Capernwray

55 years before 9 11 acquired its bad name, there was an auction held in Lancaster. There, one Mrs Thomas, wife of Major Ian Thomas bought an old country house. She paid ten percent more for the house than she’d agreed with her husband; the place was run down; she was expecting their first boy; yet, when she should have stopped bidding, the holy Spirit prompted her to continue.

She wondered who would ever want the place. Yet that formerly rundown place became the first Capernwray Centre, a Christian training facility which now boasts 23 other centres round the world.

Yesterday, accompanied by her husband, who is in a wheelchair and nearly 90, they witnessed the opening of a new dining room. I was there too, but I had only come from Lancaster, they’d traveled from Colorado, where they now live.

I was challenged by them. It’s amazing how sixty years can change things. Imagine them at the end of 1946. The country was depressing enough at the end of the second world war. They’d paid more than they’d expected for this almost uninhabitable big old house.

I have many thoughts/ideas/dreams/plans that get drowned in the ‘realities’ of the situation. Next time, I’ll remember Capernwray

Well done Ghana

It’s been a busy week, but not so busy that I didn’t catch Ghana’s entry into the next round of the world Cup. Well done Ghana, next stop Brazil.

While France were struggling against Togo yesterday, I was at a gospel choir concert, where I met the Ghanaian mum of an excellent soloist. I congratulated her and reminded her that we just handed them the mantle for this year. We’re expecting great things from Ghana, so that in South Africa, it would be both Nigeria and Ghana fighting for the cup.

Actually, this world cup is creating too much of a conflict of interests. I’m struggling to keep up with all the things I have to get done. And now, Wimbledon is about to begin … what is a man to do?

Good day in church

We had a great time On Sunday. The praise and worship flowed, like we were really communicating with God.

We had guest speakers, a father and son team, Ron and Andrew Eagle. They work so well together. Today, the main talk was from son Andrew. He started by saying that the standards of the new testament are much higher than that of the old, but before we think it’s impossible, Jesus himself is the way by which we can reach them.

It’s like the bar in a high jump, being raised to an impossible height; but there’s a springboard. The Holy Spirit is the coach, always encouraging us to achieve. Like all true athletes, we have a gym. He’s given us every heavenly blessing to achieve our goals

Then the father Ron picked up the thread. He said two things; first all the spiritual training and gymnasium is for purpose, that we may achieve our God-given goals. So, first, we must work out those goals, in order to set our target objectives. Second, the gym, trainer and springboard would be useless if we didn’t apply everything. They’d just sit idle unless we actually made use of them, and if we didn’t make use of them, we wouldn’t be fit for purpose.

I went to visit a friend this weekend. As we took a stroll on Saturday morning, he told of how he came back home with his nine month daughter, just as the England V Trinidad was ending. As he got to the front of his house, some youth who had been watching the game from the pub opposite came out, moved towards him in a scary manner and started chanting “two niil, two niil!”

Now, anyone who knows my friend would have worked out that as he was born in Nigeria, and as he spends most of his working life in the United States, he’s not really a Trinidad supporter. In fact, if you know him as I do, you’d know that he’s such a big fan of English football that apart from when England plays Nigeria, there’s no real conflict of loyalties with him.

We talked as we stepped on broken bottles outside his house. Well, it’s next to a pub, and maybe a few drunken white youths may not realise that if they start chanting menacingly at a black father and his nine month old baby, he might feel threatened. What would have happened, if … shock of shocks … England had lost that game.

All right, let’s get this in context. I’ve lived in Lancaster since 1990, and I can honestly say I’ve come across very few acts of overt racism. In most cases, people standing by have done something about it. Once, when I’d just arrived, a fellow uni student told me to go back home, and his friends immediately apologized, blaming drink. Then there was that guy who literally walked through me and challenged me to speak and get beaten up. I saw him about three times, the third time as I stood at Customer Services in Saintsbury’s. The staff who’d heard his challenge told him they wouldn’t serve him.

