The Pursuit

I drove to the city, some forty miles away, for a business meeting which finished early in the afternoon. I looked forwards to an early return home relaxing with a Guinness and a football match on TV.

As I drove out of the city I switched on the radio to hear the news. As always, the announcer started with some bad news and then followed on with more bad news. I changed station to some country and western music instead. There's nothing better than "On the road again!" by Willie Nelson when you're travelling. That or Don Williams or Tom T Hall.

Anyway, there I was, approaching my home town and humming to John Denver's "Take me home Country Roads".

I tell you, those country roads in Britain can be long and winding with sharp corners and unexpected ups and downs of hills and narrowing lanes. But the good thing is that they are less busy than highways, and I often take the country roads back home after a difficult day at the city as it helps me to relax whilst driving. 

The other thing with less used country roads is that you tend to notice when you're not alone when driving.

As Waylon Jennings was singing the Dukes of Hazzard Theme Song, "Good Ol' Boys"; I noticed a car following me in my rear view mirror. Just then, by pure coincidence C W McCall started singing "Convoy".

But it was not a convoy on those long and winding roads. It was just the two of us. Me and the sparkling dark blue car a few yards behind me.

I put my foot down on the accelerator to put some distance between us. He did just the same and followed me exactly a few yards behind.

The road was too narrow for me to let him pass. And at the speed I was going I was afraid I might get off the road and land upside down in some ditch.

I slowed down a little. So did he behind me. He followed but kept the same distance of a few yards behind.

I knew this road well and remembered that just over a mile ahead there is a big roundabout; a big island through which many roads intersect in and out.

If I were to enter the roundabout and turn my car all the way round; all 360 degrees; this would give the car following me the opportunity either to drive on ahead of me or to get off at any of the four intersections on the roundabout.

I sped up a little to create some distance between me and my follower. I arrived on the roundabout first and as luck would have it there were no other cars there.

I entered the roundabout from the six o'clock position on a clock face. I turned all the way round to six o'clock again and saw my follower entering the roundabout at six of clock just as I did.

I put my foot down and exited the roundabout at the six o'clock exit just as he entered it.

To my surprise, he did the same manoeuvre and exited at the six o'clock exit following me.

Why did he do that?

He had the opportunity whilst I was going round to exit at twelve o'clock and drive on ahead of me. Or he could have got out at the three or nine o'clock exits. Why did he go all the way round 360 degrees, like me, and get out after me at the same exit we had entered?

It's obvious he is following me. It is obvious he is up to no good.

I looked in my rear view mirror to work out whether he was alone in the car, or whether he had passengers. But he was too far behind for me to see properly, but he was catching me up fast. Obviously, my manoeuvre on the roundabout had confused him and upset him. He has realised I am on to him and now he is catching up with me fast.

I began to panic.

I sped a little more on this dangerous narrow winding road. I nearly got off the road as I slid in a large puddle of water where it had been raining previously. I almost hit a tractor coming out from a side road. I was going a little too fast for these road conditions; and yet, the blue car behind me was following me inch by inch replicating my every move. But he must certainly be a better driver than me because he managed through the puddle of water better and certainly got round that tractor missing it with a hair's breadth.

He was tailing me every step of the way. I could see vaguely in my rear view mirror it was a man driving behind me; but I did not want to look for too long in case I miss a bend on the road and end upside down in a ditch.

Who could he be and what does he want?

I did not recognise the car. Is he a policeman in a plain clothes car; I thought. But if he were a policeman; why not sound his siren and blue lights to stop me?

Who else could he be? A gangster? Does he want to rob me perhaps? Steal my car? His is a better and bigger model, what would he want with my car?

A prankster perhaps? Trying to have some fun by scaring me and following me close behind?

Maybe he is drunk and just out of his mind.

Whoever he was he was scaring me. I could not phone for help because I always switch off my cell-phone whilst driving to avoid receiving calls and disturbing my concentration. I could not let him pass because he had no intention of doing so.

I looked at the gauge on the dashboard and noticed that I was running out of gas. Sooner or later my car would stop and he'd catch up with me anyway. I had to do something desperate.

I remembered a driving manoeuvre I was taught at Advanced Driving lessons. I hadn't done it for ages, but these were desperate times. I took my life in my hands, literally.

I quickly pulled on the handbrake and released it again. The car spun 180 degrees on itself, just like doing a U turn. In the narrow road, I almost flew off into the field by the road, but I didn't. Somehow, by some miracle perhaps, I managed to straighten the car and keep it on the road. There was a tremendous noise as I did this lunatic stunt and dust everywhere. The car zig zagged a little and I drove off at speed as my follower arrived on the scene and put his foot on the brakes violently.

Momentarily, I managed to escape him. I saw in my rear view mirror that he had stopped and tried, after several backwards and forwards motions, to turn his car round again. He was not as good as me after all and could not do the U turn in one go.

I used this time to gain a distance between us as I sped towards the roundabout I had driven through moments earlier. If I reach it quickly and get through it maybe he would not know which exit I took and so I would lose my pursuer.

