A passport adrift, the owner, a gift

Goodbye passport!

“Please, respect me.” That is what she said from the bedroom where she had sequestered herself, having been seen from the car park barely half an hour earlier by my partner as he picked up a passport that appeared to have been flung out of a window on one of the higher floors of our apartment block.

I know people can be going through a lot of things, unexplainable or inexplicable, but it is impossible to fully understand the issues people face. I say this because it was an utterly bizarre situation.

Brian, on returning to our apartment this afternoon, saw a document land in front of him. He picked it up and realised it was a South African passport. As he examined it, he scanned the façade of the apartment block to see which window it might have come from, and in the corner of one window, he saw a lady; he waved to her, and she waved back. He even waved the passport at her, and she must have been waving goodbye to the passport.

No online footprint

I saw the passport, and it became clear how important the document was; it had a recently obtained Schengen visa with a year’s validity. We thought whoever might have lost that passport would be in turmoil once they realised it was missing. We searched Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter/X, and Instagram but found no sign of the person.

If there was ever a time you needed a searchable online presence, it is now. We contacted our apartment landlord to find out how to share information with the residents of the building, and meanwhile, Brian went up to the apartment where he suspected the lady he had waved to was. No one came to the door except a young man claiming to be her brother. It was not definitive enough for us to give him the passport.

No proof of ownership

So, we went back up with him in the hope of confirming that the lady he saw earlier was the rightful owner of the passport, but she refused to come out of her room. However, while we were speaking with her brother, she made the statement quoted at the beginning.

Obviously, as gentlemen, we had no intention of invading her privacy or causing her distress; at the same time, we could not part with the document without a secure transfer to the owner or a responsible authority, such as the facilities management team of the apartment complex. In extremis, we will have to hand the document over to a police station.

The facilities management team suggested we put the passport in their letterbox, but it was insecure; we simply did not have the heart to part with the document that easily.

Consider the reasons

However, it made us question why the lady was not eager to get her passport back and whether she had deliberately thrown it out of the window out of pique or total disinterest in the visa, which had been obtained for her against her wishes.

This brings us back to the idea that people might be experiencing much more than a seemingly great opportunity suggests. Maybe she is afraid of travelling to an unfamiliar place, and I understand how daunting that can be.

Then there are instances of young women being forced into criminal activities, either as victims of human trafficking or acting as drug mules. You can never tell. Losing a passport like that might even save someone from an unimaginable fate at customs or border controls abroad.

Perhaps, the best course of action is to hand the passport over to the police so they can assist her if something suspicious is occurring. We tried to help as considerate Good Samaritans, but found ourselves in a difficult situation, and honestly, just surrendering it to the police seems the simplest solution.

Postscript

We had a torrid night, thinking the worst of the situation that the lady might be under the influence of criminal gangs who might attempt a home invasion to demand the passport, before teaching us an unforgettable lesson.

We also decided to take the passport to the nearest police station in the morning. As I called an Uber cab ride when I stepped into the elevator to see a Frenchman ask if we were in a numbered apartment.

He happened to be the husband, and he showed me the identity card of the lady on his phone. I invited him into the apartment, and as he was narrating his helplessness at the plight of his wife, he broke down.

She had thrown the passport out of the window and had some as yet undiagnosed mental health issues, which her parent attributed to some spiritual gift she has. Well, every gift is under the control of the gifted, that is scripture without equivocation. If your gift controls you, we are a different territory of personality disorder and whatever that entails.

We advised him to seek the best professional and medical help he could find, and he should approach this as a Westerner rather than trying to understand the cultural differences that might handicap him.

Having handed him the passport, we heaved a sigh of relief. On our return home, there was an ambulance in the car park, and we saw the husband in the lift with the medics. We have no idea what might have happened; we just hoped all would turn out right.

Angels and strangers roam on Twitter

Stranger than fiction

“I know you well enough from Twitter! You need a good rest!”

This was an assessment of my Twitter activity given by someone I did not know was following me. A complete stranger who last night saw the predicament I was in having missed the last train to Manchester because of a late-running train from Norwich into London.

