table, as a community family: “That’s community at its best,” comments Izzie contentedly. Yes, all mucking in, heads and hands working together, it’s amazing what we can do. You see, it’s together we can be family - not just for our house family - but to those God brings – the Ramins and Hosseins of this world.

And the miracle? - not one of physical multiplication this time but perhaps rather  the greater miracle:  people pulling together, one heart, one soul, those otherwise quite unlike each other, all together, living, working for one cause – in Christian community. Yes, together, together. What a great evening.    

Life At Coventry Jesus Centre: When Tears Lead To Action

A couple of weeks ago the press issued prime-feature images of Labour leader, Ed Miliband, giving money to a 16-year-Romanian beggar girl in Manchester. The rights and wrongs of Ed’s gesture were discussed. How much did he give? And what did it do for his tarnished public image? I don’t know – but who is asking, ‘but what about the girl?’

Now it’s Monday, the centre is shut and Centre Manager, Ann, is about to go home.

The phone rings. A mother is on the phone. Her 10 year old daughter has come home from school in tears and mother is wondering what to do.

 So, why is daughter in tears?  She’s just been on a school trip and encountered a street beggar.  Her teacher told her she mustn’t give her pocket money to him. She really wanted to so ... there are tears.

Mother is asking Ann: “We both really want to do something to help homeless beggars. We live in an out-of-town suburb and we don’t see them round here. What can we do?”

Who is to be commended the most? Mother? Daughter? I don’t know - but all I know is there is a wealth of hugely good-hearted people out there! Someone is asking, actually someone very young, ‘What about the destitute men and women out there? They’re on our streets” - and, what's more, is posing the poignant question, “What can I do?”

The Tragedy of Lost Fruit

The year 518 B.C. ... A delegation arrives from neighbouring Bethel to the priests in Jerusalem: “Should we still mourn and fast over the fall of Jerusalem as we have been doing for the last 70 years? After all, the new temple is nearly rebuilt?" (My paraphrase of Zechariah 7:1-4)

Was this a, ‘Shall we, have we got to?’ question?  Had the heart shrunk? Had the once heartfelt setting aside of time to seek God turned into duty, a trudge?

Walking through an apple orchard today, I noticed rows of trees with layers of fruit, lying on the ground, ripe but wasted, bruised, food for wasps and rotting in the autumn sunshine. Perhaps it was the strong winds? Whatever the cause, it was wasted.

How many times have we seen believers running, then walking, then trudging, then lagging behind and finally veering away from the path into wasted, wilderness land ... beautiful fruit, lost.

How can we preserve that eager, heart-felt resolve and fervent love for Jesus and His Kingdom?

Stay together, join with the strong in open-hearted fellowship, live in watchfulness and pray, be grateful, feed on rather than just read God's Word, be filled with the Holy Spirit  ... many things, all these and more but, please God, less tragic waste, let’s have more fruit ready-for-the-harvest and less waste!

ESOL and Cleaning: Let's Celebrate Success!

Dusters, brushes, mops, polish – you name it - we had the contents of our cleaning cupboard at Coventry Jesus Centre laid out in the main hall where we run classes ... If you can’t find the hoover, folks, or the mop and bucket, it just might (probably will be) in the classroom!

After a visit to the powers-that-be at the Job Centreplus last year, I was told that most of our ESOL students, if lucky to get a job at all, are best placed to be cleaners so I decided to write a tailor-made course for them – ‘ESOL and Cleaning’. (ESOL stands for English for Speakers of Other Languages.)

It was great fun. What better way to learn prepositions? Mop behind the table, sweep next to the fridge and don’t forget to clean under the table!

  
We practised heavy lifting, got our heads around cleaning codes and working with dangerous chemicals, practised putting on PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) and filling in accident reports – all with plenty of laughs but what a great learning experience! How about drilling (modelling and practising pronunciation) ‘suspicious object found in the toilets!’

Last Monday was a great day. We gave out certificate for those who had achieved 85% attendance and had a celebration. Why not? Celebrating success is very important to us. For some of our students, our in-house attendance certificates are the first they ever achieve! And, hey, if they manage to get a much-coveting cleaning job they will be better equipped! ‘ESOL and Cleaning’ certificate, here we come!”

