Author: David Petts

My Story  Talk 12 Brasenose College Oxford 1959-62 (Part 3)

Welcome to Talk 12 in our series where I am reflecting on God’s goodness to me throughout my life. This is now the third talk about the years I spent at Oxford. So far we have talked about life at Oxford, its academic programme, and my spiritual experience while I was there. Today I’m going to share with you my developing relationship with Eileen, our decision to get married shortly after I graduated, and how the Lord led us straight into pastoral ministry rather than going to Bible college first.

Keeping in touch

Throughout the two years after Eileen and I met, we had seen each other almost every day. Clearly, this could not continue while I was at Oxford, but we kept in touch as much as was then humanly possible. Of course, in those days there were no mobile phones. In fact, access to landlines was not easy, and anyway, it was extremely expensive. So Eileen and I kept in touch with each other by writing letters four or five times a week.

We also managed to see each other every two weeks. As I have mentioned already, the terms at Oxford were only 8 weeks long, so by going home for the weekend after four weeks, and by Eileen travelling up to see me for the weekend after weeks two and six, we were able to see each other on a fortnightly basis. This was very clear evidence of Eileen’s commitment to me as the journey on our Lambretta scooter through the busy traffic of central London was by no means easy.

Obviously, we made the most of those precious weekends. On Saturdays we would often explore the surrounding countryside on our scooter or even travel further afield visiting pretty Cotswold villages like Bibury and Bourton on the Water. Or in the summer we loved getting into one of the punts moored by Magaden Bridge and heading up the Cherwell where we picnicked on the home-made sausage rolls and egg and bacon pie that Eileen had brought with her from home. On Sundays, of course, we went to church together before Eileen made the 60-mile journey back home to be ready for work on Monday.

Of course, during the college vacations (which totalled half the year), the situation was completely different. I was able to see Eileen every day again. During the week, this was in the evenings as Eileen was at work during the daytime. And I was too, at least during the weeks that the schools had their holidays. As the Oxford terms were far shorter than the school terms I was able to earn some extra money by teaching in a local secondary school, which was to prove valuable for my future ministry as I was gaining experience in teaching children of a different age group from those I had taught in the years before I went to Oxford.

But apart from working hours, Eileen and I saw each other every evening and every weekend. Sundays were taken up with church twice in the day, and midweek we regularly attended the Tuesday night prayer meeting, the Thursday night Bible study, and the Friday night youth meeting. We were desperate to learn more about our Pentecostal experience and the way the Pentecostal churches did things.

In fact, whatever we were doing, our relationship with each other was from the start intimately connected with our relationship with the Lord and his will for our lives, even when we went on holiday.

As I have already mentioned, our first holiday together was at a Christian Endeavour Holiday Home in Devon in 1959 just before I went up to Oxford. The following year we decided to explore the Lake District together. We travelled the three-hundred-mile journey on our scooter, stopping overnight in Aintree with one of Eileen’s aunts, before finally arriving at a CE Home in Kents Bank near Grange-over-Sands. We had each visited the area before, but never together, and that fortnight was a wonderful opportunity to enjoy fellowship with other Christians as well as marvelling at the beauty of God’s creation as we made daily trips into different parts of the Lakes.

In 1961 we decided to go further afield and to spend four weeks touring France and northern Spain. So we exchanged our 125cc Lambretta for a new 175 which we trusted would cope well with the distances we would be travelling laden with two tents and all the paraphernalia required for camping. However, the moment we set off we both had some misgivings as the weight of luggage at the rear of the scooter made it harder to handle the machine safely, but undaunted we proceeded with caution and arrived safely at Southend airport where we had booked a flight on a cargo plane to northern France.

Our first night in France was spent in a cow field with the kind permission of the farmer. We were both experienced campers, Eileen with the Girl Guides and I with the Boys’ Brigade, but we had never before been woken by the sound of cows champing round our tent pegs and we quickly agreed to depart as soon as possible, particularly as there were no ‘facilities’ available! We determined that after that we would make sure to check into proper camping sites.

We travelled down the western side of France, stopping first at Paris for the weekend, camping in the Bois de Boulogne and visiting the thousand-strong Assemblies of God Church in the Rue du Sentier led by pastor André Nicole. Little did I know it then, but that was to be the first of many visits to French assemblies later in my ministry and sparked my interest in what the Holy Spirit was doing in European countries.

In Angouleme we discovered that our GB plate had fallen off and, knowing that we were legally required to display one, we visited a garage there and asked if they knew where we could get a replacement. It was then that I realised how inadequate my A Level French course had been. Although we had studied numerous French authors, it was of little practical use to us now as no one had told us how to say the alphabet in French! Finally, by writing the letters down I managed to let them know what I wanted and learnt that in French GB is pronounced Jay-Bay. They told us that they could make us one, but it would take a couple of days.

As a result, we had to travel further each day than originally planned which meant that we were both rather saddle-sore at the end of each day. We crossed the Spanish border between Biarritz and San Sebastian and immediately discovered that what we were doing was culturally unacceptable. Eileen was getting hoots and wolf-whistles from passing motorists because she was wearing trousers and not riding side-saddle! Of course, this would have been extremely dangerous bearing in mind the distances we were travelling each day and, at the risk of causing offense, we decided that we had no option but to carry on as we were.

Extremely tired when we reached Burgos we decided to spend the night in a hotel and enjoy the luxury of proper beds. We did the same in Madrid for two or three nights before heading for Barcelona by way of Zaragoza. But before we reached Barcelona our scooter broke down on a mountain road and reluctantly I had to leave Eileen by the roadside with the scooter while I hitched a lift in a Citroen deux-chevaux into a village called Jorba to get help.

It took two days to get the scooter fixed and by the time we eventually reached our campsite at Rosas, on the Mediterranean just north of Barcelona, it was already dark. A day or so later we arrived in Perpignan in southern France, intending to travel on up the eastern side of France on our way back home. But the scooter broke down again, and after two days camping at the back of an Esso station, we were compelled to return to England by train, leaving our scooter to be brought home courtesy of the RAC. Fortunately, it was still under warranty and was repaired by Lambretta after it finally arrived back in England some six weeks later.

That holiday was the last we were to have together before we were married the following year and, in some ways, was a preparation for it. Like the holiday, married life is wonderful, but not without its unexpected events, delays, and difficulties. We were learning to face problems together, to be patient with each other, and to trust in the Lord to bring us through. Perhaps that’s why I tend to advise young couples, wherever possible, to go on holiday together before deciding to get married. But that brings me to how I decided to propose to Eileen.

Engagement and Marriage

It was during my first term at Oxford. We had been ‘going out’ together for two years, seeing each other almost every day. But we had never talked about marriage. I think that must have been because I was very conscious of how serious marriage is. Divorce in those days was far less common than it is today and for me, as a Christian, it would not have entered my head. I knew that marriage would be for life. What’s more, I knew God had called me to serve him, and choosing the right partner was vitally important. So I was reluctant to commit myself.

But just before I went to Oxford my father had a word with me.

You’d better make your mind up about that girl, David. It would not be fair to keep her waiting for three years while you’re at Oxford, if your intentions are not serious.

Of course, I knew he was right. I had to make up my mind. The problem was, I didn’t want to give her up, but I didn’t want to marry her if she wasn’t the right one for me. Finally I did what I should have done much sooner. I decided to pray about it. I got down on my knees in my bedroom at Oxford and told the Lord my dilemma. I told him that I would gladly marry Eileen if she was God’s choice for me, but if not, I would give her up.