He was catching up behind me fast. He was a real dare-devil and had a very powerful car. Better than mine.
 
There is no doubt now that this man was following me for the last twenty miles and his intentions were no good.

A cold sweat covered my brow. I could feel my heart pounding fast in my chest. I was afraid. More afraid than I had ever been.

This guy was obviously not a joy-rider out for some fun. He meant business. What if he caught up with me and killed me. He would not want any witnesses after all that's happened. That's why he was following me fast and now beeping on his horn like a madman.  

If only all this beeping would attract someone's attention. But no ... the road was empty. Just me and him speeding recklessly.

I felt like Dennis Weaver in the film Duel by Steven Spielberg.

Have you seen the film? Real scary.

David Mann, (Dennis Weaver), is a middle-aged salesman driving on a business trip. He encounters a rusty truck on the highway which follows him and terrorises him out of his senses

This man behind me is doing just the same.

He stopped beeping his horn. I looked in the mirror and he was catching up with me fast. His headlights now full on to make it obvious he was there. I could see his hand shaking at me out of the window.

Is that a gun in his hand, or is he just wearing a black glove? I can't see properly and drive fast at the same time.

What the hell does he want? Why can't he go away?

If only there were other cars on the road I could signal for help. Or pedestrians; not that there are many in the countryside. It's just a long narrow winding road with either trees on either side or a deep ditch inviting me to fall in and end my life.

I kept driving as fast as I could without endangering my life. He kept following me ... for thirty miles now.

I was entering my town and gaining some bravado confidence.

Why is it we feel brave and confident on home territory? If the other man is bigger and stronger than you he is just as likely to punch you on the nose in your front garden as anywhere else. He doesn't know or care this is your home territory. If he is determined enough to finish you of, because of some unknown reason, or to get rid of a witness, he would do it regardless.

Anyway, now is not the time for philosophical discussions. Especially since my mind is concentrating on going to the bathroom as well as escaping my pursuer. Although I cannot work out which is the more pressing priority!

Why can't they have bathrooms in cars? There must be a way of relieving yourself whilst driving, surely. What is the point of having all the technology to send a man on the moon if we cannot solve such a simple problem? What do they do when on rockets to the moon? Surely they have a system of relieving themselves. Why can't car manufacturers install a similar system in cars?

It's amazing how one's brain works when in a panic.

All these questions rushing through my mind and pressing on my bladder did not solve the problem of my pursuer.

At the next traffic light, which incidentally was red, my bravery took over from my cautiousness and I stopped the car abruptly.

He stopped behind me.

I got out of the car and walked purposely towards him.

I did not know what I was going to say or what I would do. My stupidity had taken control of my mind.

What if he attacked me? What if he had a knife, or a gun, or a baseball bat even?

Thankfully, none of these thoughts crossed my mind, because if they did my bladder would have given up in despair.

As I approached the blue car behind me he pulled down his car window.

Before I said anything he asked: "Who are you?"

I had to think for a second or two before knowing what to answer.

He continued: "You're not Thomas!"

"No ... I am not ..." I mumbled incoherently that I hardly understood myself.

"You're not Thomas Haversmith!" he said. "Where's Thomas?"

"I am not Thomas, and I don't know who or where he is," I said gaining a little courage from I don't know where, "why the hell have you been following me for some thirty miles?"

"I have not been following you," he replied with some irritation in his voice, "I have been following Thomas. I did not know the way to the Conference Centre and he told me to follow him. I did follow him as we left the car park, and I drove for miles only to find it is you and not Thomas! And I must say, you are a terrible driver. Thomas would not drive like that!"

I was so relieved to hear his explanation; not literally relieved, you understand.

I asked him to follow me in the pub up ahead, where I literally relieved myself; and then gave him step by step directions back the thirty miles to the Conference Centre he was supposed to be at.

He told me that he was a guest speaker at the Conference Centre and was due there over an hour ago. He also used my cell-phone to explain to an irate Thomas Haversmith why he was late to address the meeting on the subject of in-car satellite navigation systems.

Inventions that changed the world

It never ceases to amaze me how inventive and creative is the human mind, and how many inventions we have developed over the years, over the centuries, which not only have helped human kind and advanced its knowledge and well-being, but have actually been vital to our very existence.

They say that the world's greatest ever invention was the wheel; but I do not agree. Perhaps the greatest invention was the second wheel, because then you had a bicycle.

But there have been many other great inventions since then; perhaps even better than the wheel. The door bell for instance. Before the door bell people had to knock on doors to be let in. Most doors in ancient days had ornate door knockers made of metal, sometimes brass or iron, and you lifted the knocker which was attached to the door by a hinge and you made a knocking sound which reverberated throughout the house and people inside would let you in.

This gave rise to knock knock jokes. I'm sure you've heard most of them so I won't bother you with any right now. But when the door bell was invented people stopped telling each other knock knock jokes. They all seemed to have died down somehow.