Ten Years On: Reflections on the Death of Danielle

“I can’t believe it, it’s a girl.” Those unforgettable words, spoken ten years ago this month, are etched on my memory, the most acrid words I have ever heard in my all years as a teacher.

 You’d think that a friend or family member had had baby. But, no, these were the words Steph, my boss spoke, at the Chase Neighbourhood Centre the day we all trooped stunned into work after one of the  young people known to our project, Danielle Beccan, aged 14, was shot dead outside her house in St Ann’s, Nottingham, after a trip to Goose Fair. We’d expected reprisal shootings but always felt it was the lads that were most at risk.

We wore pink, Danielle’s favourite colour. We all mourned; we mourned for weeks. We stood by the place she was shot in stunned silence. Her young friends stood in silence too; some of them had watched her die; they’d never been trained to deal with a gunshot wound.

The press were everywhere; police stood by with guns; St Ann’s was treated by some (utterly mistakenly) like a grim, vice-filled ghetto, a byeword for all that was foul: drug-dealing, gang-crime and murder. An aquaintance of mine said she could not come to see me – I lived in St Ann’s. 

I wrote this poem; it was read at Danielle's funeral service; the sentiment expressed in it is still fresh in my mind; the memory lives on.

Danielle:
May your life not be wasted,
Your death not in vain.

Young life, so precious,
Lost forever,
That dark October night,
After spending,
Your last fun-filled hours
At the fair.

Surrounded by the friends you loved,
And dying in your mother’s arms,
Dear life, so precious,
Slowly ebbed away,
The cause – a bullet
Never meant for you.

May your bitter death,
That broke so many hearts
Give rise to something new round here,
St Ann’s.
A hatred, or perhaps best say,
A violent love against all that would destroy.
Our dream, St Ann’s, a place of peace
Where guns are never seen as cool
Or revenge regarded as right,
Where old and young, again, can walk
Our streets and ways
Without fear of violent gain
Or dark revenge
From knife or gun;
And no more matters where you live -
Or where you’re from - Iraq, Iran,
Meadows, Radford, St Ann’s
For all are welcome here.

Danielle,
Rest in peace but,
From your bitter death we long to see
 A day of better things - St Ann’s!

Courage of an Extraordinary Kind

Cokie van de Velde and team

Much is made of British jihadists going to fight for IS. What is it, 500 from the UK? Maybe more. Yes, and it is shocking. But recently we’ve heard of other volunteer fighters  - not heading for the Middle East - but West Africa - several hundred of them too.

This is no fight for extremism, conquering and slaying the unsuspecting and innocent in a barbaric military assault; no, this is courage of an extraordinary kind: leaving the relative safety of these shores to fight the deadly Ebola virus that is ravaging West Africa.

One such person is sanitation expert, Cokie van der Velde, who has left family and grandchildren behind, stares death in the face daily and yet continues to fight. The risks are huge; for many it’s a bit of a gamble – but courage always comes with risk.

So, there are fighters and fighters but, in their intentions, they could not be further from each other: both risk life and limb but, oh, what a different warfare!

Let’s big up the courageous Britons fighting Ebola  ... I can’t help being proud of them. They’re displaying courage indeed, of an extraordinary kind.

A Fun Relaxed and Informative Day. ESOL Training at Coventry Jesus Centre

What a great day last Saturday (27 September) was! My sister, *Rachel Hatfield, came to Coventry Jesus Centre to give a days training for our Jesus Centre ESOL training volunteers and staff. (ESOL stands for English for Speakers of Other Languages.)
 
Attempting to decipher the Bengali script, feeling something of the difficulty and humiliation of those beginning to learn the Roman script as adults, howls of laughter as we learn how to drill and are the happy recipients of our very own Farsi drillers, assessing our grammar knowledge (or lack of it) and learning how to make our ESOL sessions practical, relevant and enjoyable.

Altogether, it was a fun, informative, relaxed day and, most of all, we were inspired by Rachel’s energy and enthusiasm. We learned such a lot and have already began putting it into practice.

Watch out learners, here we come! Drilling begins on Monday!

*Rachel teaches the CELTA (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults) at Brooklands College in Surrey.