The woman who worked with strippers

Her name was Sylvia and I met her on Hastings Pier.  It was Easter Saturday in 1963 and I was 17 at that time.  Once a month a group of Christian people took over the restaurant area.  Tables were cleared away and seating was laid out in theatre style. Each month a special speaker was invited and the event advertised.

It had been announced at our church youth group:  “Sylvia Smith will be talking about her work in Soho among prostitutes and strippers”.  Unsurprisingly, the topic sounded attractive to an adolescent male.  Several of us from the youth group turned up. I had been shopping at Freeman Hardy and Willis shortly before meeting up with my friends at a local coffee bar and still had my new plimsolls with me.  In those days, coffee bars were where teenager hung out.

We made our way across to the pier.  The room was already full but we found some space near the back.  Sylvia was a young and attractive woman with a voice that was pleasant to listen to.  These days I cannot remember a thing she said about her work as an evangelist in Soho, but I remember it sounded pretty exciting.  What I do remember is that she slipped seamlessly from talking about her work into a talk about the betrayal, arrest, trial and crucifixion of Jesus.  I had never heard a talk like it.

Sure, I knew the story pretty well.  In the fifties almost every kid in the UK was taken to a church Sunday School and I was typical.  However, as soon as I hit my teens I managed to break free by joining Sea Cadets. I hadn’t given up on God exactly; just abandoned church for something more interesting.  After all, my church seemed to have been run by a group of dusty old men, some of whom, in my opinion, were not that Christian. Church - the grown up version - contrasted to the more engaging Sunday School.  But I was free of it; free from moral constraints. Over the next four years my lifestyle became increasingly profligate, carefully hidden from my parents.

An incident at a drunken party followed by a trip to A&E at a local hospital provided a wake-up call.  But my best efforts at reforming my life were ineffective. Then a man I didn't know and who didn’t know me passed on a gospel leaflet to me in the street near my home and then went away and prayed every day for me.  That leaflet could have been written specifically for me at that time. It contained just one scripture reference: Jesus saying that whoever came to him he would never turn away. Reading it in my bedroom some time later, I said a short prayer asking if I could be accepted.

In the months that followed, my attitude began to change.  I joined a youth group at the church I had abandoned. There I made friends and fell in love (well, I thought I had) with Rosemary.  After I had attended for a few weeks, the church Minister announced that the following week I would be speaking on my favourite Psalm.  There had been no consultation about that, but sitting next to Rosemary (whose dad was also a Minister), I didn’t want to lose face. With the help of an inherited Study Bible, the following week I spoke on Psalm 23 referencing the imagery of sheep that had strayed and a shepherd who gave his life for the sheep.  It was sincere and wasn’t a bad talk. Unfortunately, Rosemary was not there to be impressed.

Afterwards, when I went to ride home, my bicycle seemed rooted to the spot.  I discovered the Minister had hold on the back of the saddle. “Now I know where you stand, when can I baptise you?” he asked.  Unable to come up with a decent excuse, I found myself enrolled in a series of pre-baptism session alongside Rosemary’s two brothers.  But, frankly, my faith was very weak so when it came to a final interview to see if I was a fit person to be baptised and admitted to church membership, one of the deacons, Rosemary’s dad, declared me unfit.  Fortunately the other interviewing deacon said that God had told him that I should be received even though my faith was weak.

Baptism in my church was by total immersion and the newly plimsolls I was carrying that evening on Hastings Pier had been purchased for the occasion which was due to take place the following day.  My baptism was meant to be a sign and declaration of faith, but it was a faith with many holes and somewhat uncertain. But as Sylvia moved into her Easter message things were about to change once more.

One by one, she focused on each person significant in the story.  We considered Judas who professed to be a disciple, but who for personal reasons betrayed Jesus with a kiss.  We considered Peter who had professed undying loyalty but under pressure denied even knowing Jesus. We considered Herod whose only interest in Jesu seemed to be to satisfy a personal whim.  We considered Pilate who, rather than do what he knew to be right, washed his hands of responsibility. We considered the soldiers who had carried out the death sentence, nailing an innocent man to a cruel cross.  After each description, Sylvia quoted the words that Jesus had prayed, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”.