As I was being played irresponsibly like a political ball of railway franchise ping-pong between Virgin Trains that would have handled the London – Manchester leg of my journey from London Euston Station and Greater Anglia Trains that handled Norwich to London part that ran 45 minutes late, leaving me less than 20 minutes to make the tube journey between London Liverpool Street and London Euston. I faced the prospect of a night on the streets somewhere in London.

The best Virgin Trains could offer me was a supplementary ticket to travel in the morning, the alternative being a train to Wolverhampton some 75 miles from home. Between Greater Anglia Trains and Virgin Trains, considering I bought the ticket from the latter’s website, they should have arranged a means to me to my destination or accommodation for the night. Neither tried hard enough, it took the easy road without informing me of my rights.

Good Samaritan values

I learnt through my conversation with Virgin Trains that Euston Station closes at 1:30AM, but the King’s Cross St. Pancras Station is open overnight with some coffee and food shops open too.

Making for King’s Cross, my stranger friend asked me to come over on Uber, I was in more straitened circumstances than to take up that offer and I thanked him and bid him goodnight. He did not relent, over the next 90 minutes, he enquired about my welfare, my whereabouts and much else, my assurances not deterring him.

Then, he said he was coming to get me, he drove over from Putney in South West London and brought me back to his home which he shared with his wife and two friendly dogs. I had some mint tea and retired to the spare bedroom along with information for connecting to their wireless network.

Consideration and more

Between daring and trust, I slept well and I woke up to a breakfast, meeting his wife and a discussion that covered as many topics as we found interest to think about. When we arrived at his home at just before 3:00AM, he dipped his hand in his pocket and gave me some money, saying he did not want me to think about that issue.

I got dressed and I was given a lift to Putney Station, I arrived at London Euston Station in time to catch the noon train to Manchester. Fred is a friend, a friend indeed, to me he was an angel, kindly, generous and exceedingly considerate.

Our encounter came from certain views, expressions or opinions I have posted on Twitter, whatever that was, he decided to follow me and by that, out of the blue, on a day I desperately needed help, he was there to offer more than I could have imagined or wished for.

He was a stranger to me, I was no stranger to him, my Twitter conduct had made enough an impression to have him accord me the offer to spend a night at his home. Invariably, your conduct and conversation on social media matters, friends and enemies observe you, the family sees you, angels and strangers notice you.

Thank you, Fred, for your kind-hearted, magnanimous and generous friendship, I am in deep gratitude to you. Thanks.

Decade Blogs - Abubakar A. Musa - Challenging the humanity in us

Decade Blogs

One of the reasons why I gave everyone offering to contribute to my #YourBlogOnMyBlog Series commemorating my Decade of Blogging free rein to write on whatever issue, topic or story that they like, was it opened a window into the diversity of our human existence.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

Indeed, I have loved reading the blogs that have showered underserved praise on me, but just because I provide a platform does not mean I should take the best seat. My job here is to introduce, to curate, to edit, to schedule and to publish – I do this with a great duty of responsibility that people would trust me with their opinions, a sense of honour that people would respond to my request to write for my blog and with deep gratitude and thanks for the many who have appreciated me enough write.

I wish I could say more about Abubakar A. Musa, I cannot, apart from some exchanges we have had on Twitter, but after reading this blog, I found this is someone I would love to meet, in gain and in pain, for a person whose eyes are open to the recognise the core of our humanity is the person that can be true in all things.

We have had five Popes in my lifetime, they have over their reigns done maybe significant things, but Pope Francis seems to have reached deeper into the soul of our humanity with his touching and simple compassion, he has become the Good Samaritan example of our times.

Blog - Pope Francis taking us back to the core of our humanity

Abubakar A. Musa brings to this page, many pictures of suffering, pain and grief, the vulnerabilities and frailties of our humanity and asks that we begin to understand what people go through, how it affects them and how it affects us. Most of all he asks us to visit the sick, offering comfort and succour to them. We must become considerately responsive with humaneness and our humanity.

I completely relate to this, I have been in a situation where a visit, a word, a touch, a smile, a hand was all I needed to ease the pain, if only for a while.

Blog - Thought Picnic: What the gravely ill need

Abubakar A. Musa, once had a blog, but he sometimes contributes to Omojuwa.com and AfricanLiberty.org and his Twitter handle is @blinkingam

Challenging the humanity in us

I was just a little under ten years old, my father held my hand and walked me through the various wards of the then, Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital Kaduna (now in Shika, Zaria). Ward after ward, bed after bed, lots of people lying down with relatives and love ones rendering their support and immortal comforts.