Knock knock

Who's there

Grandad!

Quick, open the coffin!

Anyway ... as I was saying, did you know my grand-father was a great inventor. He invented the colour mauve. Before then there was red, and there was blue, and violet, and purple, but no mauve. He went to the shops with my grandma and she tried a dress on. She asked him, "Do you like the colour? What is it called?"

He was eager to go home and replied, "Come on ... move!"

She said, "Mauve ... that's my favourite colour from now on!"

The other day at a fancy restaurant I discovered another new invention. An electric fork. You press a button and the fork end goes round and round to help you pick up spaghetti from your plate. It's rather dangerous if you happen to get it caught in your beard, though. I got an electric shock from it too.

Personally, I think the greatest invention ever is the left shoe. If they hadn't invented the left shoe you'd be walking round the street limping with every step because one leg would be shorter than the other. You'd have to walk on the edge of the side-walk with the right foot with a shoe on the road, and the left bare foot on the side-walk in order to walk straight. The problem with this is that you'd be going round and round the same block turning left all the time and never getting to where you want to go. Unless it was somewhere on the block where you live, like the shop down the road. Once you bought what you wanted you'd go all the way round your block until you reached your house once again.

The left shoe invention solved all that problem.

Another great invention, just as good as the left shoe I reckon, is the whoopee cushion. Before the whoopee cushion people had to rely on baked beans to make embarrassing sounds at parties. Or cabbage or Brussels sprouts. The whoopee cushion spared us from eating such stuff and now we can have a great laugh at any occasion without worrying what we eat. They are great fun at all gatherings, especially funerals. Just place a few whoopee cushions on the pews in church and watch what happens as the mourners sit down with their long sad faces. It's guaranteed to cheer everyone up in the most solemn of occasions.

I remember once I attended the funeral of a friend who was a clown at a travelling circus. Someone had placed a number of whoopee cushions on the pews. It was great fun when we all sat down together after the first hymn!

Speaking From My Sock

So … why call my new book, “Speaking from my sock”? 

It’s simple really. You see, I am a very shy kind of person and find it difficult starting conversations, or keeping up with conversations, for that matter. It’s not just the starting bit, but the continuation too which is a problem with me. Ending a conversation is much easier though. I just stop talking.

Years ago, when I was a child, my parents made me a sock puppet from an old sock. And the rest is history. I have not stopped talking since. At least the sock puppet hasn’t.

The other day for instance, I had reason to phone for a plumber. Easily done on the phone. But when he turned up I became very shy again. So I put on the sock puppet and all went well …

“Hello Mr Plumber,” said the sock, “how good of you to come over so quickly within a fortnight. Please excuse my silent friend with his hand up my rear. He doesn’t speak much. But he told me to tell you that our sink is blocked. We think another sock somehow got down the plug hole!”

And there you have it. A new book written by me with the help of my sock puppet. Thank you for buying it and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as the sock enjoyed writing it.

This book is a collection of short humourous stories and anecdotes, some heard here and there over the years, others originating from the deep recesses of my mind. 

AMAZON LINK HERE

Baseball

Many years ago I was fortunate to visit Houston, in Texas, on business. Whilst there my hosts took me to the Houston Astrodome to see the Astros play baseball. I cannot say that I understood what was going on, but I enjoyed that evening and the whole atmosphere at the game.

When I got back to England, I wondered why, at the time, we did not play so much baseball in the UK. We play football, (soccer), rugby and cricket but not baseball. A few business friends and I decided to set up a baseball team and perhaps help promote the game round our town.

We advertised our intentions in the newspapers and for a week or so waited for people to come forwards wishing to play the game. We did not receive one reply to our advert.

It was then that we realised that we had not put an address or phone number for people to contact us. So we ran the advert again and got a few volunteers wanting to learn to play baseball.

Sadly, most of them were totally useless. One of them got hit in the head by the ball and ended up in hospital. Another got hit much lower down his body and he too went to hospital. His wife was none too pleased about where he got hurt. All in all our efforts to build up a team of players seemed to be a difficult task ahead. But we persevered. We hired a coach who knew a thing or two about baseball and we trained these youngsters as best we could.

One day, a horse came into my office. He was quite confident as he pulled up a chair and sat there lighting a cigarette. He said that he wanted to join our baseball team and that he could play very well.

I could not believe my eyes. Or ears for that matter. I had a horse in my office wanting to play baseball.

I told him there and then that it was against the rules.

He smiled and said, "No it isn't. Check it out!"

Believe me ... this is true ... honest ... We did check out the rules and there is nothing to say that a horse cannot play baseball. If you don't believe me then check it out yourselves. You'll see I am telling the truth.

As a matter of interest, we also checked the cricket rules too, and there's nothing there about horses either.

Well, as it happened, we had a game scheduled for that very Saturday. So we decided that our horse would be the first one to start the game. He held the bat tightly in his hand, (or hoof), and faced the pitcher. (You see, I know the right term to use for the guy who throws the ball).