And as soon as I said that prayer I received an overwhelming peace and an assurance that Eileen was the girl I was to marry. So, the next time I was home from Oxford, after a long and passionate kiss, I said to her, You will marry me, won’t you, darling? Yes, those were my exact words! To which she replied, Oh yes! Of course I will.

So we decided to get engaged the following summer after my first year at Oxford, knowing that the earliest we could expect to marry would be after I had graduated. After gaining her father’s consent, we organised a wonderful garden party to celebrate our engagement on 2^nd July, 1960, and eventually were married by Pastor Alfred Webb at Bethel Full Gospel Church, Vicarage Road, Dagenham, on 28^th July, 1962. And the specially invited organist for the occasion was none other than Laurie N. Dixon, LRAM, the friend through whom I had first heard about the baptism in the Holy Spirit.   

Our move to Colchester

After our honeymoon in Cornwall, we moved directly into our first home, a bungalow in Colchester, where I had accepted the invitation to take over the pastorate of the small AoG church there. Colchester will be the subject of our next talk, but first I need to explain why we did not consider ministry in a Baptist church and why I did not go to Bible College as originally planned.

With regard to the Baptists, the explanation is simple. Once we had been baptised in the Spirit, neither of us had attended our Baptist churches apart from perhaps an occasional visit. This was largely because the minister of Hornchurch Baptist was not sympathetic to a Pentecostal understanding of scripture, and the new minister of Elm Park Baptist had stated that the Pentecostals’ exegesis of Acts was entirely unwarranted.

Against this, my parents had told me that Leslie Moxham, our former Baptist minister at Elm Park, had noticed such a difference in me since I was baptised in the Spirit that he had said, If the baptism in the Spirit can make that much difference to David, I want it too. Leslie was later baptised in the Spirit and eventually became an AoG minister working with my friend Colin Blackman in the Tunbridge Wells assembly. And although, as we were to discover later some Baptists were beginning to get involved in the Charismatic Renewal, it was evident to us that our future lay with the Pentecostals rather than with the Baptists.

But why didn’t I go the Bible College before taking on a church? The answer is that I tried to. Early in 1962 I applied to London Bible College. There was a section on the application form where you were required to give an account of your experience of Christ. So I mentioned not only how I had become a Christian, but also how Jesus had baptised me in the Holy Spirit. My interview lasted about an hour, most of which was taken up with what I believed about speaking in tongues. Was it for today? And if it was, was it for everyone? As a result, I received a letter a few days later saying that they felt I would do better to apply to a Pentecostal bible college! Interestingly, their rejection of my application is mentioned in Ian Randall’s history of LBC, Educating Evangelicals.

The AoG Bible College was then at Kenley in Surrey. Its principal was Donald Gee. I had had a brief conversation with him after a meeting at the East Ham Easter Convention, and he had promised to send me the application form. But this never arrived. I also heard it rumoured that the lady teaching English at Kenley, on hearing that an Oxford graduate might be coming, had, presumably jokingly, commented that he’ll be probably teaching me!

This, together with the fact that some of my Pentecostal friends were telling me that I didn’t need to go to Bible college, because I had got it – whatever that meant! – caused me to wonder if that was the direction I should be heading. So I said to the Lord,

If you really don’t want me to go to Bible College, let someone offer me the pastorate of a Pentecostal church.

And within a week, I had my answer. I received a letter from the Colchester assembly asking if I would be their pastor. There was a bungalow available for rent for six and a half guineas a week (£6.51) towards which they were prepared to contribute £5.00. Apart from that, they could offer nothing, and it was understood that I would need to seek full time secular employment. But that’s something for next time.

My Story   Talk 11 Brasenose College, Oxford (1959-1962) Part 2

Welcome to Talk 11 in our series where I am reflecting on God’s goodness to me throughout my life. Last time I finished by sharing with you how God powerfully spoke to me after a Philosophy tutorial through a verse in Psalm 119. Today I’ll be talking in more detail about my spiritual experience at Oxford, which, looking back on it, was to be far more significant for my future life and ministry than the academic programme I was following.

The most important thing a young Christian can do when going up to university is to make sure right from the start that they find, and have regular fellowship with, other Christians. There are two main ways of doing this, either by joining the Christian Union or by attending a local church – or preferably both, which is what I did.

Christian Union and Local Church

The CU at Brasenose was part of the OICCU – Oxford Inter-Collegiate Christian Union. Each college CU would have its own weekly meeting for prayer and Bible study, but there was also a regular Saturday night Bible Study held at the Northgate Hall, situated close to the Oxford Union building. This was well attended by Christians from across the whole university, and I became a regular attender at both these gatherings. I appreciated the opportunity to meet Christians from different denominational backgrounds, and, bearing in mind my experience of the Anglican chaplain at Brentwood School, was particularly pleased to discover that some Anglicans actually did profess the believe the Bible!

However, much as I enjoyed fellowship with these good people, having been only recently baptised in the Spirit, and having begun to appreciate Pentecostal worship, I was very aware that something very important was lacking in their meetings – the supernatural power of the Holy Spirit. Of course, things are very different today, but in those days the Charismatic Renewal had not yet begun and most Anglicans, who in my experience tended to view other denominations as somewhat inferior, were highly suspicious of, if not totally unaware of, the rapidly growing worldwide Pentecostal Movement.

And, of course, I was eager to enlighten them! But first a word about the local Pentecostal church. At the time, the only Pentecostal church in Oxford was the Elim Church situated on the Botley Road just beyond Oxford Railway Station. I was keen to attend there because, however valuable membership of a Christian union may be, there really is no substitute for the life and fellowship of a local church.

So throughout my time at Oxford I regularly attended on Sundays both the morning and evening services, which meant incidentally that I missed both lunch and dinner in college because the mealtimes clashed with the times of the services. More importantly, on my very first Sunday in Oxford, it was there that I met three other students who were from Pentecostal churches, which led to our meeting regularly for prayer and to the formation of the Students’ Pentecostal Fellowship.

Students’ Pentecostal Fellowship

The students I met after church that first Sunday morning in Oxford were, Michael Collins who came from Dorchester AoG and was in his second year at St. Peter’s Hall reading Engineering, and Gladys Bland and John Miles who, like me, were in their first year. Gladys was from East Ham AoG and was doing postgraduate work in English Literature at Somerville College, and John was from Gloucester AoG and was reading English at Regents Park College.

We were all delighted to meet each other because up to then there had been relatively few Pentecostals attending university. We soon became firm friends and agreed to meet regularly together for fellowship and prayer, particularly for spiritual gifts and for Christian students from a different denominational background to be baptised in the Spirit. Michael had a friend called Philip who was already Spirit filled, and he joined our prayer group too.

I will never forget the day, early in our first year, when there was a prophecy in one of those meetings that people of all denominations, including professors and university lecturers, would be baptised in the Spirit. As I’ve already mentioned, the Charismatic Renewal had not yet begun or, if it had, we had not heard of it, and to be honest, I really wondered if that could possibly happen. But it did, and in our own small way we were to be a part of it.

What we didn’t know then was that similar groups were forming in other universities. There were students from a Pentecostal background at Cambridge and London Universities too, and once we heard about this we naturally wanted to get in touch with them. And a key person to help us do that was Richard Bolt. Richard had been an Anglican ordinand but after he was baptised in the Spirit in an AoG church in Durham his course at Clifton Theological College was terminated because he was laying hands on other students and praying for them to speak in tongues.

Shortly after this he was welcomed by AoG and became an Assemblies of God minister based in a small assembly in Colchester. However, as the Lord was using him in healing and in leading others into the baptism in the Spirit, Richard’s ministry extended well beyond Colchester as he took time to travel to universities and colleges to encourage Pentecostal students and to pray for others who wanted to be filled with the Spirit. He was certainly a great encouragement to me and my family. My mother was baptised in the Spirit under his ministry.