As we walked through, I saw certain family members in shatters and disarray. While some were trying to comfort others, many were in high degree tears. Poor me, my brain couldn't comprehend any bit of the actions of those people nor the ones that surrounded them. I decided not to remain silent by asking my father why those people were crying. I remember vividly, yes, I won't forget, how my dad shook his head and said to me “at this stage, you will never understand what they are going through.”

While walking through life, those words of his keep shaping my thoughts and actions. Each time I was to be taken, either as a patient or escort, to the hospital, the feeling of seeing people crying and or in pain always echoed loudly in my head. True, I've seen many others since, but being my first contact with such incidents and at my developmental stage of life, that first event was my greatest TURNING POINT.

Today, I clearly understand such feelings. Today, I know what it means to be lying on a sick bed battling for survival. Today, I totally comprehend what it means to lose a loved one, a close associate, a companion, and even an enemy. Ironically, it's today, after I can relate with such feelings and reflect on its effects upon the humanity, that such incidents are becoming more than regular to my eyes.

Every time I walk through our hospitals, public or private, the sympathy of human souls battling for existence always met my first step. From the less disturbing to the most severe ones, people screaming, others seeking comfort and some saying goodbye. At that stage, the words of my dad always reverberate in my head. But, unlike then, now I clearly understand what the sick ones are going through, and what the relatives of the recently died are also equally going through. Each time I find myself across certain wards of the hospital, the feelings aren't just frightening, but the core of my humanity is always shaken.

Going through the oncology ward, the sight of many Cancer patients will always make you weep, if only you're the strong type. Going through the special care units and special care baby units, infants that are yet to know the meaning of their existence and parents alike battling to exist against deathly ailments. Walking through the female, labour, and the obstetric/gynaecology wards are equally deeply painful and emotionally scary episodes. Mothers and primers trying to escape the sword of maternal mortality.

While some deliveries are as successful as Michael Jackson in the music industry, others end up with difficult complications leading to many kissing the world goodbye. At the anti-retroviral screening (ARS) centres, the story is less comforting. Depression upon depression, and the fear of stigmatization are well embedded on the faces of the usually many patients. Many couldn't just understand the meaning of life any longer while the few that could, end up facing the challenge of societal rejection.

Of all these, one needs a deep human perspective to understand what they and their relatives are going through. Unlike then, I do not need to ask anyone anymore, because now, I understand what they are going through. I understand their feelings and that of their love ones. I understand that life could be so cruel when you least expect it. I, now, understanding that no human soul is more important than any other. The words of my dad had made me to understand that no flesh is immune to illness much as no soul is immune to dying. But above all, my constant visitation of the sick ones has helped in shaping my positive reactionary human tendency.

Should anyone visit the above mentioned hospital wards and not feel touched to the core of their human compassion, such person should re-examine their human moral consciousness. Looking at my general looks, the healthy lifestyle I'd lived and still living, I feel much lucky as a person. In between, I'd fallen sick and might still do again, that I know. But I've every reason to be grateful for the journey so far.

If you find yourself healthy today, if you find yourself comfortable at this moment, irrespective of your past turmoil and challenges, cherish it, live it, enjoy it, and be grateful to your creator as well. But do remember, you aren't much wiser than those lying on the sick beds or those passing away every second.

It could easily be you on that sick bed, it could be you going through that pain, and it could have been you that passed away. Everyone would, at a point, go back to where we all came from. Reeling the feelings of good health today shouldn't becloud our trait of sympathy towards those being tested by nature.

We should be thankful to God for such opportunity and ensure regular hospital visitation to rewire our virtues of humanity. In the theory of relationships, there's always a point of first contact. Your visitation to hospitals today and fervent prayers could change some other person’s live. Challenge the other side of you and explore the virtue of humanity within your composite make up. This life is nothing but a test of our collective thoughts.