Our horse hit the ball so hard that it flew high in the sky at a million miles an hour and I think it landed three or four streets away from where we were playing.

Everyone was totally astounded and flabbergasted at the same time.

The horse just stood still, totally frozen, and did not move a muscle.

"RUN ... RUN ..." I shouted at him, "RUN !!!!"

"Run?" he said, "Run? If I could run I'd be at the Kentucky Derby not in your poxy English town!"

Giving Up

It happens to all of us I suppose at one time or another.

We try to achieve something, but the more we try the more we fail. We try again and again and we fail one more time. We’re so tired of trying to achieve our goal that we feel like giving up.

It is said that on His way to Calvary Jesus fell to the ground three times. It is not Biblical of course, but we can assume that He must have stumbled or fallen at least once.

He was exhausted. He had been beaten, mocked, spat upon and tortured. His disciples had run away in fear, one of whom even denied Him three times, He must have been totally exhausted carrying His Cross up that hill.

That's enough to make anybody give up.

Jesus could have stayed there on the ground and died on the spot. But He got up. Three times, He got up and continued His journey to a cruel and very painful death.

He did it for us. He did it because His Father asked Him to.

Let that be our inspiration to try once again when we feel like giving up.

The Painter,

Once upon a time there was an unscrupulous painter who was very interested in making extra money if he could. He often thinned down his paint with turpentine to make it go a bit further. Sadly, he got away with this for some time.

One day Father Ignatius decided to paint the outside of the Parish Hall white. He asked for several quotations and this painter’s was the lowest price quoted. As the priest was short of funds the painter in question got the job.

So he set about erecting the scaffolding and setting up the planks, and buying the paint and, yes, I am sorry to say, thinning it down with turpentine.

As the painter was up on the scaffolding, painting away, the job nearly completed, there was suddenly a horrendous clap of thunder, the sky opened, and the rain poured down washing the thinned paint from all over the Parish Hall walls, and knocking the painter clear off the scaffold to land on the lawn among the gravestones, surrounded by tell-tale puddles of the thinned and useless paint.

The painter realised that this was a judgement from above …

He got on his knees and cried:

“Oh God … oh God … help me … what should I do?”

And just then a thunderous voice replied:

“Repaint !!! Repaint !!! And thin no more !!!”

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Thomas' Legacy

I visited some friends the other day. It was a warm evening so we sat in the garden chatting. Moments later they both went into the house to prepare some refreshments and left me in the garden alone.

I sat admiring the view when suddenly out of the bushes came a fox. He moved around for a few seconds then hid again.

When my friend came out I told him about the fox. “Can’t be a fox” he said, “we live too far into town for a fox to come here …”

I said nothing and continued our conversation. Minutes later out came the fox again for a short while.

My friend shouted to his wife still in the house “We’ve got a fox in the back garden!”

Her exact reply was “Can’t be a fox, we live too far into town for a fox to come here!”

He called her a doubting Thomas and laughed it off.

Later that evening I thought about Thomas the disciple. What a service he did for Christianity without realizing it. By doubting Christ’s resurrection Jesus appeared again, and this time Thomas saw Him. The whole event was witnessed by the other disciples and recorded for us to read years later.

Had Thomas not doubted, we would have lost a valuable piece of evidence of Christ’s resurrection.

Jesus said to him, "Do you believe because you see me? How happy are those who believe without seeing me!" John 20:29.

Can we really trust God?

It is natural, of course, for children to trust their parents. They accept without questionning that their parents love them and will  "not give them a stone if they ask for bread" or "give them a snake when they ask for a fish" (Luke 11:11).

This natural trust which we all have at birth continues as we grow up until some day someone hurts us for the first time. We become wary and careful to protect our vulnerability. Our trust dies a little. We become more selective in whom we trust and how much we trust different people.

It is in our nature to be careful and self-protective in this way. To trust everyone explicitly without question borders on immaturity or naivety to the extreme.

So, how do we get to totally trust an unseen God? A God we have grown to believe in, and now we purport to trust that He loves us and has our best interest at heart?

How do we trust Him when/if we've experienced frequent un-answered prayers; or when things go wrong in our lives?

Sure, it is easy to say glibly, "Trust in God", He wants the best for us, He loves us, and so on.

But at what point do we really trust Him above all else and say, "Thy will be done", and honestly mean it?

Regardless of the outcome of the situation, however bad it may be, we trust Him all the same. Because we know deep in our hearts that He will see us through our current difficulties.

It seems impossible doesn't it? To totally trust an unseen God without question. Just like a child.

But we have examples of others who have done just that.

The Virgin Mary trusted Him so much that she declared, "let it be as God says", when she was visited by the Angel Gabriel.

Joseph trusted Him too when he took Mary as his wife.

Paul, Peter and the other early followers of Christ trusted Him too even when thrown into jail several times, were beaten, persecuted, stoned and put to death. They didn't say, "Enough with all that. God has let us down many times and let us be imprisoned and beaten".