But before I knew anything about how the Lord was using Richard, the thought had already crossed my mind that we ought to form, at least in Oxford, a university society for Pentecostal students. The Baptists had what was known as The John Bunyan Society which met every Sunday afternoon in Regents Park College where John Miles was a student. He and I attended this quite often and I mentioned to him that I thought it might be good to have something similar for Pentecostals. As a result of this, John wrote to Aaron Linford, the editor of Redemption Tidings, the AoG weekly magazine, and asked for advice.

And it was at this point that Richard Bolt told us about the Pentecostal students at Cambridge and London. All this led to a gathering in London early in 1961 when the Students’ Pentecostal Fellowship (SPF) was formed. Richard Bolt was recognised as its Travelling Secretary and Donald Underwood, a graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, as General Secretary.

We organised annual weekend house-parties where students were exposed to the ministry of Pentecostal leaders, and evangelistic missions where students would sing, testify, and preach during the summer vacations. We also published a magazine known as The Pentecostal and developed a postal library service where students could borrow books by Pentecostal authors.

At Oxford our group grew in numbers during our second year, partly due to an influx of students from Culham College led by Andrew Parfitt, the son of the AoG pastor at Maidstone, but also because our prayers were being answered and students from other denominations were getting baptised in the Spirit. But that leads me to how I personally started to be used in leading others into the baptism.

Leading others into the baptism

It all began a few weeks after I had started at Oxford when, after one of those Saturday night Bible Studies in the Northgate Hall, I was looking at a book on the bookstall which was about a revival that had broken out somewhere in Africa. Chris, one of my Anglican friends from Brasenose, saw what I was looking at and asked me if I had any personal experience of revival. So I began to tell him about the baptism in the Holy Spirit.

As a result, Chris started to seek the baptism and came along to the Elim church where the pastor laid hands on him and prayed for him. But nothing happened and after a few weeks Chris came to me and said,

I want you to pray for me. I’m coming to your room tomorrow and I want you to lay hands on me and pray for me.

I was frankly unsure how to respond to this. I was very new to all this myself and I did not know if I had the authority to lay hands on him. I didn’t know if such things were the responsibility of pastors, and I wasn’t a pastor. But Chris was very insistent and so I agreed. The next day was Saturday and there were no lectures or tutorials for me to attend, so I decided to spend the night in prayer. This was something I had never done before, and have not done very often since, but I realised the seriousness of what Chris had asked me to do and I wanted to get it right.

When Chris came the next day, we chatted for a bit, and then he said,

Well, are you going to pray for me or not?

I think he may have sensed that I was putting it off because, despite my night of prayer, I was nervous about it. He knelt down in front of me, and I plucked up courage and, quietly speaking in tongues, gently placed my hands on his shoulders. But nothing seemed to happen, and I didn’t know what to do, when I remembered that in the Authorised Version (which most of us were still using in those days) Acts 19:6 says that it was when Paul had laid his hands upon the Ephesians that the Holy Spirit came on them and they spoke in tongues and prophesied. In other words, the Spirit came on them after Paul laid his hands on them.  And I found myself prophesying over Chris that he would receive, and that he would receive that very day. At which, Chris got up, said thank you, and left me. And I was left wondering if I had done the right thing.

I had my answer at eight the following morning. I was still asleep, having had no sleep the previous night, when I was woken by something digging me in my ribs. It was Chris with his umbrella. What was he doing here?

            Oh, it’s you Chris. What on earth are you doing here?

And then it occurred to me that he might have come to tell me what had happened, so I added,

            You haven’t received the baptism, have you?

To which he responded as he continued to dig me in the ribs,

            O ye of little faith!

He had, of course, received, and he told me how it had happened. After he had left me he had returned to his room and had been reading a book by, or about, the famous missionary to China, Hudson Taylor. The book emphasised that in addition to faith we need courage in our Christian lives, and Chris realised that that was just what he needed. He looked up from the book intending to say, Yes, Lord. Give me courage. But instead of doing so, he found himself speaking in tongues!

Little did I know it then, but Chris was to be the first among hundreds, if not thousands, of people who have begun to speak in tongues through the ministry the Lord has given me. But that’s closely related to the subject of spiritual gifts and how I began to exercise them.

Beginning to exercise spiritual gifts

Shortly after I was baptised in the Spirit I visited the bookshop at the AoG National Offices at 51 Newington Causeway, London. I bought every book they had on the Holy Spirit and spiritual gifts. As a young Baptist I had received little teaching about the Spirit and none whatsoever on spiritual gifts. And I was eager to learn. I devoured books like Harold Horton’s The Gifts of the Spirit and Donald Gee’s Concerning Spiritual Gifts, and I learnt that the baptism in the Spirit is not an end in itself, but a gateway to supernatural gifts like tongues,  interpretation, prophecy, and healing. And I was longing to receive and be used in whatever gifts the Lord might have for me.

As it happened, I didn’t have long to wait. I was still in my first year at Oxford when I was confronted with a situation at the church I was attending. The Elim church in Oxford was a well-attended lively church where the gifts of the Spirit were regularly in operation. On a Sunday morning there were often prophecies, tongues and interpretation. Some of my Christian friends from Brasenose came along to experience Pentecostal worship and so far I had not been embarrassed in any way by what went on in the meetings.

However, one Sunday morning, when fortunately none of my friends was present, somebody spoke in tongues but there was no interpretation. No explanation was given for this and, although I was still new to these things, I knew that the Bible was very clear that speaking in tongues in church should be interpreted. I probably should have asked the pastor about this, but he was a busy man and I did not know him very well. Consequently I kept quiet about the matter, but was still concerned that everything was not quite as it should be.

Shortly after that, when Richard Bolt was visiting, I told him about this and asked him what I should do. He said,

The answer is very simple David. You interpret.

To which I replied,

But I don’t have the gift.

He then said,

Then ask for it.

But, bearing in mind that 1 Corinthians 12:11 tells us that these gifts are given as the Holy Spirit determines, I asked,

But I know God wants me to have it?

His answer to this was along the following lines. The very fact that I was concerned about it might well indicate that God wanted me to have it. And, anyway, we know from God’s word that it is his will that tongues in church should be interpreted. So I would be in God’s will if I went ahead and interpreted it. I should pray about it and next time it happened I should ask God for the interpretation and then speak out in faith. Our heavenly Father gives good gifts to his children when they ask him.

Although I still had questions, I decided to do what he said and over the next few weeks kept asking the Lord about the matter. Then, one Sunday morning it happened. Someone spoke in tongues and I waited, hoping that someone else would interpret it. But when no one did, I asked the Lord to give me the right words to say and immediately a few words came into my mind which I began to speak out in faith. I say in faith, but I have to confess that my faith was mingled with doubt. I was half expecting the pastor to intervene and say that this was not the right interpretation! But to my intense relief he said nothing, and after the meeting people came and thanked me for my interpretation.

So from time to time, I continued to interpret tongues, but still with the occasional doubt if what I said could really be the interpretation. And later in the series I will tell you how God wonderfully confirmed the genuineness of my gift when I interpreted a tongue that was identified as a language spoken in Africa.

God certainly did some wonderful things while I was at Oxford, and I realise now that I was already exercising a ministry while I was there. I was leading our SPF prayer group, teaching others about spiritual gifts, as well as preaching in churches from time to time. It seems that others were recognising this before I did, and I was soon asked to share my testimony at the AoG National Youth Rally held in the Birmingham Town Hall and to contribute an article in Redemption Tidings entitled Pentecost in Oxford University. The Lord was clearly preparing the way for my future ministry.

