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!

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. 

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?”

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!”

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. 

Exploitation, Racism, Economic Hardship and Eastern European migrants (Life at Coventry Jesus Centre)

Sometimes one gets a feel here of the underworld of exploitation, anti-feeling and racism that immigrants from Eastern Europe sometimes face on coming to the UK.

Recently, I listened to an Eastern European young woman sharing her angst after finding work in the UK: she spoke of, “negative attitude towards me, bullying, misunderstanding at work which has left me worried and stressed. People hate you because you are not English. They want you pushed out of the job, out of the country. This experience has been very difficult for me.”

Poland, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia, Lithuania, Latvia, Slovenia and Estonia all joined the EU in 2004 – giving them unrestricted access to the UK’s labour market. Citizens from Romania and Bulgarian, also members of the EU, now have unlimited access to the UK labour market too (from January 2014). Net migration to the UK from Eastern Europe EU states was almost 400,000 between 2004-2011.

Keeping an ear to the ground, there is a recurrent story: the promise of a job back home by an unscrupulous agent, arriving in the UK and finding it doesn’t exist or, if it does, wages are minimal and falling into the hands of or becoming indebted to exploiters. 

In September 2013 the BBC reported that Eastern European migrants employed in the Fens for leek picking were trapped in a widespread network of exploitation.  A four-month investigation found migrants were being forced to pay fellow countrymen bribes to get a few days' work in the field - and some were left to live on less than £1 a week.

Catalin, Vlad and Mihaela at Bright Flame

A while ago, two Romanian young men, Vlad and Catalin, turned up at Coventry Jesus Centre on a Sunday morning. They had been promised accommodation in the UK but, on arriving, found nothing; they had been conned and were facing the prospect of no income, no home. 

Fortunately, unlike so many, their story has a favourable ending; both were offered a temporary home at ‘Bright Flame,’ a Christian community house in Coventry. Both found work, decided Christian community was ‘for them’ and stayed. Vlad has since married Mihaela and ‘Bright Flame’ are finding them a brilliant addition to the community family.

In Praise of Volunteers, Your Learning, Coventry Jesus Centre

You’ve got to have a team if you really want to achieve most things in life and ours is a fine one:

Ann, the first to arrive

Monday morning ... Ann’s already here (we call her Ann-Lifted-Up as God lifts up the lowly). In fact, she’s been here since 6am and she’s no youngster; she was a cleaner in her working life and now she does it for free in her retirement. Seriously, she’s already been cleaning the loos, emptying the bins, generally making the place look smart.

Do you think it’s important? Unquestionably, yes. She’s gone by 8:30am but left her mark behind. We pray together as she goes and you know, I value her prayers highly

Matthew and Mark ... but no Luke and John

as she prays for God’s blessing on everyone that enters the Jesus Centre doors this Monday morning.


Then there’s Matt and Mark who come in at 8.00am. Matt’s already met me on the way and tells me he’s left his warm flat to come and assist. They do a great job of moving chairs and tables until the hall looks just fine, set up for the day’s classes and, meanwhile, I can get on with the photocopying. Yes, and I won't forget Pete, he's often here too.

Peter .. another noteworthy disciple

Then Jo and Betty appear. Now, they are
my assistants in the class and I couldn’t do without them. They just appear every week,  consistently, and obviously enjoy what they do; that helps. I always think, if we who lead enjoy our sessions and convey that enjoyment, the learners can’t fail to follow.

  Last of all Karen appears; she helps me in the afternoon session; she’s brilliant with the lads, flexible with a great sense of humour (definitely needed at times) and unfailing in her commitment. She’s great on the clearing up too: you know, those unwashed cups and boundless pieces of paper to tidy up; I’ve never learned to work in a tidy manner and spread out everywhere. Everyone like me needs a Karen. 

Betty and Jo

Yes, and the number is growing .... the Bablake girls, Sarah and Shirin are the most recent additions to the team!

Last but not least, Karen

John and James jostled to be first, forefront leaders. Jesus told them they’d got it all wrong. The most humble, the most servant-hearted are greatest in the kingdom of heaven. I think that of our volunteers.

Syrian Refugees: A Boy with a Gun and a Mother Bereft (Life at Coventry Jesus Centre)

Sometimes the bottom corner of a curtain is held up for a brief while and, peering through, we glimpse another world, parallel to ours, filled with scenes of horror and devastation -  humanity at its lowest ebb.

This week it’s Syria. On Wednesday morning a young Syrian came in with a friend and sat down quietly in class. We were making pancakes and got chatting; we talked trivia: lemons and pancake mix and migrated to fruits grown in Syria. He began showing me photos on his mobile of his village back home: acres of smiling vineyards and tidy olive groves; it looked a fertile, sunny place with no signs of the bloody conflict. He looked at the photos with fondness and explained that his family had a smallholding in the village.