They still held on to their trust. Even to the point of death itself. They still trusted God and His Son Jesus.

How?

I suppose it is by surrendering their all to God. Literally giving their everything, their lives even, to God, in the full knowledge that, whatever happens, it will be for the good. They literally accepted that their lives were not their own and that their God, the God in Whom they trusted, would protect them even if it meant that they would die for Him.

These days of macho-liberated culture, we tend to consider surrender as a weakness.

In fact it is a strength.

Can you imagine the will-power and concentration of mind required to say, "I totally trust you God, no matter what happens. You will look after me and my loved ones"?

And really believe it ... yes, really and truly believe it.

To be one thousand per cent certain that all will turn out all right?

This is no sign of weakness, no sign of surrender; but an act of strength and faith in the extreme.

To many this may seem impossible. Too difficult a proposition. Against our very nature to be wary and suspicious.

Perhaps so. But it should not stop us from trying.

And when our trust falters. When we hesitate and perhaps our "inner voice" makes us doubt His true love. We stop, ask His forgiveness, and start once again.

Through His grace He will lift us up and renew our trust in Him once again.

Your Emmaus Valley

“Father, is it possible that God stops loving us?” Roger asked Father Ignatius.

The priest stopped what he was doing and asked, “What brought this on? It’s rather a strange question to ask.”

“Well Father,” continued Roger, “We’re told that God loves all of us. But is it possible that sometimes He turns His attention to someone else, and we’re not in His good books, or in His priorities anymore?”

“Feeling neglected are we … is that the problem?”

“No Father … it’s that … I don’t know … I seem to be down in the valley at this moment in time. Sometimes I’m right up there and I feel great and all is well … and then at times I feel really down and things aren’t going so well …”

“Aha … I see …” exclaimed the priest, “remember, that in order to be up there, as you put it, we must start from a low point.

“There are times when our Faith is really strong and we feel at one with God … and then at times, we begin to wobble and wonder and doubt …

“It’s usually when things aren’t going so well in our lives. Is that what is happening to you?”

Roger hesitated. “Perhaps … yes, I feel a bit fearful about life in general … will I still have my job this time next year, with the financial situation being what it is? How will I cope at my age? Would I get another job … you know the sort of worries we all have …”

Father Ignatius remained silent for a while, allowing Roger to think about what he had just said. Then he asked:

“I was reading Luke Chapter 24 Verse 13 onwards this morning. Do you know what it is about?”

Roger shook his head.

“It’s an unfair question I suppose … to expect you to know chapter and verse by heart … not even a priest can do that!” exclaimed Father Ignatius.

Roger smiled.

“Just after Christ’s Resurrection, two of His followers were going to Emmaus,” said Father Ignatius.

“They were totally distraught about Jesus’ death, and even though they had heard news that His tomb is empty and that Christ is alive, they were still down-hearted and confused.

“Jesus appeared to them on the way. They did not recognize Him. They spoke with Him and told Him their news. They said that their Lord and leader had been crucified, and there were rumors going around that He was raised from the dead and He was alive again.

“Jesus did not tell them who He was but explained to them the prophets’ predictions about Him. He walked with them all the way to Emmaus, but still they did not recognize Him. It wasn’t until He broke and blessed the bread that they recognized Him.”

The priest paused again for a while; and then he went on.

“Why? I ask myself.

“Why did they not recognize Him when they first saw Him, or when He took the time to explain to them the writings of the prophets?

“Could it be that their minds were more pre-occupied with their own problems and their dilemma rather than listening to Him?

“You can just imagine how their mind worked and how concerned they were about their predicament.

“Their leader is dead. What are they to do now? Is it all over? Every thing He said and taught comes to nothing? And what of the future? What are His followers to do now?

“Can you see how their mind was working Roger?”

“Yes … I suppose they were frightened about their future,” said Roger.

“Just like you …” said Father Ignatius with a gentle smile.

“We are all just the same as those two disciples at times …

“Sudden events may affect our lives and turn it upside down. Events perhaps of our own making sometimes … or events that we did not contribute to, but they affect us all the same.

“And we panic. We fear the future, we fear matters getting out of our control and we turn our attention to our problems and our dilemma. Just like those two on the way to Emmaus.

“And from being on a high up there with our Lord, we’re suddenly plunged into the valley you find yourself in right now.

“Yet, all the time we are panicking Jesus is there, walking right beside us. Quite literally! He is waiting for us to recognize Him, to trust Him, and hold His hand in the full knowledge that He will see us through our darkest hour.

“It is our doubts, our fears and our worries which prevent us from seeing Him.”

Easter Lies and Truth

As we celebrate the Resurrection of Our Lord let us remember that this particular event gave rise to many speculations and rumours all those years ago, and indeed over the years since then.

Let’s consider the facts as we know them.

A man claiming to be the Son of God was crucified and died a most horrible death.

After His death, His followers claimed that He rose from the dead as He had said He would.