Next time, I’ll tell you about my developing relationship with Eileen which led to our marriage immediately after I graduated and how I ultimately decided not to go to Bible College as originally planned, but to accept the pastorate of the Assemblies of God Church in Colchester.

My Story   Talk 10   Brasenose College, Oxford, 1959-1962

Welcome to Talk 10 in our series where I’m reflecting on God’s goodness to me throughout my life. Today we begin on the years that I spent at Oxford between 1959 and 1962.

For me, life at Brasenose College began on Thursday, 8^th October 1959, exactly one month after I had been baptised in the Holy Spirit. I travelled there by car with Eileen and my parents, who, after helping me unpack and settle into my room at the top of staircase 11, prayed with me before returning home. This was the beginning of an entirely new phase in my life. It was the first time that I was living away from home. I would be making new friends and be challenged by new ideas.

But there are some things which remain constant in our lives no matter what else may change. I knew that my parents loved me. I knew that Eileen loved me, and that I loved her. And I knew that God had a purpose for my life and that I was now at Brasenose as part of that overall plan. So I had confidence that all would be well.

The fact that I would now be reading PPE (Philosophy, Politics, and Economics) did not faze me, even though I had never studied any of those subjects before. My original purpose in accepting the place I had been offered had been to widen my sphere of knowledge before eventually concentrating on theology in order to prepare for the ministry.

And PPE would certainly do that. But there was far more to being at Oxford than the course I would be studying. There was the social and recreational life which I greatly enjoyed. And it was a great opportunity to interact with people of all faiths and none and to share my faith with them. Opportunity, too, to tell other Christians about the baptism in the Holy Spirit, and to meet other Pentecostal students and spend time in prayer with them for the supernatural gifts of the Spirit. And it was also a time when my relationship with Eileen would be strengthened even though we would be apart for weeks on end.

As I can’t cover that in just one talk, today will be aboutlife at Brasenose, its domestic arrangements, its social life and sporting activities, and the academic programme and its challenge to my faith.

Next time I’ll share in more detail about my spiritual experience including how the Lord led me into leading others into the Baptism in the Spirit, how I began to exercise spiritual gifts, and how we began the Students’ Pentecostal Fellowship.

And later I’ll tell you about my developing relationship with Eileen which led to our marriage immediately after I had graduated and how I ultimately decided not to go to Bible College as originally planned, but to accept the pastorate of the Assemblies of God Church in Colchester.

Life at Brasenose

When I arrived at Brasenose in October 1959 it was almost three years since I had been there previously in November 1956 when I had taken the scholarship examination. Back then I had never seen any of the students’ rooms, as we were staying in a boarding house in the Woodstock Road. So I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. But as soon as I entered my new room, I was pleasantly surprised. It was larger than my bedroom at home, was well furnished and overlooked one of the quads with a view of the Radcliffe Camera and the University Church of Saint Mary the Virgin in the background.

Students were usually allocated a room in college for the first year of their studies, and sometimes for the second year too, when you had opportunity to choose what room you would prefer. During my first year I discovered that the room beneath me was even larger than the room I was in and had the benefit of a bedroom separate from the main room which was used as a sitting room as well as a study.

So when I was offered the chance to live in college for a second year I opted for this room which proved to be extremely useful when we were holding prayer meetings for those interested in seeking spiritual gifts. But more of that next time. For my third year I lived ‘in digs’ in a boarding house on the Botley Road, just 50 yards away from the Elim Pentecostal Church which I attended throughout my time in Oxford.

Meals at Brasenose were, in my opinion at least, of a high quality and I was introduced to dishes which I had never tasted at home. These included jugged hare and braised haunch of venison, the only meals I took a positive dislike to, probably because the meat was hung for several days before it was cooked which resulted in a rather unpleasant smell. Fortunately, we were allowed to sign out in advance for any evening meal, provided we dined in college at least five times a week.

Dinner was a rather formal occasion at which we were required to wear our gowns, and which was preceded by a Latin grace which began with the words:

Oculi omnium spectant in te Deus. Tu das illis escas tempore opportuno…

which means

The eyes of all wait upon you O God. You give them their food in due season,

and is taken from Psalm 145:15.

Sadly, however, I’m not sure that many people took it seriously, even if they should have known what it meant, bearing in mind that at the time Latin at O level was still an entrance requirement for Oxford University.

Breakfast and lunch were far less formal occasions. Grace was not said and there were no requirements about a dress code or attendance. There were, in fact, very few requirements about life in college. Apart from academic regulations, what rules there were related to the time of day you had to be back in college and the time at which any female guests had to be out!

The gate in the porters’ lodge was the only means of access to the College. It was locked at midnight and anyone seeking access after that would be reported to the Dean and a fine would be automatically payable. However, this could be avoided if you were agile enough to scale an eight-foot wall without being caught, something of course I never had to try!

As far as the ladies were concerned, they had to be out by 10pm. This, I imagine, is no longer relevant, as, like most Oxford colleges, Brasenose rightly accepts female students as well as men. But by the time I left Oxford the ‘swinging sixties’ had hardly begun, and there was still at least a nominal acknowledgement of Christian moral values.

For residential students there was also a rule about the minimum number of nights you had to be in college over the course of a term. Any absence without permission from your ‘moral tutor’ would be reported by your ‘scout’. Scouts, who were usually much older than the students, originally were little more than their servants and before my time would clean your shoes if you left them outside the door of your room.

Even in my time they were referred to by their surname only, whereas they had to refer to me as Mr Petts and address me as Sir. This was something I deplored, a tradition which harked back to the old upstairs/downstairs attitude of the aristocracy still very prevalent in the early decades of the last century. If you’ve ever watched Downton Abbey you’ll know exactly what I mean.

Social and sport

Probably the most frequent social activity at Oxford was drinking coffee and staying up until the early hours of the morning discussing religion or politics or whatever else was currently in the news. Of course, whenever I could I took the opportunity to share my faith with anyone who would listen. Most of these discussions took place either in my room or that of fellow students whose accommodation was close to mine.

And at least one of those students came to faith in Christ during his first term at Brasenose, largely through the ministry of Keith de Berry, the rector of St. Aldate’s Church, but I like to think that my testimony also played a part in his decision to give his life to Christ. He went on to gain a first class degree in Chemistry and continued at Oxford to do a D.Phil., (the Oxford version of a PhD). Now, after more than sixty years he is still a committed Christian and once told me that his scientific research had only confirmed his faith in Christ.

Of course, late night discussions were by no means the only occasions when there was opportunity to witness to the truth of the gospel. So whether it was punting on the Cherwell on a lazy summer afternoon, or in the changing room after a football match, or playing tennis or table tennis (for which, in my final year, I was captain of the College team), I was always eager to share my faith.

But that doesn’t mean that I was constantly ‘Bible bashing’. Far from it. I remember how on one occasion, when our team was playing tennis against another college, my doubles match had been delayed for some reason. Consequently, it looked as though I would be late for our Students’ Pentecostal Fellowship prayer meeting.

But it was a three-set match, and we had lost the first set six-love and were losing the second set four-love. We had only to lose two more games, and the match would be over, and I could get off to the prayer meeting which by then had already started. But throwing away the match would hardly be fair to my partner and would not have glorified God.

Then I realised that my friends would wonder where I was and would be praying for me, wherever I was or whatever I was doing. Which inspired me to say to my partner,

            Come on, John. We’re going to win this match.