On the whole, I’m not really that worried about such things. But I hear the news and You’d be surprised to know that I’ve had a BNP leaflet through my door. Actually, come to think of it, my friend, (the one I spent the weekend with) once had a leaflet thrown through his door when he lived in Purley, asking if he’d like to attend a meeting to discuss the increasing influence of non-British people in his neighbourhood. We just laughed when he told me. Is it really that funny?

Well done Ghana

Great game yesterday. None of the radio commentators of the BBC gave Ghana much hope against the Czechs, but they did it in style. Thanks for brightening an otherwise difficult train journey. now it simply remains to beat the USA, and you’ll be in the second round.

Anyone out there?

If you’ve been wondering where I am, the simple answer is here. I’ve discovered that the last two posts I sent have not appeared. It was as though I hadn’t even written them. I’ve looked everywhere. If this one appears, then the cage has been aprung, but if it doesn’t … then what? I suppose I’d have to go back to the dark ages and use the telephone again.

It’s begun

At last, we’ve played the first two games of the World Cup. I think you’ll be reading lots about the World Cup in the next month, from all sorts of places, so why not here too?

I was walking home, listening to the game between Germany and Costa Rica, when I realised that it wasn’t worth killing myself for. With the headphones on, I could hardly hear anything else, (not even the roadside traffic) and in any case, I knew Germany would win. After the brief scare of the equaliser, things returned to what we all expected. By the time the game was over, I was back home to hear all the details from the commentators.

Now, if Nigeria had been playing, I wouldn’t even have been out in the first place. but more on that on another day. My question though is how come we’re not there this time. Since 1994, we’d come to expect that Nigeria would be at each world cup for ever. And may I remind my gloating English friends that in 1994, they were all busy supporting Ireland, just like most Nigerians would probably be supporting Ivorycoast or even Togo … now there’s a laugh!

Most comentators talk about the great teams of Africa missing out this time. Well, I don’t know about Cameroon and South Africa, but I saw Nigeria’s failure coming. After the heady days of 1994, we’d been performing worse and worse. Our last victory in a world cup game was the first match in 1998, when we beat an underperforming Spanish side in a thrilling game. That victory alone took us to the knock out stages, but in 2002, we didn’t even get that far, losing two and drawing an inconsequential game to England.

If you ask me, we’d begun to expect that we’d be in the World Cup. You know how it is, big names in big clubs. They’ve seen it all before, played in the big games. We had Nigerians in Chelsea, Arsenal, as well as clubs in France, Italy, Germany and Spain. By the time it dawned that we might be sitting on the sidelines cheering other teams in germany, it was too late. Suddenly, everyone woke up. They sacked the coach, and started playing well. But it was too late.

I saw the game against Algeria, the last game in our qualifying group. It was a goal fest, but it wasn’t enough. I can’t remember, but I think all Angola had to do was draw their game, and they did. During the African Nations cup, we huffed and puffed and finally earned our bronze medals. But that’s not getting us to Germany, boys! Didn’t you realise that earlier in the qualifying stages?

Maybe we’ll do a France. Remember them? They weren’t in the USA ‘94, but look what happened in ‘98. Mind you, the cup was held in their country then. But South Africa might just be close enough for us.

In the meantime, who should I support? Not Angola. Sour grapes there I’m afraid. Togo … our neighbours? That’d be a wasted vote, … sorry boys. Maybe I’ll just support Brazil. You know, like those Manchester United supporters who don’t know where Manchester is on the map, but who expect their club to win everything.

By the way, thanks to the Ecuadorians for restoring my faith in the unfancied team. That’s what Nigeria did against Spain in 1998. Maybe I should support Ecuador now. And you never know. The Chelsea chequebooks may soon be waving in the face of some Ecuadorian … or … perish the thought … some Angolan? No no no!