Pope Francis taking us back to the core of our humanity

Pope Francis (L) caresses a sick person in Saint Peter’s Square at the end of his General Audience in Vatican City, 06 November 2013.
Photo courtesy of Washington Post

A man of faith

I watched with billions of others in 2005 as Pope John Paul II slowly departed this mortal coil, frail, infirm, a body so weak, but a spirit so strong doing the service he was called to minister to the faithful.

In his death throes, we wondered about how great a man was about to depart having left deep footprints in the sands of time, difficult to obliterate from our memories because his advent changed the world.

In July that year, I visited Rome for the first time as a birthday gift to a friend and as we queued to enter the Sistine Chapel, we were really in another queue that filed past the tomb of this amazing and great man of God.

A church so solemn

I am a Protestant, school in the High-Church Anglican faith, baptised at 9-years old and confirmed at 16. I took new religion of the Evangelical to Pentecostal kind at 18 and was baptised again, this time by full immersion at 21 but the Catholic Church has always held some fascination.

In 2008, I visited Fatima in Portugal, I watched the solemnity, the stillness, the reverences, the religiousness, the humility and the awesomeness, maybe I should have taken more away from that experience before cancer struck a year later.

Churches serving as sepulchres and places of worship depict an eternity of the circle of life and death that defines our humanity. The Catholic Church is one long continuous documentation of human history, the longest existent human religious and political institution; it is significant even if many ignore it.

A church astray

Today, there are many strands of Christianity, people rising with a gospel and a teaching gathering the wild sheep of people strewn all over the world to tents of great performance and pageantry. Many other religions too bring adherents to temples and synagogues imposing conditions, some easy, some difficult; all to lay hold on some peace on earth and possibly the promise of something in the Great Beyond.

In all this, the simply message of our common humanity is lost, the pain we share, the suffering that is the story of many. The plenty that the rich avariciously aggrandise to themselves stepping on the heads on anything or anyone to fill their vaults with much more without restraint, yet, like a flower we all bloom and then wither away.

For all the riches in this world cannot yet buy immortality, the best we can get is longevity in life, providence willing and being favourable towards us.

Compassion is the message

Back to the Catholic Church, we have a new Pope, his name is Pope Francis, and he is taking us back to where the church the belongs, to where religion serves humanity, to where humility is what draws the hearts of men to a truth that is irresistible, to where compassion is the open door to everyone, and it is a good thing.

Princess Diana with one handshake in 1989 dealt a blow to the stigma of HIV/AIDS, Pope Francis is dealing bigger blows, calling us to service as Good Samaritans, lifting our humanity to the pinnacle of existence above all beliefs, race, sexuality, condition, situation and whatever part of our diversity the unconscionable exploit for gain.

Good Samaritan humanity

In embracing, kissing and blessing a much-disfigured man, the Pope retells the gospel in the letter, the spirit and the acts of Jesus Christ when he walked the streets of Jerusalem and the Galilee, comforting and healing the sick, ministering love and compassion, with unconditional access.

No other story can be told than to see the story the picture tells. We must see, reach, touch, embrace – that is Good Samaritan humanity regardless of what you believe in.

Read the story and see the pictures – here.

Thought Picnic: My Ministry

My ministry review

When I was asked this morning about my ministry, I almost felt for my dog collar, as I wondered why I was not in church earlier than that moment.

The truth is I never aspired to be a religious leader and hence do not carry either the drive or the passion of those who stand at the pulpit preaching, proclaiming, postulating or prophesying.

I do however have a ministry as I cast myself as an encounter person, ordinary because of my simplicity though made significant by the stories I have to tell by experience and by insight.

My ministry explained

My ministry is my humanity it is the heart of my being, given purpose and undergirded by principles and examples in the life of Christ.

Then again, imperfect as I am, I seek to be a Good Samaritan having the bowels of mercy and compassion equipped to minister to need with as much ease as I am blessed to offer.

More so, for the sake of circumstance and opportunity, to be engaged in conversation temporal and spiritual even if a Samaritan woman who having had five husbands is not too unworthy to be asked for a drink of water.

Yet as if possessed by Legion, constantly depressing the self-destruct button my story becomes an encounter of great testimony.

My ministry in action

My ministry is life lived in all ways and means, a never-ending tale of gratitude and thankfulness with many who have selflessly poured out of their means into my bosom.

For I have gifts, some well used and others badly wasted and as I write I seek to speak of justice, fairness, truth, compassion and hope.