And we did. The level of our tennis suddenly improved, and, having lost ten games in a row, we went on to win all the next twelve, taking the match by two sets to one (4-6, 6-4, 6-0). I’m not sure that John believed my explanation that this was probably the result of answered prayer, but because of that experience I am personally convinced, not only that God is interested in every tiny detail of our lives, but that such experiences bear testimony to others of the reality of our faith.

Academic programme

The academic year at Oxford began in early October and finished towards the end of June. Each term lasted just 8 weeks which meant that the long summer vacation provided the opportunity for students to get a summer job or travel abroad or, where necessary, to catch up on their reading.

Reading was, in fact, a major part of learning, and the world-renowned Bodleian Library situated virtually on the doorstep of Brasenose, provided access to millions of books and other printed items. Guidance as to which books to read was given in tutorials when your tutor would set you an essay to write in time for the following week, when you would read your essay to him and he would make appropriate comments.

At the beginning of term, he would also recommend what lectures might be helpful. Attendance at lectures was entirely optional, whereas attendance at tutorials was a compulsory part of one’s course. The standard of lecturing varied immensely, some academics having very poor communication skills. As a result, attendance would steadily diminish week by week and in one case I remember the series was terminated early ‘due to an indisposition’ on the part of the lecturer!

In my day, the system of assessment at Oxford, for PPE at least, was by written examination. After ‘prelims’ (preliminary examinations) which were taken in March in your first year, there was no further examination until ‘finals’ which were taken in the June of your third year.

I was required to take at least two papers in each subject, Philosophy, Politics, and Economics, plus two further papers of my choice. I opted to take these in Philosophy as this was my favourite, despite the fact that it had been the most challenging to my Christian faith.

For example, during my second year I had been asked by my tutor to write an essay on the ontological argument for the existence of God. This was one of the arguments used by the philosopher René Descartes in an attempt to prove God’s existence. During the course of my essay I said something to the effect that although philosophy cannot prove the existence of God it cannot disprove it either.

It was at this point, as I was reading my essay to my tutor, that he interrupted me by saying:

Oh, I don’t know. I think if you mean by ‘prove’ what we normally mean by ‘prove’, and if you mean by ‘God’ what we normally mean by ‘God’, then we can probably disprove God’s existence. But perhaps we can talk about it another time.

This was the first time in my life that I had been confronted with such an outright denial of God’s existence, and my tutor’s statement shocked me deeply. It challenged everything I had based my life upon. I felt numb. As soon as he had left the room I instinctively wanted to call out to God for help. But what if my tutor was right and there was no God to call out to? But I called out anyway:

            God, if there is a God, HELP!

And He did! I walked into my bedroom and picked up my Bible and opened it. It fell open at Psalm 119, verse 99. My teacher had told me that he could prove that there is no God. Who was I to challenge the statement of an Oxford tutor? But in that verse the Psalmist said:

I have more insight than all my teachers, for I meditate on your statutes.

I came later to realise that by reading the Bible the most simple believer can gain more understanding of the things that really matter than all the intellectual rationalising of the philosopher. That verse brought immediate reassurance to my heart. It was not just the content of the verse that reassured me – though it certainly did – but the fact that, of all the verses there are in the Bible, I should turn at random to that very one. This was surely no coincidence. God had spoken to me in a remarkable and powerful way.

And as the years have gone by I have learned how to counteract the arguments of the atheists. I’m so glad now that I did not abandon my faith back then. People will always be bringing up challenges to our faith, but just because I don’t know the answer doesn’t mean that there is no answer! And until I know what it is, I just need to keep on trusting the One who said, I AM the truth.

My Story  Talk 9 Between Brentwood and Brasenose (1956-1959) Part 2

In our last talk I mentioned that three significant things happened between my leaving school in 1956 and going up to Brasenose in 1959. I gained experience in teaching. I met Eileen, my future wife. And I received the Baptism in the Holy Spirit. And it’s the baptism in the Spirit that’s the subject for today. We’ll be talking about the events that led up to it, how I heard about it and how both Eileen and I received it.

In August 1957 at a Baptist Union Summer School in the Lake District I met a man called Michael, who mentioned that the following year he was planning to go touring Europe with some Christian friends who owned a car. He asked if I would be interested in going with them and I said yes. I paid to have driving lessons so that I could share in the driving. It was a wonderful holiday, not just because of the breathtaking scenery, but because it was there in Switzerland that I first heard about the baptism in the Holy Spirit.

In my book Signs from Heaven I have already recorded the miraculous escape I had from a falling boulder while climbing a mountain and how impressed I was with the simple faith of one of my new friends who prayed for me as he saw it coming straight for me. His name was Laurie and he was clearly moving in a dimension of Christianity that I knew little or nothing about. So I asked him what he had got that I hadn’t got.

So he started to talk about an experience he had received after his conversion – being baptised with the Holy Spirit he called it – when the Holy Spirit had come and filled him to overflowing. He said he had spoken in tongues and told me I could read about it in the book of Acts. But although I wanted to experience more of God in my life, I wasn’t interested in speaking in tongues, and I dismissed the subject from my mind. And I might have ignored it forever had it not been for the remarkable series of events which took place the following summer when both Eileen and I were baptised in the Spirit.

In the summer of 1959 we were both sitting in the youth meeting at Eileen’s church singing from a well-known chorus book, when I happened to notice a list of books advertised on the back cover, one of which was entitled, The Full Blessing of Pentecost, by Dr. Andrew Murray. The title arrested my attention. Could this be what Laurie had been talking about the previous year in Switzerland? So I decided that it might be good to get it.

I mentioned this to Eileen and, without my knowing about it, she wrote to the publishers hoping to buy a copy for me, but a few days later, she received a reply saying the book was no longer available. The following Saturday morning, I went round to see Eileen and she told me that she had tried to get the book for me but that unfortunately it was out of print. A bit disappointed, I thanked her for trying anyway and, after spending the morning with her, returned home from Eileen’s to my parents’ house for lunch.

As the meal was not quite ready, I went into the sitting room to wait. On entering, I happened to notice a book lying on the piano and casually picked it up – The Full Blessing of Pentecost by Dr. Andrew Murray! But how did it get there?

No one, except Eileen, knew anything of my interest in the subject. My parents did not know where the book had come from. It is true that my father had always had a large collection of books, but if it was his, he certainly had never read it, and didn’t even know that he possessed it. Anyway, why wasn’t it in the bookcase and how did it get on the piano?

No one had any idea how that book came to be there on the very day that I had been told it was unobtainable. The answer must surely lie in the realm of the supernatural. This was no coincidence. God was confirming to me that I needed to be baptised in the Spirit, and that afternoon, after I had read the book, I got down on my knees and asked God to fill me with the Holy Spirit. But nothing happened!

That evening, I went round to Eileen’s and told her about the book. And after she had read the book she too started to seek for the baptism in the Holy Spirit. As Baptists, we knew next to nothing about it – only what we had read in Andrew Murray’s book, and that, as I look back on it now, did not give an entirely complete picture.  As I remember it, it made a strong case for believing that there was an experience of the Holy Spirit beyond what we receive at conversion, but there was no mention of speaking in tongues as the evidence.

As a result we weren’t exactly sure what we were asking for, but I had the distinct impression that if I was going to receive the Holy Spirit I needed to prepare myself by becoming more holy. I remember thinking that if I could only live a sinless life for a month, or maybe even a week, or even just today, perhaps God would fill me with the Holy Spirit. I remember driving my father’s car taking care not to exceed the speed limit when, as I was going down a hill in a 30 zone, I noticed that the speedometer had gone up to 32 m.p.h. Oh no, I thought, I’ve missed receiving the baptism for another day!