Now let’s look at the rumours and the conspiracy theories.

It is possible that Christ’s disciples and followers stole and hid the body of Jesus to perpetuate the story that He is the Son of God and that His Father raised Him from the dead.

But if that were the case; what benefit is there to them to disseminate this story knowing full well that it is a lie? Why suffer persecution, imprisonment, torture and death for something you know to be false? Would you do that?

The other theory is that the Jews, the Sadducees or Pharisees, removed the body in order to stop any beliefs that Christ is the Messiah, the Son of God.

But if that were the case; then why not produce the body once the disciples said that Jesus rose from the dead and invalidate the story of the Resurrection right from the start? Isn't that what one would expect in such circumstances?

Another hypothesis is that Christ never died at all. He just lost consciousness or was in a coma, and He woke up once again and walked out of the tomb.

But the Romans were very thorough people. They made sure that those crucified were indeed dead by breaking their legs whilst hanging there. They did not do so to Jesus because when they checked He was already dead. Even so, they did pierce His side with a spear just to make sure.

And then; there is of course the fact:

Christ died on the Cross and rose from the dead.

This Man

Imagine you’re a person of authority in a Court of Law.

The judge, the final arbiter, whatever you say happens.

And they bring to you a man. He is fairly ordinary looking and they accuse Him of saying He is the Son of God. And this is blasphemy according to the Law and He should be put to death.

Before you make such a momentous decision on the man’s life, you decide to do some investigations.

You check and you find that this man has been around for about three years or so. He has been travelling up and down the land, and He has indeed said several times that He is the Son of God. He preaches to people and He tells them to repent from their sins and to follow the Way of the Lord.

So you wonder about this and you think “Well, maybe if I can prove that this man is mad, I could let Him off. I could tell the people that He is insane, and they should let Him go, and I could warn Him not to repeat what He says because it would get Him into deep trouble”.

So you check on the man’s sanity and you find that indeed He is not mad at all. Many people can testify to the fact that he has preached in the temples, and He has debated with religious elders, and shows no sign of being mentally insane whatsoever. Indeed, He is very wise.

And you also find that this man seems to have some supernatural powers because He has healed many people up and down the country. The blind can see, the deaf can hear, the dumb can talk and the lame can walk. And there’s plenty of evidence for what He has done. There’s even a Roman Officer who can testify that He has healed. What better evidence do you want?

And also, you understand, that apparently He has raised people from the dead. Now that’s very strange. No one has ever done that before. But again there’s plenty of evidence of that. There’s the family of a man called Lazarus who apparently had died and had been entombed for a few days yet Jesus raised him from the dead and raised other people from the dead.

And when He preaches He says to people “Your Faith has saved you” whatever that means. And He heals them.

He doesn’t charge at all for what He is doing. He just wants people to repent and follow the Lord.

So you wonder whether He’s some sort of trickster, some sort of charlatan. So you order your soldiers to beat Him up and to rough Him a bit to see whether He admits to being a liar, a cheat.

Your soldiers torture Him, beat Him up, they put a crown of thorns on His head because He claims to being a King of some sort. But after all that the man still does not say anything in His defence.

So you give up. You think, “Well, He is one of their people. He is not one of us. So what’s it to do with me if they want to kill Him.”

So you give orders for Him to be put to death.

Your soldiers put a Cross on His back and ask Him to carry it all the way to the place where He is nailed to that Cross and left there to die.

And just before He dies He asks God in Heaven, to forgive these people, because they don’t know what they are doing.

What’s more strange is that three days later this very man is Himself raised from the dead.  And a lot of people see Him and can testify to his Resurrection.

Now I wonder. Is this enough evidence that this man is really the Son of God?

Because it is for me.

Is ignorance a sin?

Years ago I knew a man who did not believe in God. He was the kindest, most generous and nicest person you could wish to meet. Always smiling and helping others where he could. He just did not believe in God. He did not do it out of malice or rebellion or in any way in enmity with God. He just lived life as it came and did not venture into religion of any kind.

He was not like some people you meet today who openly proclaim their un-belief and encourage others to do the same. Or those celebrities and comedians who at every opportunity would say on TV and radio or in the press that they do not believe in an antiquated notion such as an Almighty Creator and Deity; and indeed would mock Christianity and those who profess it.

No, this friend of mine did not believe in God more out of ignorance and because he did not bother to find out more. Somehow, he never experienced the love of God in his life and he and Christ never walked side-by-side along life’s journey.

This man is long dead now; and I wonder, did his lack of belief mean that he is spending an eternity in hell? Or is his sin of ignorance, or sin of omission, somehow forgiven and God’s mercy has prevailed?

Is it right and just to treat and judge him as the same as those who not only disbelief out of rebellion, but encourage others to do the same?

How serious is the sin of ignorance, and perhaps stupidity, in the eyes of God?

What do you think?

Idiosyncrasies and me

I suspect we all have our idiosyncrasies, our particular quirks and foibles. The things that make us be us. Different from anyone else.