My ministry is conventional, to see the least, the deprived, the different, the poor, the little, the smallest, the seeking, the asking, the anxious, the worried, the sick and many more, to love them for who they are, to accept them wholly, to appreciate them fully and to engage them as equals, talented, able and called to excellence.

My ministry of the lesser me

However, I am far from fulfilling that calling for the limitations of my humanity but I am strengthened to reach beyond myself to do things I never thought possible.

What is my ministry? To live, to tell, to voice, to care, to engage, to feel, to tell stories that with life, there are things to do and places to go.

I need no office, I need no title, I am blessed and beyond that I strive to be a blessing and that in itself takes me from day to day, through the rough and the tough, despair and hope unto the promise that each new day offers a new beginning.

The greatest ministry

We will not all be apostles, or prophets, or teachers, or pastors, or evangelists, or preachers, but we can be ordinary people, with heart, with soul, with empathy and with desire to think, to act, to help and to give succour.

In most cases that is what the other person needs, someone who is there to listen, to comfort, to encourage, to embolden, to offer a shoulder to cry on and just be human. That to me is ministry, it is the ministry we are all called to, everyday of our lives.

That is my ministry.

Thought Picnic: The New Parable of the Prodigal Son

Angels of gathering

For angels abound that walk the earth in the form of people you and I see on the street, whose humanity has heart and soul, beating with compassion and empathy, leaving you speechless in gratitude, disarmed in thankfulness and helpless in the tenderness that can expressed by those who in their time have become another narrative of the Good Samaritan story.

As he left that office yesterday, having bit his lip in utter regret of the experience he had just suffered, you found on the busy street, a bench to sit, famished for hunger, he sat to gather his thoughts.

The gathering of the shards of his life shattered in a history that really had become a drama almost too liveable for words.

The new prodigal son

He left his country which had become his fatherland full of health, full of promise, full of hope and much else to the land of a different tongue, he lived, he prospered and he wasted his means – prodigal he had become that all he left with and what he had gained was lost – health, promise, prospect, status, job, home and desire – as each day appeared to hold no tomorrow, he came to himself like the prodigal son and decided to return home.

For he thought, at least at home they speak his tongue, his fatherland, maybe he might find shelter, boarding, sustenance and some new hope, he was not expecting open arms, but there were many open to arm him with much to see beyond the morrow – it started well, though with difficulty.

The truth is, unlike for the prodigal son, there was no father that ran into the fields having sighted his son from afar to fall upon his neck and cry for joy that the son that was lost was now found, no new robes, no welcome feast but a resentful and judgemental big brother with a long checklist of eligibility for this and for that.

Checking the boxes to hell

Single, no dependants, no local connections, able, no proof of address, no bank account, no local references, no recent utility bills, no priority, not eligible for security clearance, not our business, no way here – the list was as long as judgement day had arrived and the only way was the way to hell or without saying the words, what he did hear from them was – Go to hell.

And hell it would have been because as he sat on the bench before nightfall yesterday gathering his thoughts until his angels came by to bear him away to safety from crawling with the swineherd and enjoying the Michelin star gourmet of pigswill, he would have been on a bench through the night drenched by the watering of the heavens that fed the trees and he would have found no tears to flow with the flood of sorrow that would have overcome him.

Barely netting the whale of the problem

The times have changed, the rules have toughened, the righteous are resisted and the cunning have run rings round the system, whilst England has no place for prodigal sons – it is mercy of angels, far and near, in kind and in means that ushered in another day.

The new parable of the prodigal son is not reading like happily ever after, the assumptions we made about safety nets are fallacies because the below on the jagged rocks of life lie those who have fallen through holes bigger than the size of elephants, we see them daily, the ones that checkboxes discarded without consideration, the ones society forgot and the ones that have become invisible but are there, in rags of clothing and prospect, in hope for the next meal having had none for longer than they can remember – they probably were not prodigal but have been put on the speedway to hell by a system bereft of heart and soul.

Yet, the politician and the comfortable mounts soapbox, rostrum, podium and lectern preaching about those abusing the system but saying nothing about those abused by the system and they be many too bruised to ask for anything but for some spare change from you and I – what will be done for them – he asks, what?