Of course, I now understand, and frequently teach, that the Holy Spirit is a gift and can’t be earned! But back then I was getting frustrated by trying the achieve an experience of the Spirit by my own efforts and inevitably failing. So I thought I would write to Laurie who had told me about the baptism in the Spirit in the first place. What should I do? To which he replied, David, all I can say is that if you are really thirsty, you will drink. But this was even more frustrating. The problem was, I had no idea how to drink! Laurie lived quite a distance from me and I didn’t feel like writing back and saying,

Thanks Laurie. That’s very helpful, but please, how do I drink?

So Eileen and I decided on a different approach. Perhaps we should find a Pentecostal Church and see if they could help us. It turned out that the nearest one was Bethel Full Gospel Church which was about five miles away in Dagenham, and easily reached on our recently acquired Lambretta scooter. So we drove over to take a look at it and discovered from the noticeboard that there was a prayer meeting every Tuesday evening. I was quite nervous about it as I had never been in a Pentecostal meeting before, but we were pleasantly surprised and were impressed with the number of people praying, even though prayers were interspersed with lots of Amens. We, of course, as good Baptists were only used to saying Amen at the end of a prayer!

But what really impacted us was the use of the gift of tongues and interpretation. In the middle of the prayer time there were three ‘messages’ in tongues each of which was promptly interpreted. And we knew that God was speaking to US. These people did not know who we were. We had arrived just in time for the meeting and had had no time for conversation before the meeting began. So when we heard the opening words of the first interpretation we were completely amazed:

You have come into this church seeking to be filled with the Spirit!

All three interpretations were equally directly relevant to us, and as a result we spoke with the pastor after the meeting and explained who we were and why we had come. His name was Alfred Webb, and he encouraged us to come the following Tuesday and sit on the front row where anyone ‘seeking the baptism’ would be prayed for with the laying on of hands. So that’s what we did, but we were rather disappointed when nothing seemed to happen when he laid hands on us. This happened week after week until we finally received after we had come back from our summer holiday in Torquay, Devon.

That holiday was significant for several reasons. It was the first time that Eileen and I had been on holiday together and we had borrowed my father’s car so that we could take another young couple with us. My father had bought the car before he had passed the driving test so that I could give him lessons. (You may remember that I had learned to drive before we went on that holiday in Switzerland). Dad had not yet passed the test, so was happy to let me borrow it.

But, as far as the baptism in the Spirit was concerned, two things were particularly relevant. First, on the two Sundays we were in Torquay we decided to attend Upton Vale Baptist Church which was not far from the Christian Endeavour Holiday Home where we were staying. I was very impressed with the minister’s sermon on Hebrews 11:6 and his emphasis on the fact that God rewards those who earnestly seek him. So I had a word with him after the service and told him I was seeking the baptism in the Spirit.

Sadly, but not unsurprisingly for a Baptist minister back in 1959, he tried to discourage me from doing so, something which, when I started my course at Oxford a month or so later, influenced my decision to attend a Pentecostal church while I was there rather than a Baptist church. However, that sermon on Hebrews 11:6 on God rewarding those who earnestly seek him did reemphasise a word of prophecy we had received at Bethel a few weeks earlier encouraging us to get up early to pray. Now I am not saying that getting up early to pray is a condition of receiving the baptism, but it could be an indication that we were earnestly seeking, that we were really thirsty (John 7:7-39). So for the rest of that holiday we got up early and prayed.

And when we went to the Tuesday prayer meeting after we got back from our holiday, it happened! This time there was another man sitting alongside the pastor on the platform. I had no idea who he was but as soon as the prayer time began he came down to pray for those who were seeking the baptism.

Eileen and I were kneeling in the front row and he came to me first. I was kneeling with my head in my hands on the seat of the chair I had been sitting on. The man, who I later learned was a pastor called Harold Young, said,

Kneel up, brother.

So I moved into an upright kneeling position and he then said,

Breathe it in, brother.

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, and I thought it rather strange. But I was thirsty and unquestioningly did what he said. I took a breath. Then he said,

Speak it out brother.

Again, I did what he said and I found myself speaking fluently in tongues. And I did not stop until the pastor closed the meeting 45 minutes later!

Then someone came up to me and said, You had a mighty baptism, didn’t you, brother? To which I replied, Oh, did I? To be honest, it was not at all what I had been expecting. Although I’m not really sure what I was expecting! By this time I had heard or read of so many different testimonies of people receiving the baptism and had realised that in some ways everyone is different, so I was not really sure what I should expect. What I wanted was to be filled with the Holy Spirit. I was not particularly interested in speaking in tongues.

What’s more, I found myself questioning whether the words I was speaking really were a language. I had studied four different foreign languages at school and it certainly sounded like none of them. So was my experience real? These questions were going through my mind as we were travelling home on our scooter. But then I remembered something that Jesus had said in Luke 11. Our heavenly Father does not give stones or scorpions or snakes to his children when they ask for the Holy Spirit. And on that basis I chose to believe that what I had experienced was real. I’m so glad that I did. Its reality has been confirmed again and again in my life and ministry. But more of that in later talks.

But what about Eileen? She had had similar doubts when she heard what Harold Young had said to me and when he laid hands on her she did not receive. However, straight after the meeting he spoke to her and said, You do want to receive don’t you? and Eileen said yes. So he took us both into the church vestry and placed his right hand on my head and told me to start speaking in tongues again. Then he placed his other hand on Eileen’s head and said,

Now you begin to speak too.

And she did! And later she told me that it had been in that very vestry that she had received Jesus as her saviour in Bethel Church Sunday school when she was only seven years old. So we were both baptised in the Spirit on the same day, September 8, 1959, just four weeks before I began my course at Brasenose College, Oxford, where I spent a lot of time telling other Christians about the baptism in the Holy Spirit. But we’ll be talking about that next time.

Talk 8 Between Brentwood and Brasenose (1956-59) Part 1

Welcome to Talk 8 in our series where I’m reflecting on the goodness of God throughout my life.

I left school in December 1956 and started my course at Oxford in October 1959, a period of almost three years. In many ways it seemed a long time to wait, but in the plan and purpose of God they turned out to be highly significant years. I gained experience in teaching. I met Eileen, the girl who was to be lifelong partner. And I received the life-changing experience of the baptism in the Holy Spirit. But first, I need to explain how I got my place at Oxford and why I had to wait three years before taking it up.

Gaining my place at Oxford

In 1956, at the age of seventeen, I had already passed my A Levels and had decided to stay on at school a further year to take S Levels the following summer. S Levels – the S stands for Scholarship – were the highest level of GCE exams that you could take and were designed to support your application to university, especially if you were hoping to go to Oxbridge.

However, as things turned out, I did not need to complete my S Level course because in the first term of that school year I was awarded a scholarship to read Philosophy, Politics and Economics at Brasenose College, Oxford. Our form master, Mr. Rennie, had suggested that some of us might like to spend a few days in Oxford and take some examinations at Brasenose College with a view to obtaining a place there.

As there was only one place available I was not expecting to get it. But I decided to go even though my friend, John Bramble, was going too and I thought he was far more likely to be successful. He had always come higher than me in class and had gained better A Level results than I had.

There were about eight of us altogether, each of us taking different exam papers, generally depending on what subjects we had taken at A level. There was just one paper that was the same for all of us, an English essay, the title of which was unknown to us until we sat down in the examination room. And that title was WORDS.