Two things hit me during that talk.  The first was how much my life showed similar weaknesses to each of the characters sending Jesus to the cross.  The second was the amazing love that Jesus demonstrated. Before that meeting if you had asked me why did Jesus die on a cross, my baptismal classes would have ensured that I could explain that he died for the sin of the world.  After the meeting, asked the same question I would answer, “because he loved me, undeserving as I was”.

The talk ended and a hymn was announced.  It was a hymn I knew so well I could recite the words of each verse.  As people began to sing I found myself struggling as I contemplated the final verse. It was Isaac Watts’ famous hymn, When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died…  It took on a fresh and personal meaning in the light of all I had heard that evening.  As we sang “See from his head, his hands, his feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down.  Did e’er such love and sorrow meet or thorns compose so rich a crown?” it was almost as if I was there watching this man die and hearing those amazing words of loving forgiveness.

But I knew the words of the final verse, and knew my weakness was such that I dared not sing them.  I could not sing them unless God enabled me to really mean what I was coming. As that verse began, I found myself singing with an absolute sincerity.  “Love so amazing, so divine demands my soul, my life,my all”  I had felt the love of God that evening and knew that I had to surrender all I was and all my hopes and ambitions at the pierced feet of the man who surrendered everything for me.

Clutching the plimsolls firmly in my hand I walked home with a new eagerness as I looked forward to the next day; Easter Sunday and my baptism.  What it would be symbolising was now burning in my heart.

© Barry Osborne 2018

A Strange Souvenir

It was a strange souvenir for anyone to want. No doubt we have all held onto a souvenir at some time. It might have been a programme from a concert, something we brought back from a holiday, or possibly a child's favourite toy or an item to remind us of a person we have loved. But certainly, this was a strange souvenir the men wanted from that day of days.

The problem was that there were several of them but only the one item. It was a linen garment with one previous owner, a seamless robe. On one hand too good to tear up so that they could all have a piece. On the other hand it was pretty badly stained with blood. So the solution was to gamble for it. One of them produced a pair of dice and each took a turn threw them. The highest score would be the winner. A mixture of cheers and groans marked the outcome of each throw. Each man eager for the prize.

The owner of that robe watched them gambling for what had been his. Not long before the same men had stretched out his body and driven nails through his flesh to hold him tight to the wood. Then they had raised him vertically while they waited for him to die.

To the pain of the nails and the beating he had previously received, there was now added the discomfort of struggling for breath. He had not said much through the trial or when they ridiculed him. But now, in order to expand his lungs and gain enough breath to speak, he had to pull himself up by those nails through his hands and push himself up from the nails through his feet.

A lesser man might have used his elevated position to spit on his tormentors. He had been spat upon by many in the mocking crowd surrounding him. But this man somehow found the strength to draw a breath and pray for these men who had hammered nails through his flesh and now gambled for that blood stained robe. Not a curse, but a prayer,

The winner grasped his prize and held it aloft. The back showed bloody stripes where he had been whipped until his flayed back looked like a ploughed field. It would need a good wash before it could be worn again. Crucifixion was a dirty business and it would take more than a good wash to make him feel clean again. It was a strange souvenir, but it would always bring back to his mind the words of that prayer. “Father forgive them, they do not understand what they are doing”.

(c)Barry Osborne 2018

Lobsters Teach a Lesson to Churches

Lobsters Teach a Lesson to Churches

From our earliest moments, we come into this world needing comfort.  From the moment of that first cuddle, we progress through life with its struggles and occasional pain, welcoming moments when a loving action or kind words bring comfort.

People of a certain age will remember the early afternoon radio programme, ‘Listen with Mother’.  Partway through the programme, it was usually Daphne Oxenford, who would read a story.  This would be preceded with the question, “Are you sitting comfortably?”  I recall those halcyon days with nostalgic pleasure.  I also remember, once as a young child and having been distressed by a bad dream, I was taken onto my father’s and into his arms as he prayed with me.  Panic was replaced with peace.