Thought Picnic: Finding significance in our shared humanity

A multi-cultural person

I always find myself at the point where cultures conflict though it is not as obvious as it is for those of mixed race ethnicity.

However, I am grateful that the conflict is externalised rather than internalised but difference is accentuated in voice and reasoning, I will not give up either to conform because the wonder of being a product of the influence of many cultures is that rather than get pigeon-holed, you don't get placed, categorised or judged too harshly if you refuse to be subsumed into a dominant cultural experience.

The inspiration of circumstance

Why have I started this blog in this way? I just read of a second suicide of a university student in Nigeria that no one could attribute to anything – the stories concerning the two young men who took their lives are sketchy and peripheral and knowing how the dominant cultural expression thinks, it is unlikely that anyone will get to the bottom of why presumably promising, quiet and academically able young men will take their lives.

Now, this is where my difference is, I was born an Englishman, it has a strong imprint, part of my formative years were spent in Nigeria amongst people who were not on my tribe and culture and then my late teens were spent in the potpourri of diversity that you will find in post-secondary education.

Proud of all influences

I only had to speak and my accent betrayed a difference but when my dad said, I have always thought like a Westerner and my brother suggested I was not really one of the rest, though my sense of belonging was challenged the innate ability to adapt and thrive wherever I have lived has stood me in really good stead, I belong where I choose to belong.

Roughly, I have spent a third of my life in England, Nigeria and the Netherlands respectively, all with much that has influenced my outlook to life and the most important one for me is to be more understanding of people, their circumstances, their decisions, their persuasions and their sometimes unfortunate judgements that fuel moralising, sententiousness and intemperate attitudes.

Understanding matters

Again, we may never understand why those young men took their lives but knowing what I know now about many things that I have experienced and observed of our societies, we will need to tackle some taboo subjects to appreciate these issues better.

I remember too many instances where what I needed was just some care and understanding when I faced some psychologically threatening issues but the circumstances real as they were to me were dismissed with frivolity that you internalised turmoil and found some sort of attitude adjustment – solutions are not easy to come by.

Have I ever contemplated suicide? I have and many times, times when you hoped the ground will open up and swallow you than face a situation, the wrath or live through a circumstance because you were badly behaved, you had been violated, you were threatened or you were not performing as expected of you – I read a comment accompanying the news of the suicide – “Everything will fail you, but Jesus never fails. Try him today.”

Walk a yard in my shoes

Such hit-and-run philosophical musings are hardly helpful, as we approach the Christian Easter, we should remember that the Apostle Peter in the most trying times of his followership of Jesus Christ denied his master thrice and his master was not even dead yet, nor must we forget that Judas Iscariot was as much an apostle chosen amongst men who saw all that deeds and heard all the words and still he committed suicide.

We sometimes believe we know all things though many have hardly walked a yard in the shoes of another nor are we the embodiment of the total experiences of the many that we see around us. If we all told our stories to the detail necessary to sympathise or maybe even dare to empathise if we could, we would realise that the second, third or fourth man from us has probably seen more of life than we could ever have the capacity to face that we would faint at a fraction of what they have faced.

Good Samaritan aspiration

I wrote yesterday that I do not want to be a better Christian, I would rather be just a good Samaritan, there is much to that realisation. It is commonly said that we judge others by their actions and ourselves by our good intentions.

The Good Samaritan matched his good intentions with his actions, he dug deep into his humanity putting himself in the state of the wounded stranger and doing all he could do to help that stranger than the more religious people who left the stranger for dead.

I dare say that the more religion we profess, the more likely we would leave people for dead, judge their actions, find reason to castigate them, give foundation to our prejudices and boldly expound on our bigotries.

Let your humanity show through

The core of humanity is a different thing, it is not subject to any belief system it is just the heart connecting to that of another thinking this simple thing – If I were met with the circumstances the other person is in, what will I do and what will I hope others will do for me?

Our society suffering the turmoil of negativity of abuse, expectations, criticism, dangers, threats, mistakes and much else piles on pressures that the simplicity of words will not assuage, it is  involvement, engagement, listening, touching, hugging, understanding that some people need to see beyond their clouds – before you so readily judge and condemn, be aware that that invincible and inviolable man within you might just in the right theatre be like the person we have suddenly rubbished, excoriated and condemned with disinterest and indifference thinking we are being helpful.