The length of that exam was three hours and, although some boys started writing almost immediately, I spent the first 45 minutes planning my essay. I can’t remember in great detail the contents of that essay but I know that I concluded it by talking about Christ, the word made flesh, the divine logos, the ultimate revelation of God Himself.

I have sometimes wondered if the reason I was awarded the scholarship rather than any of my colleagues was that the Lord was honouring me because I had honoured him. Of course, I can’t be sure about that, but he had helped me through my A levels when I had honoured him before the whole class when my History master had told me that I was likely to fail, and I have always sought to give God the glory for any academic success I may have achieved.

And I discovered later that, of all the papers I sat during that visit to Brasenose, that essay on WORDS was awarded the highest grade – an alpha. But when I received a letter from Brasenose offering me a scholarship a few weeks later, I was totally amazed and, after discussing it with my father, I came to the conclusion that this had to be God.

But there was just one problem. The place they were offering me was for three years later in October 1959, after I had completed my two years National Service. However, the Government had already agreed to abolish National Service and were in the process of phasing it out gradually.

They did this by delaying the ‘call-up’ which meant, in my case, that by the time they would have called me up, there would be less than two years before my course at Oxford was starting. In short, I would not have time to do National Service and, by the time I had finished my course at Oxford, National Service had been abolished completely.

So, having obtained my place at Oxford, I decided to leave school at the end of term in December and start to earn some money. And at the time there was a great shortage of schoolteachers, as a result of which young people who had passed their A levels could do ‘uncertificated teaching’ before going to university, and so I ended up doing almost three years’ teaching before I went to Oxford.

Gaining experience in teaching

And, surprisingly enough, it started at the very school I had just left. Or, to be more precise, it was at the Preparatory School attached to Brentwood and standing just on the other side of the main playing field. One of the teachers was on sickness leave for a few weeks and I was asked if I would take their place as they taught French and Latin which were of course my two main A Level subjects.

As it was a boarding school, I was required to live in and be the housemaster for some of the boys, which mainly involved making sure that they were in bed on time and not talking after a certain time. I was only there for a few weeks (January 15 to February 16), but I enjoyed the experience very much and learnt a great deal, not least of which was that, if you prepared your lessons thoroughly, you had relatively few problems with discipline.

After Brentwood Prep I was told by the Essex Education Committee that another job was available in Brentwood, at the Church of England Primary School in Coptfold Road, only a few hundred yards from my old school. A teacher was on maternity leave and a replacement was needed until July to look after her class of 8 to 9 year-olds. The pay wasn’t great as I was not a qualified teacher. It worked out at about half what I would have been paid if I had been qualified. And, of course, this was not a residential post, so I needed to travel on two buses each day to get there from Hornchurch. But I accepted the job anyway.

As in most primary schools, a teacher was responsible for teaching their class throughout the day all the subjects on the timetable. That was not a problem, but learning to keep discipline was another matter. My expectations were based on the level of discipline I had experienced as a pupil at Brentwood and the few weeks I had spent teaching at Brentwood Prep.

Coptfold Road was quite another matter. Many of the children came from a less fortunate background and some of them were of rather limited intelligence. As a result, and due to my own lack of training and experience, and lack of any supervision, I found the two terms I was in charge of that class extremely difficult, and was quite relieved when I heard towards the end of the summer term that Mrs. Istead, the teacher who had been on maternity leave, was returning the following Monday.

So on the Friday before she was due to return I was clearing my desk after school when the headmaster, Dr. Ward, asked me what I was doing, adding, You’re not leaving, are you? And he offered to give me a different class to teach and keep me on indefinitely until I went up to Oxford. So I decided to stay and, as things turned out, I was there until the end of September 1959, my ability to keep discipline improving greatly with experience and the help of a Day School Teachers’ Conference organised by the Baptist Union and held at St. Augustine’s College, Canterbury in August 1957.

As I look back on those years of teaching before I went to Oxford, I think I can see why God allowed it to happen that way. While I was waiting I was rather frustrated, thinking, Why am I teaching when God has called me to the ministry? But little did I know then that his plan for me was that most of my ministry would be teaching.

And although the major part of my teaching ministry has been to a different age group, even when teaching at degree level in Bible Colleges around the world, I have found that God has given me the ability to teach at a level that everyone can understand, something I repeatedly hear from grateful listeners. And perhaps at least part of that ability is a result of those years I spent teaching less able children while waiting to go to university.

God knows what he is doing, and he always has a purpose in what appear to us to be pointless pauses in our lives. But that brings me to an even more significant purpose in those years of waiting, for it was in those years that I met Eileen, the girl I was to marry and who was to be the ideal person to support me in my ministry.

Meeting Eileen

It was an incredibly hot day that Saturday afternoon. So hot in fact that the railway line buckled in the heat of the sun. It was Saturday 29th June, 1957 and we had arranged a youth rally where the young people from Elm Park Baptist would meet up with Hornchurch Baptist young people for fun and games in the park followed by an open air service.

Although the churches were only two miles apart, before then we had had little contact with them, so I actually knew none of the young people there. People have often asked me how I met Eileen and I have usually replied, In the park!

After a game of rounders, we sat down in groups and had a picnic tea. I noticed a group of four rather attractive girls sitting a few yards away and thought I would like to take a closer look!

So I got up and walked towards them and happened to notice that one of them had taken her shoes off. On impulse, I picked up one of the shoes and ran off with it, with nothing in particular in mind other than just having a bit of fun. Needless to say, the owner of the shoe ran after me but was at something of a disadvantage as she had bare feet. I soon disappeared from view and hid the shoe under the bridge that spanned the park lake.

Of course, when she caught up with me, I felt a bit of an idiot and showed her where the shoe was. We got into conversation and I asked her if she would like to come to our Saturday evening youth club which took place after the open air service. She agreed and, after sharing a song sheet at the open air, I found out that her name was Eileen and that she was just six days older than me. After youth club I walked her home and kissed her goodnight. And that was the beginning of a relationship that lasted, with a short break, for 67 years and which ended only when the Lord called her home at the age of 85.

We agreed to meet again some time the following week, but the next day, after attending church in the morning, I decided to go to Hornchurch Baptist for their evening service in the hope of seeing Eileen again. She and her friend were sitting in the choir and her friend noticed me in the congregation and said to Eileen, He’s here!

After the service we went for a long walk in the park and from then on were to see each other just about every day. I discovered that Eileen had attended Romford County High School and had left after taking her O levels. At the time she was working at Barts (St. Bartholemew’s Hospital) in London, but a year later she accepted a post in the Dagenham Education Office which was closer to home.

But before that, I have to confess that there was a short break in our relationship during the last few months of 1957. I mentioned earlier that I attended a conference in Canterbury during the last week in August of that year. Everyone there was a qualified schoolteacher with the exception of me and one other person, a girl called Irene who was the same age as me and had been accepted to train as a teacher at the Chelsea College for Physical Education in Eastbourne.

Irene was extremely attractive, highly intelligent, and very good at sport – she was nearly good enough to beat me at table tennis! But she was having doubts about her faith, and I spent some time with her trying to encourage her. As a result we were both very attracted to each other and, to cut the story short, because I have never been proud of myself about this, we started to see each other after the conference was over.

When I next saw Eileen I told her, without mentioning Irene, that I felt we had been seeing too much of each other, that our relationship had been getting too intense – which it probably was – and that I thought we should cool it and not see each other for a while.

She later told me that she had not been too concerned because she was convinced that if I was the right one for her, the Lord would bring me back to her. Which he did. The relationship with Irene lasted only a few weeks – until the middle of October, when I went to Eastbourne for a weekend to see her at her college. In short, she jilted me!