I wonder what the word, ‘comfort’ brings to mind for you.  Possibly, a favourite armchair or a warm bed.  In my second pastorate, someone gave our church a settee and armchairs.  We put them at the back of our worship area, and they became popular to a Christian farmer, who had already worked long hours before the morning service, and who often slipped in a little late (but as soon as he could) and collapsed into their comfort.  Those comfortable items of furniture had a ministry of their own!  What is the virtue of hard pews?

There is an interesting verse in the Acts of the Apostles which gives a picture of peace and comfort after a turbulent period of persecution.  It comes not long after the conversion of Saul.  In the NIV it reads, “Then the church throughout Judea, Galilee and Samaria enjoyed a time of peace and was strengthened. Living in the fear of the Lord and encouraged by the Holy Spirit, it increased in numbers.” (Acts 9:31).  In the Authorised Version of the Bible, where I first came across this passage, the words. “encouraged by the Holy Spirit” are rendered, “the comfort of the Holy Ghost”.  The Greek word paraklesis can be translated in many ways, but the ministry of the Holy Spirit is not to wrap us in cotton wool and gently rock us to sleep.

Which brings me back to lobsters!  Once killed, lobsters rapidly decay.  For this reason, they should be cooked and eaten soon after being killed.  Now banned in many countries, lobsters are sometimes boiled alive.  I think it should be banned everywhere.  It has been said that if the lobsters are chilled and then go into cold water slowly warmed, they relax and fall asleep before the water becomes hot enough to kill them.  While this might be true, even writing it makes me feel very uncomfortable.  Death by comfort!

My point is, are some of our churches so comfortable that we fail to realise that we are actually dying?  We like the hymns or the new songs, we enjoy the sermons (though few seem to bring about much change), and we enjoy being with our friends who share our beliefs.  Is it all too nice?  I remember first hearing a fellow preacher say that while he delights in hearing an occasional “Amen” of “Hallelujah” as a response when preaching, he would sometimes prefer to hear someone say “Ouch!”.

How can we tell if we are being lulled into a sleep that will lead to death?  We could ask, when was the last time that the sermon made me feel uncomfortable because it made me realise shortcomings?  We could ask, when was someone last converted in my church?  We could ask, how are we being motivated to engage with God’s mission?  We could ask, are there visible signs that we are growing in faith and discipleship?  We could ask, is church just too comfortable, leaving us complacent?

If your church is too comfortable, then what can be done about it?  I suggest you start times of prayer for revival.  Make sure that those who preach know that you appreciate being challenged and stirred – at least some of the time.  Pray that God’s word to your church will be heard and acted on.  Pray for the preacher and the affect of the message while he or she proclaims it.  Encourage a time of reflection on the message, and perhaps an exhortation to action, before you move into the closing hymn and go home to lunch.

Editors of news programmes use something called, ‘the dead donkey’.  It is a final benign and possibly silly story to end the news programme, so we are not distressed by the bad news.  Final hymns and coffee can do much the same but could in fact provide the space to determine the change and/or action as the alternative to the shot of weekly soporific comfort.

Is it time to bring back the “Ouch”?  If my words have disturbed you, please do not let them fail to bring about change.  Generally speaking, a real revival is long overdue, but it could start in your church – or maybe mine!

Barry Osborne -19^th March 2018

SPLLING THE BLESSING

I was recently asked to speak at a Lent Lunch.  The text on which I was asked to speak is Romans 15:13. “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”  As I pondered on the text and started to plan the outline for the talk, I was surprised that I had not thought deeply about is previously.

The outline was easy, and the talk went well.  I began by speaking about the nature of Christian hope.  I explained that this is not about wishful thinking, or the kind of optimism Mr Micawber exercised (“Something will turn up”).  It is about something not yet experienced but about which we can be confident.  I suggested that since hope is more commonly used for wishful thinking or uncertainty, we could do with a better English word to express what it means for Christians.  For me it is about eager anticipation.