In all that I have written here, I have not even begun to tackle the issues that I had to mind when I started this blog, let us read this as an introduction, there is much to talk about on these suicides – if anything, just say a prayer for anyone you have until now been unable to bless for reasons of your religious beliefs without which you might have been more understanding.

Thought Picnic: Feeding the hungry on feasts of prayer

Absence has burdens

There are times when adversity appears to settle like a thick fog over the hopes of a person that they cannot see beyond the immediacy of the situation they are in.

One has to resist the urge to wallow as a hand reaches out either in help or recognition of the situation you are in. I do well health wise for a person who once had cancer it no more feels like an issue of importance for my present until in the quest for work people start to ask questions about the gaps in my work experience profile.

I was out for 11 months when my health deteriorated and I found out I had cancer, had chemotherapy and returned fortunately finding work within 7 weeks of my ending that therapy but will only enough strength to do 32 hours a week with Wednesdays off.

Soon my strength caught up but I was not doing what essentially was my core skill and as things changed, some distance was developing between what I once knew and what is now out there, getting back into the that rat race of cutting-edge technology had been fraught as my old network has been unable to invite me to some new project and the new prospects have difficulty placing me not to talk of my confidence that has had a good hit over the last 8 months.

It is what I have called the long tail of illness and sometimes, it is the tail wagging the dog.

The leap of faith

@DoubleEph shared a link on Facebook from The Washington Post which referred to an article titled How unemployment has affected my relationship with God [1] which I then shared on Twitter and it started off a conversation.

Whilst I will not recount his story, I found some similarities with my situation; he had had a spinal surgery and appeared to have the support of his church community in prayer and all the best wishes.

Beyond that, he seemed to be alone in a struggle to have his prayers answered for a change in his circumstances. Maybe employers are taking a leap of faith engaging an employee who has had a health problem, one cannot say but as I have learnt, recovery is much more than beating disease it is also the fight to maybe retain what you have and possibly to regain the position and status you once had.

Without opportunity however, the risk is total loss and there is no telling how the person might deal with that circumstance.

Prayer for practical issues

He then touches on the issue of prayer and many had prayed and he had prayed too but when answered did not seem to materialise his fellow Christians began to doubt his Christianity on the one hand and then suggest that God is putting him through a test on the other hand.

For practical purposes one if left to review what options one has left, more fervent prayer or a relent on hope, seeking mercy for grace. I opined that sometimes the matter of prayer did sometimes seem like one was being water-boarded to confess under duress some secret that might bring respite.

A respite maybe a break or dare to have even a breakthrough; some miraculous event that sweeps away the weathered clouds and allows you to bask in the refreshing sunlight of unlimited blessing.

Finding the other side of the road

Beyond Christianity is the more involved and particular Christian living, like the story of the Good Samaritan, there are many who have been mugged and bludgeoned by life, circumstance or illness; left for dead on the road relieved of all their means.

They are visible enough for the many who ply the same road to see but they pass to the other side of the road, conveniently avoiding the act of compassionate involvement with the good intentions of a silent prayer that the victim might just keep alive until a better person comes to help.

As the victim lapses in and out of consciousness the Good Samaritan does not cross to the other side of the road but tends to the victim and goes the extra mile to seek help and provide succour. The interesting part of this story being rather than the platitude of prayer a practical solution was offered by reason of the humanity and compassion of that person who as the story is told is of no faith.

A prayer dish for the hungry

The hard truth reflected in this man’s story is that your brother’s keeper might well be everywhere but in your religious community where prayer is supposed to put food on your table when hungry, provide a job when your brethren have the means of employing you – we are met with the greatest expression of mountain-moving faith but hardly the molehill of commensurate works.

Yes, we all find ourselves in that situation where the best of our humanity and compassion is expressed in good intentions whilst our expectations of others require actions and very few recognise the real needs of others.

Prosperity gathers for food and drink whilst lack gathers for the tangibility of prayer as the essential contribution to the kitty of your need. Prayer does feed, it clothes, pays the bills, gets the jobs and we are being offered a televangelist message of divine health, prosperity and all conquering defiance.

