A child of the Commonwealth

I was born high up on the Jos plateau in Nigeria, raised in Ghana until I was 19 years of age, schooled in Scotland, the land of my father, and occasionally holidayed in London, from where my English mother hailed. As an adult I have worked both sides of the Border and also taught for nine years in India – and thus have five Commonwealth countries close to my heart. (And this doesn’t account for visits to Canada, Malta, Gibraltar, Cyprus, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, South Africa…)

Trackside at the Games

As a volunteer at the 2022 Games in Birmingham, I was part of the Photo Team, a component of the media group. This gave me privileged access at both the marathon and the athletics (in the Alexander Stadium) not only to ‘trackside’ views, but also to the photographers and other journalists. It was a joy talking with people from around the Commonwealth, most of whom seemed delighted to have someone to talk with about their work and their countries.

Three encounters

Three encounters among many stick with me. There was the young lady photographer from Nigeria who was anxious about reaching the right spot to photograph a medal ceremony. I chatted to her and mentioned that I was born in Jos. Her eyes widened as she said, ‘Jos? But, you’re…’ – and I finished off the sentence for her: ‘Yes, I’m white!’ There was no racial undertone in any of this but simple, almost childlike, incredulity which then gave way to warmth and excitement. Next was the conversation with the single media representative from Gibraltar. ‘What are your medal hopes?’ I asked. He laughed. ‘No medal hopes but lots of opportunities for personal bests. For us in Gibraltar, this is the pinnacle of sport as we won’t otherwise be singularly represented in a global event. We simply enjoy the taking part’. And then thirdly, there was the chit-chat with the photographer from Botswana who was positioned at the ‘head on platform’ overlooking the finish line. As the men’s 4 x 400 metre relay final unwound, he became more and more excited. The Botswanan athletes moved up into the lead at one point before having to settle for silver. His excitement was such that I expect all his photos of the finish were actually a blur!

The Friendly Games

I could go on to tell of the Australian gentleman who bounced up to me as I made my way down to trackside with a photographer to say, ‘That’s my son in the decathlon high jump’ – he just had to tell someone! (His son won bronze overall.) And then there was the visitor in the queue for the shuttle bus who spoke with me and another volunteer to ask how we were feeling about the Games and to thank us both profusely. I know it’s almost trite to say that these are The Friendly Games, but I have found them to be so. It has been a privilege to witness genuine, childlike, joy over the past ten days and to acknowledge that for the vast majority of the athletes from the Commonwealth nations this has been their one moment in the spotlight – and they have revelled in it whilst embracing everything and everyone around them. As a ‘child of the Commonwealth’, it has brought to me a lot of satisfaction, too, and just a few pin badges!

A journey justified

As the Omicron virus variant begins to bite, again the question lurks in our minds in this merry month of December: ‘Will journeys be curtailed to keep Christmas alive?’ As travel cancellations escalate and holidays are again delayed, there’s a growing fear that visiting relations and friends may be reduced to avoid the ‘Déjà voodoo’ of a hapless lockdown.

Journeys, however, feature strongly in that first Christmas story, and risks were taken – well beyond the realm of the sensible, sanitised, modern mind-set of the West. Firstly, through the demands of a Roman census, a heavily pregnant mother was forced to travel seventy miles by donkey through the dangerous Samarian countryside which would have taken four days at its smoothest – not quite the 1 hour 50 minutes that it takes today by car from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Joseph, who would naturally have wanted to protect his wife, might therefore have opted for a safer route, but this could have extended the journey to a week, despite knowing that she was ‘great with child.’

Then there was the epic journey of the Parthian magi from the borders of Afghanistan and Syria guided not by sat-nav but by the stars, or rather, one in particular. It had been their conviction after much soul and sky searching that a regal birth had been ushered in, and a sense of mystery and divine curiosity goaded them on to cover the 500 miles, taking them eighteen months or more.

For the shepherds out on the Judean hills, the journey was not nearly so long – but they were ‘under the influence’ of angels and bright lights, and this caused them irrationally to abandon their flocks, potentially to the ravages of wild animals.

For all the central figures that first Christmas journey was fraught with risk and danger, but they were put aside for greater purposes: the celebration of a new-born king who would ‘reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and for ever,’ as the prophet, Isaiah puts it.