Medic Assist International

On the last Saturday of every month, our local branch of the Overseas Fellowship of Nigerian Christians holds its meeting. We’re totally non-denominational, and in fact, our membership is not restricted only to Nigerian Christians. We would however hope that those who attend would expect a more African style of worship.

At our last meeting, we had a guest speaker, Dr David Carling. He’d been a Christian missionary in Nigeria for about 25 years, and after returning to the UK, he’d recently set up a new charity which worked in several countries, including Sudan and Pakistan.

But it was about their work in Nigeria that he came to talk to us. They’re involved in the running of one of the hospitals in which he’d worked, located in an area of religious and ethnic tension, a place called Vom, not far from Jos, not too far from our new capital, Abuja. He said, (and proved it with powerpoint slides) that churches had been burned, and people had suffered horrific injuries, inflicted by machettes and gunshots.

Of course, he asked us to spread the word, to pray, and if we could, to donate cash. More interestingly, he asked if there were experts who could spend some time in Nigeria, perhaps during their holidays, tending to the injured. It was interesting that a British doctor was asking Nigerians to spend some time in Nigeria, helping to treat Nigerians.

Today, I don’t want to get into the arguments about who’s at fault. But things are happening, that don’t always make the news. They’re happening in a part of the country that I’m not very familiar with, having only spent one year in Jos, long ago, when I was a teenager. When a big riot erupts, such as when there was reaction in Nigeria to the European cartoons about Mohammed, we all hear about it. But outside that, there’s a constant drip of innocent blood, being shed as a result of religious persecution.

That was the message of David Carling, medical practitioner, and founder of Medic Assist International. When my expertise permits, I should be able to provide more information, or even links to the site.

Rowing

Today, I went rowing again. I’m one of those who will try anything once. Most times, after the once, I don’t go back, usually because I’m too busy trying something else. I’ve so far been skiing, abseiling, climbing, sailing … and rowing.

About three years ago, a project was set up by our local blind society to encourage members to pursue outdoor activities. To add more spice, it was decided sometime ago to introduce qualifications, … you know, things like one star, two star, and three star badges. I haven’t been to all the events, because they mostly take place during the week. Sadly, several of our members are either looking for work, or have lost their jobs since their sight deteriorated. Since the project began, I’ve only been out with them about two or three times a year. Others can manage one or two activities a month, especially between February and September.

So there I was, going to row. I hadn’t even got my first star, and the others were either going for their second or third star.

In that group, I was certainly a low achiever, but that was all right, because it meant I could do things that were well beyond my qualifications. By the end of the morning session, I was doing tight circles, broad sweeping circles, sharp turns, brakes, sideways rowing etc with the best of them. … But the best was yet to come. Our ‘revered’ instructor (and I should call him that, just in case I go rowing again) had warned us that we’ll be getting into the water after lunch. I’d quietly thought to myself that it wasn’t going to happen. After all, everyone else had stories to tell, but I’d never once fallen out of my canoe.

After lunch, the revered one set us some exercises which haad my arms groaning and reminding me of how little exercise I did. Then he started to teach us how to correct any imbalance and prevent our canoes from tipping over. He would come over and violently shake the canoe, and we were supposed to react instantaneously with both paddle and weightshifting mannoeuvres. It was getting dangerous, but I kept my cool.

But he wasn’t satisfied. Next exercise was the ‘rescued and rescuer’. In the past, all those who fell in the lake were accidental victims of exuberance. This time, we were to jump out of the boat of our own free will!

At this point, with the prospect of freezing water, my silence ended. I told our instructor that I had carefully avoided falling by a well constructed strategy of missing sessions and not being too daring, for only two reasons. I did not trust my swimming abilities, having never entered a pool since I left my primary school. I was never cut out for swimming, and when it was no longer compulsory, I simply stopped. Secondly, I did not trust the logical, even scientific assertions that the buoyancy aids we were provided would keep me afloat.