For winning or for testing

If you are not winning the prayer war, you are doing something wrong, meanwhile, we have heard the message of faith so many times we have gone from know how it works to being clueless as to what to expect anymore – are we about to have our prayers answered or still being tested?

Maybe there is greater honour in the good fight of faith than receiving the compassionate hand-out of help, assistance and practical expressions of faith through works.

Meanwhile, let us endure the water-boarding for in the passage of time, if time will pass much quicker we might just confess what brings the respite, the answers, the victory and all that waiting is forgotten for a testimony in the household of God.

Praise God!

Sources

[1] How unemployment has affected my relationship with God

The Blood Transfusion con claims another life

Humankind the core of religion

Religious fanaticism becomes ever so much a problem when some interpretation by a branch of religious adherence stands in the way of preserving life.

Jesus in His earthly days contended strongly with the religious leaders who paid much heed to religious observance than the care and nurturing of humanity.

It led His charge that Sabbath was made for man and not man for Sabbath, presaging the context that his hungry disciples could pick grain for food on the Sabbath when religious law forbids work and it forms the crux of the parable of the Good Samaritan where it was someone without the strict religious upbringing of not touching the unclean who exercised compassion to save the victim of a mugging.

Basically, the import of all His teaching was that the care and love of humankind bears the greatest importance and significance to their fellow human-beings beyond traditions, culture, customs, doctrines, diktat or beliefs.

In everyday words, we have done nothing for the advancement of humankind if we sacrifice people on the altar of creeds and laws when we should be focusing on preserving health, well-being and life.

Blood for life in transfusion

This brings a very harrowing tale to the fore, a lady of 22 gave birth to a set of twins, but complications ensued where medicine could have mitigated the situation through a simple blood transfusion, but because of religious beliefs, she refused this life-saving treatment and consequently died leaving her twins motherless and her husband (24) loveless to care for the babies.

I stand on the point that any religious adherence that compels the denial of parenthood is inherently evil, extreme, fanatical, cultish, ungodly and patently of the devil.

Contrived Biblical interpretation

Somehow, someone has read the Bible and come to the conclusion that the exhortation not to touch blood in the Old Testament automatically infers there should be no transfusion – as if transfusion was an everyday occurrence in those times.

I agree that we do need to adhere to certain religious beliefs if we are so inclined, but unnecessary martyrdom where remaining on earth to perform your duty as parent is concerned is folly at best and inexcusable to the top of the church hierarchy that espouses such teaching, at the very least.

One wonders if a parent is then allowed to treat the wounds of their children if they are not to touch blood that is not theirs.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses hold this belief dear and in the process many have met untimely deaths where a simple medical procedure could have preserved life, love and care.

Transfusion is acceptable

They - the Jehovah's Witnesses - went to the extent of providing a Fresenius Continuous Autologous Transfusion System (CATS) to a hospital in the UK, years ago, which allowed for blood from the same person to be collected and transfused if needed – this means they do recognise the medical benefit of blood being transfused to save life; they only cannot countenance the idea of the blood being from someone else, whereas, this in itself is a gift of life where in a majority of cases the donor would never know the receiver. In the vein of a Good Samaritan spirit.

Beyond that, why can blood not be transfused in the family, are they not blood relations? parent-child, sibling-sibling or spouse-spouse.

The whole principle and doctrine begins to fall apart when scrutinised from a very common sense perspective, it saddens and infuriates that we cannot use our God-given faculties to balance the greater good over the nominal evil, if it really be that evil.

Keep religion out of public services

The more reason why the clamour to ban religion in public services and places should prevail, if you choose to use a public hospital, the medical advice should and must take precedence over religious belief, else go to church and let the priest minister through prayer.

It is things like these where the family should be filled with joy, that the wretched hands of fate and sorrow might lead people to curse God when it has been no fault of God but that of men in religious leadership teaching for doctrines the traditions of men to keep others in bondage to a faith that engenders death rather than the preservation of life.

I am so sorry for the Gough family; the church, no matter how benevolent cannot replace the love of a mother or suckle the children to maturity, the man alone with his sorrow, must contemplate the possibility that God’s will would have been so radically different from church doctrine and seek where the preservation of life as a service to humanity is the true calling of religion.