It is a similar sense of daring and abandonment that the Christian message calls us all to make: to go with haste and inquire into what this story could mean for us in our hearts. Of course, it might mean disposing some of the excess baggage that we’re so tempted to carry at this festive time – an over-emphasis on self-indulgence, a preoccupation with consumerism and ‘stuff,’ and a scant regard for how the poor and marginalised might be coping as they languish in Yuletide shadows. Our travelling to meet the Saviour face to face, like the crib figures, is down to will power and a heart-felt conviction. Do we want to make that journey? For those who are making it now and have done for centuries it needs no justification. As Ralph Washington Sockman once said: ‘The hinge of history is on the door of a Bethlehem stable.’ History was changed by that journey, and ‘his-story’ for each one of us can begin there too… and transform us.

May each of us consider making that personal journey this year and keep Christmas alive– a very happy and joy-filled season to you all!

(With thanks to Revd Alex Aldous, chaplain of Prestfelde Prep School, Shrewsbury)

A timely word

A recent daily devotion led me to Proverbs 15:23, ‘A person finds joy in giving an apt reply – and how good is a timely word!’ In the NLT version it reads, ‘Say the right thing at the right time’.

I was in London this week taking my 88 year old mum to a musical as a birthday treat. Mum is a Londoner and she hadn’t been to the City, let alone live there, for many years. She is proud of her place of birth and it didn’t disappoint! Looking somewhat lost in the street, someone stopped and helped us find the theatre. On the crowded tube, Mum was given a seat three times and, on the last occasion, the young man who had given up his seat took the time and trouble to wish us a pleasant evening as he left the train. Mum was thrilled with ‘the timely word’.

Whilst from a radically different era and setting, our experience this week reminded me what Victor Frankl, a former concentration camp inmate, wrote: ‘We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances’.

Let’s choose to smile and to give that ‘timely word’, even to strangers, even if we are rebuffed or ignored. I suspect we shall find our attitude and our words accepted many more times than they are ever refused or scorned.

Dealing in Hope

Napoleon once said that ‘a leader is a dealer in hope’. During the Tokyo 2020 Olympics I have been following the progress of the Indian women’s field hockey team. (I served in India for nine years and all three of my children played representative hockey there.) I have been inspired by the incredible story of hope from Rani Rampal, the Indian ladies’ hockey captain. In her own words…

“I wanted an escape from my life; from the electricity shortages to the mosquitoes buzzing in our ear when we slept, from barely having two square meals to seeing our home getting flooded when it rained. My parents tried their best, but there was only so much they could do – Papa was a cart puller and Maa worked as a maid.

There was a hockey academy near my home, so I’d spend hours watching players practise – I really wanted to play. Papa would earn Rs 80 a day (under 80 pence) and couldn’t afford to buy me a stick. Every day, I’d ask the coach to teach me too. He’d reject me because I was malnourished. He’d say, “You aren’t strong enough to pull through a practice session.”

So, I found a broken hockey stick on the field and began practising with that – I didn’t have training clothes, so I was running around in a salwar kameez. But I was determined to prove myself. I begged the coach for a chance.

But when I told my family, they said, ‘Girls are supposed to do household work – and we won’t let you play in a short skirt.’ I’d plead with them saying, ‘Please mujhe jaane do. If I fail, I’ll do whatever you want.’ My family reluctantly gave in.

Training would start early in the morning. We didn’t even have a clock, so mom would stay up and look at the sky to check if it was the right time to wake me.

At the academy, it was mandatory for each player to bring 500 ml of milk. My family could afford only 200 ml; without telling anyone, I’d mix the milk with water and drink it because I wanted to play.

My coach supported me through thick and thin; he’d buy me hockey kits and shoes. He even allowed me to live with his family and took care of my dietary needs. I’d train hard and wouldn’t miss a single day of practice.

I remember earning my first salary; I received Rs 500 (under £5) after winning a tournament and gave the money to Papa. He hadn’t ever held so much money in his hands before. I promised my family, “One day, we’re going to have our own home,” I did everything in my power to work towards that.

After representing my state and playing in several championships, I finally got a national call up at the age of 15! Still, my relatives would only ask me when I was going to get married. But Papa told me, “Play to your heart’s content.” With my family’s support, I focused on doing my best for India and eventually, I became the captain of the Indian hockey team!