My instructor took this as a challenge. First, he ordered me to row to the edge, got me to get out of the boat and ordered me to wade in the water. When I was waist deep, he issued his next order, that I should sit down. Sit down? Sit down! Eventually, after much protest, I obeyed, and although I sank down, my head remained above the water.

He must have thought he’d persuaded me, because we walked back to the water’s edge, I climbed into the boat with him, and we rowed out again. Then, he commanded me to jump out of the boat, not holding onto the sides, lest I tipped him over too. Of course I was tempted, but then I remembered he’d be getting me out of the water, so I’d better be nice to him. And after much hesitation, I eventually stood up and jumped out of the boat. I kept going down … and down … and down. My head was submerged for a brief moment, and then it came up again, out of the water. And my trusted instructor was there to get me out. Phew!

The next stage of the exercise would have involved his rescue … by me of course! But as I was the last person, it was generally decided that there wasn’t enough time. But I knew better. Anyway, I’d had enough excitement for one day.

Well done instructor Terry, and all the volunteers who put us through such an … interesting … experience. I only wish I could get my own back.

That great film

Everywhere I look, people are talking about the Da Vinci Code. The film seems to have reawakened interest in the novel. One day, I was standing with a group of friends. We were preaching the gospel when someone shouted “so what about the Da Vinci Code?” It was almost as though I was one of those who had kept the church’s dark secret for two thousand years.

Well, so what about it? It’s a film based on a novel. Actually, I’ve neither read the book nor watched the film; but I’ve heard so much about it, i’m sure I can hold forth with the best pundits. That is, unless the novel didn’t allege that Jesus Christ married Mary Magdalene and fathered a daughter.

Maybe it’s my African upbringing, but I don’t think I could ever show such disrespect to another’s faith. I have often said that I believe that Christianity is the only way, and I recognize that implicitly, I’m saying that all other faiths do not answer the important human questions. But even in doing that, I try to be sensitive to the fact that other faiths have adherents who truely believe in what they do, and have taken their decisions after much thought. I can’t imagine that I could ever fictionalise a basic tenet of another’s faith.

I see that many Christians have started to refute the various ‘claims’ of this book and film. I have heard arguments about how Dan Brown mixes fact and fiction without clearly distinguishing them in the minds of his readers. I believe that this is taking the argument to his level, and he would probably do much better than me in that. Moreover, it cannot work as a strategy unless we go to each person who has read the book and try to remove the preconceptions that have already been planted. In the end, people will believe what they want.

But to the man who asked me about the Da Vinci code, all I can say is this: Jesus did not marry Mary Magdalene, we do not have his physical bloodline wandering around France. It did not happen, because Jesus was God coming down to our level. He did not need a wife, or a child to carry his genes. Any potential wife would have been wholly human, and Jesus was not. We Christians believe that Jesus was not just a man. He was not even born by the usual fusion of sperm and egg. Jesus willingly came down to earth, not for Himself, but for us. In fact, He did say that His kingdom was not of this world.

As a Christian, I believe that Jesus has a bigger family than this bloodline could ever give Him. We’re described as adopted into His family, as co-heirs of His kingdom. We believe that when we take the communion, we symbolically and spiritually take His body and blood, that He washed away our sins with His blood. All these are spiritual, because as He said, “God is a Spirit …” He therefore does not need this physical bloodline thing.

I think we’ve got something wrong here. The Bible says we were made in God’s image. I think that these days, we try to make God in our image, we invest in Him, our own expectations and feelings. Someone once said that if they look at me, they must see God in me. So, for example, if you’re looking at me through a mirror, what you see is not me, just a representation. I can’t talk through the mirror, though you’ll see my lips moving. If my image in the mirror decided that I must be like it, it’d be a gross underrepresentation, as it cannot move, talk, or think. In the same way, if i decided that God must think and act like me, i’d be expecting Him to get married and have a bloodline which can be traced somewhere in France.