And I am no different in that respect.

My particular peculiarity is that whenever I have to go somewhere I have never been to before, I like to go there the day before to check how to get there, plan my route, and see where the place is.

The difficulty with this is that I have to attend many business meetings in far away towns and cities. Some requiring a long drive of up to twelve hours. So I set off early the day before my meeting, drive all the way there, and drive back home only to discover that now is the time to set off once again for my meeting the next day.


It's the same if my travels are by train. I go to the railway station the day before. Check the time the train is to leave the following day and from which platform it will leave. This is to ensure that the day in question I do not get on the wrong train and end up travelling South rather than my destination up North.

Once I asked the train driver whether he had been to that place before. His answer was somewhat unkind.

Some friends suggested that I join a self-help group in town who maybe can help me with this particular problem. I got on the internet and applied to join.

The day before the meeting of the self-help group, somewhere in town not so far away, I decided to go and find out where this place is. When I got there I found that a number of other people joining this group had also got there the day before to check where the place is.

I got talking to some of them and went for a coffee at a nearby shop.

When I got home that day, rather late past midnight, I had got an e-mail saying that the venue for the meeting the next day had been changed. So I got out again late at night and went to town to check where this new venue was. When I got there, some other members of the group were also there checking where the new venue was.

Eventually I got to the first meeting of the group. We all went to check where the gents and ladies toilets were before the meeting started.

One way of getting us to overcome our acquired habit is to blindfold the whole group, take us by bus to a secret place in town about a mile or two away, take off the blindfolds and get us to walk back to the meeting place.

It took me a week to make my way back to the meeting place. Because I first had to find my way there, then when I got there, I made my way back to the place the bus had dropped us, then I made my way to the meeting place properly.

So I gave up attending these self-help group meetings. Especially since the meetings were not always in the same room in that big building; thus necessitating extra walking backwards and forwards finding the new rooms.

I have still not got over the habit of going places the day before to check where a new place is.

In fact, my habit has got worse. I have had to write this post at least twice so far to make sure it is OK before I have to write it properly. I am not sure whether this is the last and proper version of this post or whether I have to re-visit it again. I am not even certain whether I have posted it here or not; and indeed whether once it is posted, you will have to read it more than once to ensure you read it properly when you have finally read it.

Can you help? And once you have helped, can you help again?

I lost my pants !!!

 

I needed some new clothes for work so I visited this large Department Store in town and started looking around. Pretty soon I found the perfect pair of trousers in varying colors. What would suit me best do you think? Dark blue? Black? Gray?

I took all three and proceeded to one of those cubicles where you can try your clothes on before you buy them.

The man in charge led me to a cubicle and asked me to press a little button if I needed any help.

I got in and tried the first pair of trousers … too tight. The second pair was too long in the legs. And the third was too tight and too short.

Why can’t they make trousers that fit exactly as the size it says on the label? Admittedly the three pairs of trousers were made by different manufacturers but the labels clearly said the same size on all three. And that is my size. The size I measured myself at home and the size of my current trousers which fit me perfectly well.

I proceeded to take off the last pair of trousers and pressed the little button as instructed.

Immediately, almost instantaneously, the male attendant turned up and I explained the situation to him. He took the items away and promised to get me bigger sizes.

I turned round to get dressed and … disaster!

The silly man had taken away the trousers I was wearing when I came into the shop as well as the other three.

So there I was. Trouser-less in a cubicle, and also minus my wallet and car keys which were in my trouser pockets.

I pressed the little button frantically again. Nothing happened. I pressed and pressed and still nothing happened.

Eventually the man returned empty handed.

“I’m sorry Sir; we don’t have any other sizes!”

I explained what had happened and he went away trying to retrieve my own trousers which he had put away with the other trousers to be sold in the store.

I waited for what must have been an eternity. Trapped in a store with no trousers to my name.

Eventually a female voice was heard to say, “Try these and we’ll see if they’re OK!” and a hand came in through the thick curtain and handed me two dresses. One pink and one light blue!

Almost instinctively, I don’t know why, I took the dresses and for a few seconds stared at them. It then occurred to me to look out of the cubicle and call the female attendant back.

Too late! She too had vanished in the store never to be seen again.

“Dear God … what do I do now?” I muttered under my breath.

Well, I suppose the Good Lord must have been listening because there, standing beside the socks rack, was our Parish priest.

In desperation, I tried to attract his attention without making a scene.

“Pssst … Pssst …” I uttered nervously as if calling a cat.

At this point I should tell you that Father Frederic is somewhat old and hard of hearing. He didn’t move one inch and continued looking at different pairs of socks.

“Psst … Psst …” I went again. No response.

“Father Frederic!!!” I said quietly yet forcefully enough that he might hear.

He stopped what he was doing. Looked around and saw no one calling him. Then he looked up to Heaven and made the Sign of the Cross.

“Over here … Father!” I said more forcefully.

He saw me hiding behind the curtain of my cubicle and approached me tentatively.