The second point that the text suggested to me is, ‘the source of our hope’.  Paul prays that the God of hope would fill them with peace and joy and cause their hope to overflow.  It seems to me that he is stating that our hope as Christians comes from God.  But is God the source of our hope, or the object of our hope.  The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews in the New Testament, keen to encourage confidence talks about “two immutable (unchangeable) things” (Hebrews 6:18).  As Christians, our hope is based on the promises God has made to us.  His promises will never fail, and he supports this with his own unchanging nature.

Some people worry that their faith is not strong enough.  But the real issue is not the strength of our faith but where we place our faith.  If you are trying to skate on ice that is paper thin, you can believe as hard as you like but you will still get wet!  You would do far better to tentatively trust yourself to ice that is many inches thick.

Trusting promises is not something new to most of us.  We often visit shops where we exchange a small piece of paper for a basket load of shopping.  Of course, it would be ridiculous if we thought a piece of paper was of equal value to a basket of shopping.  It is not the value of the paper, or even the quality of the printing that that gives it value.  It is the words “I promise to pay the bearer on demand the sum of £20” and the signature of the Governor of the Bank of England.  We put our trust in the person making the promise, backed up by the resources of the Bank of England.

But what particularly grabbed my attention in this verse from Romans 15:13 were the words “fill” and “overflow”. Paul prays that as the Christians in Rome placed their trust in the one who has given us precious promises of eternal life with him in glory, that they would find God filling them with joy and peace. Note that he adds the word “all” to that joy and peace.  No doubt we could all do with a little more joy and peace, but what is on offer is a total or absolute experience of it!  I don’t want to settle for less.

These blessings come from our trusting in God.  In a world that casts dark shadows across our lives from time to time, we can experience joy and peace instead of dread and anxiety, simply by trusting in an unchanging God and his unchanging promises. But note, there is one more thing to experience.

Paul’s prayer, or his aspiration for the Christians in Rome, was that their hope in God would be an overflowing experience.  The hope, peace and joy available from the God of hope, does not come by the glassful, nor even the bottle full, not even on draught.  It comes from everlasting source that is God himself.  The Greek word used here means to have something in abundance – above and beyond.  It means much more than is needed.

So intrigued was I with this concept that I looked to see where else overflowing was mentioned in the epistles in the New International Version of the Bible. Remans 5:15 speaks of grace that overflows. 2Corinthians 4:15 speaks of an experience of grace that cause overflowing thanksgiving.  2Corinthians 8:2 speaks of overflowing joy during severe trials.  There are two other references to overflowing thankfulness. 1Thessalonians 3:12 speaks of our love for one another and everyone else, increasing and overflowing.

I have personal experiences of overflowing.  You may be aware that I have an inherited problem of what is called an essential tremor.  My hands shake: sometimes slightly, sometimes more noticeably.  Under stress, or in cold weather, or having carried anything heavy it is very noticeable.  At such times, if I have a cup of coffee in my hands, it is as well not to stand too close!  I usually ask for cups not to be filled as this will reduce the risk of spillages.

Imagine a church where every Christian was so filled to overflowing with hope and consequential joy and peace, that it was constantly spilled, so that the overflow touched the lives of others around.  Are you filled and overflowing?  Who, then, is feeling the effect of your overflowing by the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit.  God grant that we may be so filled and overflowing that increasing numbers experience the splashes!  Let’s be spilling the blessing and not spoiling the blessing.  Amen?

Barry Osborne - 03 March 2018

From the Diary

Despite the cold, snow and icy weather of the past few days I have been able to get out and bout and share God’s word in schools and various meeting.  We give thanks for the privilege of bring God’s word to others, and for the obvious blessing it has brought.

Please pray for safe travelling and God’s blessing on his precious word over the coming days this week.

We rejoice that someone has shown interest in developing some aspects of our vision for ministry to and with young people.  Please pray for Gordon Banks and me as we meet this Wednesday with Joy to explore this further.

Please pray for the Churches Group for Evangelization meeting in London on Thursday.  Unfortunately, I have had to send my apologies this week because of personal circumstances.  I will miss the fellowship with good friends who share my passion for evangelism, and I pray that it will prove very helpful.  They will bring me up to date afterwards with what God is doing across the churches.