Soon after, while I was at home, a friend papa used to work with visited us. He brought along his granddaughter and told me, ‘She’s inspired by you and wants to become a hockey player!’ I was so happy; I just started crying.

And then in 2017, I finally fulfilled the promise I made to my family and bought them a proper house. We cried together and held each other tightly!

And I’m not done yet; this year, I’m determined to repay them and Coach with something they’ve always dreamed of — a gold medal from Tokyo.”

They didn’t win Gold this year (GB won the bronze medal match against the Indian ladies) but I wouldn’t be surprised if they do in 2024 in Paris if they all demonstrate such determination and passion as Rani Rampal. She is truly ‘a dealer in hope’ and has now inspired many to dream their dreams into reality.

Love conquers all

In the wake of the last-gasp failed penalties at the Euro football finals a week ago, most of us were appalled at the racist comments on social media and then the defacing of footballer Marcus Rashford’s mural which followed. (For those reading this who are not British, Marcus Rashford is a Premiership and England footballer – soccer – who is black and has been vocal on a number of key social issues in the UK, not least securing school lunches in the holidays for the most disadvantaged children.) However, I was then moved this week by the positive response to the defacing of the Marcus Rashford mural in Manchester – messages of hope, love and reconciliation with pictures of hearts, flags and flowers. In Proverbs 16:7 we read: ‘When the Lord takes pleasure in anyone’s way, he causes their enemies to make peace with them’ – and I pray this happens with those who have lashed out with abuse, unkindness and hatred.

One of the greatest examples of someone who responded with love in the face of hatred was Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth President of the USA. Born into poverty, Lincoln was faced with adversity throughout his life. He lost eight elections, failed twice in business and suffered a nervous breakdown. He could have quit many times – but he didn’t, and because he didn’t give up, he is now considered to have been one of the greatest presidents in the history of the United States of America.

One of Abraham Lincoln’s earliest political enemies was Edward Stanton. In one speech he called Lincoln a ‘low, cunning clown’. In another he said, ‘It’s ridiculous to go to Africa to see a gorilla when you can find one just as easily in Springfield, Illinois’. Lincoln never responded in kind and, when elected President, he appointed Stanton as Secretary of War, explaining to the incredulous that ‘he’s the best man for the job’. Years later when Lincoln was slain and his body lay in state, Edward Stanton looked down with tears in his eyes and said, ‘There lies the greatest ruler of men the world has ever seen’. His animosity had been broken by Lincoln’s long-suffering, non-retaliatory spirit.

It is so easy to gloss over the poetry of Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13, but let’s remember that these are the words of someone who was frequently thrown into prison for doing good, given 40 lashes five times, beaten with rods three times, shipwrecked three times, starved, denied water, stoned and left cold and naked (cf 2 Corinthians 11). As we re-read what Paul wrote about love, let’s see what we can do to apply at least one of these actions to our daily lives – and thus be part of the fight to ensure love conquers all:

‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails’ (1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 NIV)

Cross your fingers?

I wonder if you, like me, get a little cross when someone uses this expression (and even action) when they hope for something to happen: ‘I’ve got my fingers crossed‘? Someone else might say ‘touch wood‘ when they, too, want something to take place or to try and gain good luck.

Superstitious expressions

Both of these expressions have their origins in pre-Christian and also in early Christian times. To cross one’s fingers was used to invoke God’s blessing and even to ward off evil, including when a person coughed or sneezed. ‘Touch wood‘ might also refer to touching the wooden cross of Christ but its origins seem to be much earlier as an expression: it derives from pantheistic religions where trees were supposedly inhabited by deities. If you expressed a hope for the future you should touch or knock on wood to prevent malevolent spirits hearing and so prevent your hopes coming true.

Present Hope

I have, however, been forced to reconsider the expressions which I have been using and which also might quite reasonably be annoying others. In particular I have been writing (and saying), ‘I hope you are safe and well‘ as I have communicated with people in these virus-afflicted times. What exactly do I mean by ‘hope’? In itself ‘hope’ is at best an expression of concern but in English etymology it contains no guarantees: ‘I hope you are doing OK‘, ‘I hope you will get better‘, etc. As a Christian, my ‘hope’ should be much stronger!