“I thought the Good Lord was calling me!” he exclaimed.

“No … it was me,” I replied still holding the two dresses, “I’m in an embarrassing situation Father!”

“Oh dear …” said my priest, “it is embarrassing. I didn’t know you liked to wear women’s clothes!”

“Hein? I DON’T!!!”

“No need to be shy about it my son. You really must resist the temptation … and you must come to Confession too.”

“Father … you don’t understand … These are not my clothes!”

“No of course not,” he interrupted, “they’re women’s clothes and you can rest assured that your secret is safe with me. It’s as if you told me about it in Confession. Come to think of it, this curtain is lovely and thick … we need to change the curtains in our confessionals!”

“Father let me explain … I need a pair of trousers!” I said as calmly yet as firmly as possible.

“What? You came here without trousers? You didn’t wear a dress in public did you? That’s rather foolhardy you know. What if a parishioner saw you … you’d bring the whole congregation into disrepute you know!”

At that point I think Saint Anthony must have stepped in and come to my rescue; even though I’d forgotten to pray to him.

The male attendant returned with my original pair of trousers, and my wallet, and car keys.

A week later at Confession Father Frederic whispered to me through the brand new confessional curtains “Are you sure you have nothing else to confess? Something pink and something blue … and worn by pretty ladies!”

MORE OF MY MEMOIRS HERE

 

Palm Trees Ahoy !!!

Very strange thing happened round our neighbourhood the other day. I was in the kitchen enjoying my breakfast of toast and ginger marmalade when there was a loud grinding type noise outside in the street. It sounded like heavy machinery. The sort of noise you hear big engines make.

I rushed to the front door and there outside our house was this huge truck, with an even more huge crane on the back, un-loading a truck full of fully grown palm trees ready planted in big concrete containers. I quickly asked my wife if she had ordered palm trees from the Internet and she denied it. I always start on neutral ground by blaming someone else first.

This truck was full of palm trees; about twenty at least, all swaying to and fro in the light breeze which was soon to rise to a full storm as my blood pressure increased. The driver was standing in the street and operating the crane which picked each tree by the base concrete container, lifted it off the truck, and gently lowered it onto the sidewalk. He carefully placed each tree side-by-side on the sidewalk regardless as to whether they blocked peoples' driveways entrance or not. He had already un-loaded four trees and blocked my driveway with my car trapped on my property.

I went to the driver in my pyjamas ... I'd better rephrase this ... the driver was not in my pyjamas. He was by the truck. I was in my pyjamas, and I was the only one in them to be precise.

As I was saying, before your thoughts interrupted me ... I went to the driver and shouted over the noise of the crane machinery to ask him what he was doing delivering all these trees and blocking peoples' driveways. By this time, I hasten to explain, he had un-loaded about seven trees and had blocked my neighbour's driveway too.

He switched off the crane and explained that he knew nothing about it. He was only the delivery man and had been told to un-load the trees side-by-side, as close to each other as possible, on both side walks on both sides of the road. He explained that there were another six or so other trucks on their way to unload their trees in our street.

The trees were heavy and in their concrete base it was impossible to move them once they were parked on the side walk.

I decided to go in and phone someone in authority, whilst a few other neighbours came out to complain and another two trucks arrived with their loads.

Who do I phone in such circumstances? I can hardly phone the police and say there are some palm trees causing a disturbance outside!

I decided to phone the mayor's office and, to cut a long story short, I was transferred from one department to another, each disclaiming responsibility for trees, road maintenance, potholes, noise disturbance, and everything else to do with everything else in this universe. Why do they employ so many people in so many departments if none of them deals with palm tree deliveries?

Eventually I was transferred to a surly sounding man appropriately named Mr Gardner, would you believe.

He asked abruptly, "Name?" I gave him my name.

"Not your name," he said, "what's the address?"

"It's a garment worn by women," I replied, "what's that got to do with the palm trees situation?"

After a few seconds' silence whilst he digested the information he asked again, "Where do you live?"

"In a detached house North of town not far from the park and golf club ..." I explained when he interrupted me.

"Look madam ..." he said, "I haven't got all day to deal with this. I also have fifty flamingos to despatcth today ..."

"How dare you call me madam" I exclaimed in as manly a voice as I could muster, "I am a HE!"

"A he what?" he asked.

"A he man," I said, "how dare you insinuate I am a woman just because I am wearing pink pyjamas!"

"I am sorry ... I have a cold ..." he apologised.

I felt sorry for him and tried to suggest a remedy. "What are the symptoms?" I asked.

"They are yellow cartoon characters on TV," he replied, "what has that to do with my cold and your palm trees?"

Anyway ... years later ... after a phone conversation which lasted a lifetime, it transpired that the trees were destined for the Avenue Park in the South of town and not Park Avenue where we happen to live.

He promised to have them re-directed, but in the meantime we had six trucks delivering about one hundred trees blocking all the driveways on both side walks all along our street for at least three days, before another load of trucks came to take them away.