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.
 
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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. 

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"'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."

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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.