In Spanish the verb for ‘to hope’, ‘esperar’, is also the same as ‘to wait for’ and ‘to expect’. When a woman is pregnant she ‘esperando un bebe’. This is similar to the Biblical meanings in Hebrew and Greek of ‘hope’ but in both the Old and New Testaments we also find the word ‘hope’ tied in with a ‘trust’ in God. What are we hoping for, expecting or trusting in God in our prayers for ourselves and others? What is the ultimate purpose in our prayers during this time of crisis and in many cases, suffering?

Future Hope

Romans 8 v 22-25 (in the New Testament) speaks of the parallel of childbirth and the expectation of hope, “…as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved…“. It is hope in the future glory we have as an end destination of our trust in God.

As we pray for the day-to-day needs and things that will pass on earth, we are mindful that ultimately our desire is that in all things God’s will is done and that people will place their certain hope in Jesus.

I hope (and trust) that in treading this you, like me, will have been challenged to examine what we say ‘off hand’. I won’t be crossing my fingers or even touching wood as I write this – but, simply, praying that in a time of crisis my hope will be that of expectancy – an expectancy that God will bring light into our dark times, meaning in distress, and joy in unexpected places.

(With thanks to ‘Christian Values in Education’, CVE, Scotland for inspiration)

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Don’t panic, precious readers of my occasional blog. The title is not chosen as a personal reflection and is not the reason, either, of my silence for some weeks. I have just returned from a school inspection visit in India and the words above leapt out at me from a tombstone. Let me explain…

A passage to India

My visit to India took in the former colonial sanatorium hill station of Ootacamund (Udhagamandulam today – but everyone still calls it Ooty). ‘Snooty Ooty’ of imperial fame, sits at the top of the Nilgiri Hills at 7,500 feet altitude (twice as high as Ben Nevis https://bennevis.co.uk) in the south Indian state of Tamil Nadu. Here in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the British would retreat from the heat and disease of the plains, to rule the southern subcontinent from a mini-Surrey complete with bungalows, libraries, clubs, churches, guest houses and European schools. Many of these buildings still survive and so on a break from the rigours of school inspection I ventured up to St Stephen’s, part of the Church of South India (and pictured above).

In memoriam

The memorial plaques and graves of St Stephen’s are testimony to ‘the white man’s graveyard’, albeit on a different continent from whence that epitaph originates. There’s one to the Captain in the Bombay Grenadiers who died aged 36, ‘drowned in the Kromund river while out hunting with the Ootacamund Hounds‘. Another is to the young soldier who ‘died on this very spot – killed by a tiger‘. (I did see a tiger, my first ever in the wild, on this visit: I was ‘on a course’ for the morning – a golf course I have to admit – and there it was, bold as brass, sauntering from one hole to another: not so much playing with Tiger Woods, but playing with a tiger from the woods!) But, I digress.

Mourning great loss

The saddest memorial plaques are to the wives of colonial administrators and soldiers. There’s one to Georgiana Grace, wife of JC Wroughton, Esq., who was the Collector (of taxes) for the province. She passed away in 1847 aged 30 years ‘leaving her husband and seven children to deplore their irreparable loss‘. Alongside this stone is that of Henrietta Cecilia, wife of the founder of Ootacamund, John Sullivan. Henrietta died in 1838 aged 36 and her stone also bears testimony to Harriet, their daughter, who also passed away prematurely, aged 17 years. The plaque goes on to mention the Sullivans’ eight children who, together with their father, ‘mourn the loss of these the objects of their tenderest love’.

Great joy and hope are there, too

On the face of it these, and other tombs, are illustrative of much sadness and anguish. However, it doesn’t take long to note, too, the hope they also had. Henrietta Sullivan’s plaque concludes with this sentiment: ‘Not however as those without hope but believing that as “Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus, will God bring with Him”‘. Out in the graveyard, positioned between two ancient tombs, there is a new-looking sign which says: ‘reserved’. Poignantly alongside this, is a large headstone which bears the words at the top of this blog, ‘Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep‘. There then follows a verse of a poem by Steven Cummins which concludes: ‘Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die‘.

There’s a challenge here to live our lives so filled with faith and love that when we eventually die in an earthly sense, we do so knowing without any doubt that we then enter an eternal life in the presence of Jesus. Weeping at funerals and at a loved one’s death is perfectly natural – but let there be joy, too, when believers are remembered.