Flicking through his pictures, we passed family members, old men dressed in traditional Syrian headgear and then ... a young and handsome dark-haired boy, no more than nine, with a cheeky, boyish grin holding - a birthday present? You would have been justified in thinking so, looking at the cheerful look on his face. Sadly, no. He was clutching a large gun.  ‘Our country’, my Syrian friend muttered and swiftly flicked onto the next picture. 

I don’t know who the boy was; I didn’t want to ask. It was a Syrian boy and his picture told a story, a story of an unfolding tragedy, a spoilt boyhood, a conflict of adults where innocents are dragged in and learn far too quickly ‘the art’ of maiming and killing. 

Syrian refugees in Egypt

The previous day I had visited our food bank and met another asylum seeker from Syria who arrived in the UK in 2011 and has not been given leave to remain; all her appeals have been refused and she thinks she may have to leave the country soon. She was in desperate need of a food parcel.  She first arrived in Norway in 2009 with her four children but two of them, aged 18 and 16, were deported to Syria. “I have no contact with my two eldest children in Syria,” she says. “Syria is a warzone. I don’t know where they are.  I went to the Red Cross and they told me that they could only help me trace them if I gained status as a UK citizen.”

I’m struck by her dignity and courage in the face of loss and in the struggle for survival. I asked her to come back when she has time and I will help her draft a letter to her MP – the least I can do. 

Sometimes we can’t do much more than listen; sometimes there are small practical ways we can help – food bank for instance – or help write a letter. I offered to pray for her; she clutched my hands; we prayed that somehow God would find some way, a miracle, in providing a safe home for her and her two remaining children and a way to finding her lost children  – and do you think her heart was in that prayer?  

Sometimes, I think, listening is one of the most important, most effective activities we can ever engage in ... followed by prayer.

Red Roses, Romance and Martyrdom: Tell The People Jesus Loves Them ...

14 February, the night for romantics and here we are, setting off from the Jesus Centre with 650 red roses carefully labelled with an explanation of who exactly was the great saint Valentine and a Bible verse (John 15:13 - see picture below).

Now, you understand, it’s not a tranquil evening, one for lovers to saunter in the hidden corners in back alleys of our streets for some quiet, romantic moment together; there’s quite literally a howling gale outside and there’s been fierce rainstorms across the country. But, undeterred ....we set out.

Armed with ... red roses ... Nick, Steve, Ann and Andy

And it’s such fun. 13 of us (aged 17-73) sweeping through pubs, restaurants, even the Belgrade Theatre (foyer - not the live performance that’s going on), giving out our red roses to whoever ... and telling them that this is really true, God does love them. It’s only the beginning of the message, the Good News, but it’s a start.

 We ask some if they need prayer; I speak to a young guy, Barrie; he didn’t used to believe but his mate died at Christmas and yes, he did pray then and he wants to know if heaven is real. ‘Thanks,’ he says, ‘I’m open to God these days and what a warm feeling I had in my heart when you prayed!’

 You know, sometimes evangelism is hard work, especially when it’s filthy, rotten weather but tonight, no. I guess people sense the fun, the adventure in our eyes and respond. Yes, and I only got kissed once on this romantic night (one of the hazards) but that must be because I’m getting older!

Kramskoi, Christ in the Desert and a Russian Dissident

Painting by Kramskoi: 'Christ in the Desert'  (1872)

We've just started running a course at the Coventry Jesus Centre: 'ESOL and the Bible'.

A Russian intellectual comes; he's great company and full of interesting insights and facts. 
In the middle of the session this week he said, "Can I show you something?" 

"Of course", I said. This is the best kind of lesson, when we share-and-share-alike, learning together.

My Russian student googled this picture, 'Christ in the Desert' by the Russian artist, Ivan Nikolaevich Kramskoi (1837-1887), and told me why he liked it: Jesus is resolved, determined; the temptation in the wilderness is over. His hands are clasped, tightly together; His course is set. His brow is furrowed; there is no turning back. 

There is suffering, pain in the picture. Dare I say, it has a definite Russian flavour: Jesus is not a china-faced, impassive, detached figure with little expressed emotions. The image conveyed is one of deep anguish and, as we know, anguish of a different kind has certainly been the experience of the Russian people. Jesus is heavy-laden, feeling the weight of His calling on His shoulders.

My Russian friend is a one-time dissident, having left behind a great deal, his distinguished livelihood, his family and friends. He has had to start again - with nothing. Perhaps that's why he finds such a strong identification with this picture.

 Note: Russian novelist, Ivan Goncharov (1812-1891), wrote of this picture: " there is nothing festive, heroic, victorious — the future fate of the world and of all livings is concealed in that miserable, small being, in pauper appearance, under the rags, in humble simplicity, inseparable with true majesty and force".