But not long before Christmas the young people from Hornchurch Baptist came to Elm Park to take our Friday evening YPF meeting. And who should be singing in the choir but Eileen. I think we spoke briefly after the meeting, just polite conversation, but it was enough to arouse my interest in her again. So I sent her a Christmas card, and she replied by sending me one and enclosing this short poem:

I do believe that God above created you for me to love.

He picked you out from all the rest because he knew I’d love you best.

I had a heart so warm and true, but now it’s gone from me to you.

Take care of it as I have done, for you have two and I have none.

Not the best poetry in the world, but it touched my heart and I wrote to Eileen – I still have a copy of that letter – asking if she would like to resume our relationship. And from January 2^nd 1958 hardly a day passed without our seeing each other.

Talk 7 Elm Park Baptist Church (1951-1958) Part 2

Welcome to Talk 7 in our series where I’m reflecting on God’s goodness to me throughout my life. Today I’m going to tell you about my decision to follow Christ, my baptism and church membership, and my call to the ministry.

My decision to follow Christ

As I mentioned in an earlier talk, I cannot remember a time when I did not believe in Jesus, and, when at the age of eight I was asked by my father if I believed that Jesus had died for me, my immediate answer was yes. That was, after all, what I had been brought up to believe. But there is more to salvation than believing. Jesus began his ministry by preaching,

The time has come…Repent and believe the gospel (Mark 1:15).

The fact that Jesus loved us enough to die for our sins demands a response. If we truly believe it, we will repent, because we will hate the fact that our sins made it necessary for Jesus to suffer and die in our place. And true repentance will involve not just being sorry. It will entail a decision to turn from our sin, and to dedicate our whole life to him.

I made that decision in April 1953 at the age of fourteen. Why it took so long I’m not quite sure. I remember that when I was about eleven my Sunday School Teacher asked us if we would like to ‘ask Jesus to come into our hearts’ and for some reason I didn’t respond. I think that part of the reason was embarrassment. I didn’t want my parents and some of my aunts making a fuss and saying how wonderful it was that David had ‘made a decision’. So what eventually prompted me to surrender to the claims of Christ and give my life to him?

Of course the correct theological answer to that question is the convicting power of the Holy Spirit working through the preaching of the Word of God. And that must have been what was happening, although I didn’t realise it at the time. For several weeks in Bible Class my father had been preaching on John 3:16. Week by week I was constantly challenged by the thought that, if God loved me so much that he gave his only Son to die on the cross and save me from my sins, surely the very least I could do would be to give my life to him.

So the major driving force behind my decision to do just that was undoubtedly the love of God. But that was not the only factor. There was also the fear of hell. And I think that may have been what finally clinched it. I was made very aware of the reality of hell through the preaching of Evangelist Tom Rees one Saturday night in the Central Hall, Westminster.

Elm Park was only an hour’s journey from central London and a group of us had travelled in to hear him ^[1]. Towards the close of his sermon, he stressed the dangers of rejecting Christ, and when he made the appeal I knew that I should stand up along with the many others who were responding to his message. But once again I resisted. My pride was holding me back. I didn’t want to make a public declaration that I was a sinner who needed to be saved.

My baptism

But the next day everything changed. There was to be a baptismal service in the evening and during the day my mother asked me if I had ever thought of being baptised, and I found myself saying yes. I understood very well that her question was not merely about being baptised. It carried with it part of the significance of baptism, the confession of Jesus Christ as my Saviour, my Lord, and my God.

And so that evening when the minister made the appeal at the end of his sermon, while the congregation was singing the closing hymn, I walked forward with several other young people to indicate publicly my decision to give my life to Jesus and my desire to obey him by being baptised.

The next baptismal service was arranged for July 19^th, so there were several weeks to wait. But that gave us the opportunity to attend weekly baptismal classes at the ‘manse’, the name given to the house where the minister lived. Each week he taught us the basics about the Christian life, paying special attention to the subject of baptism, and explaining why infant baptism, which is practised in some churches, is not biblical ^[2].

However, there was no teaching on the baptism in the Holy Spirit, which was something I did not hear about until I met some Pentecostal Christians a few years later. Nevertheless, I did find the minister’s teaching very helpful, and I think that’s why, when I became a pastor myself, I decided to provide similar classes for all those wanting to be baptised. In fact, the talks that I gave were later to form the basis of the contents of my little book, How to Live for Jesus. And of course they did include teaching on the baptism in the Spirit.

When the day scheduled for the baptismal service finally arrived, the baptisms took place at the end of the Sunday evening service. The minister, who was dressed in black waterproof clothing, went down into the water first. Then, one at a time, the candidates went down to be baptised and each of us was asked by name,

Do you acknowledge Jesus Christ as your Saviour, your Lord, and your God?

To which we replied, I do.

Then the minister would say,

Then on the confession of your faith and repentance towards God, I baptise you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

He then immediately baptised us, leaning us backwards into the water, dipping us right under (because that’s the meaning of the word baptise) and as we came up out of the water the whole church would sing,

            Follow, follow, I would follow Jesus, Anywhere, everywhere, I would follow on.

            Follow, follow, I would follow Jesus, Anywhere he leads me I will follow on.

And that is something I can honestly say I have tried to do ever since. And now, 72 years later, I have no regrets. The pathway he has led, and is still leading me on, has been wonderful. It has not always been easy, but it’s been far better than going my own way. God’s way is always best.

Church membership

After baptism, the next step was to become a church member. Of course, from the perspective of the New Testament, we all become members of the church the moment we receive Christ as our Saviour. We become members of the universal church which is comprised of all Christians, those already in Heaven, the church triumphant, and those still on earth, the worldwide church, the church militant. Our membership of that church remains permanent as long as we remain Christians.

But which local church we belong to may vary from time to time according to where we are living. And, of course, in any one area there may be several different local churches, which has sadly resulted in some Christians having no real commitment to any one local church and acknowledging no real accountability to any church leadership.

This is why many local churches, while recognising that all Christians who worship with them are members of the body of Christ, the universal church, nevertheless insist that to be a member of their local church a person must identify with the doctrinal beliefs of that church, acknowledge their accountability to the leadership and their fellow church members, and show a genuine commitment to that church.

And that was what was expected of me when, shortly after my baptism, I asked to become a member of Elm Park Baptist Church. The application process was simple. I had to ask someone who was already a member to be my sponsor. After a friendly interview he brought a report to the next Church Members’ Meeting and my name, together with the names of other young people who had been baptised at the same time as me, was put to the vote. As a result we were all accepted into membership.

Church membership carried with it the privilege of being able to join in the discussions at church meetings and included the right to vote, even for those of the minimum age for membership, which was just fourteen. I always enjoyed those meetings, which were held every two months. Being able to participate in decision making meant that I felt a sense of responsibility and I was constantly aware of developments in the church programme.

Now I realise that different churches operate in many different ways and that some leaders are hesitant to involve the members in this kind of way for fear of the kind of unpleasantness that I have heard has gone on in some church meetings. All I can say to that is that, in my experience, the advantages of involving the people in decision making on important matters far outweigh any disadvantages.

What’s more, the dangers of abuse and corruption that so often have taken place when all the power is vested in a few, or even in just one person, must be avoided at all costs. I do believe that leadership should lead, and lead by example. But to be a leader is not the same as being a dictator. If you are really a leader, people will follow you. That’s why, as a church leader, I have never been afraid to ask the people to endorse any major decisions made by the leadership team. But that brings me to my call to ministry.

My call to ministry

As a teenager, of course, my understanding of church and church leadership was very much determined by my limited experience of  Elm Park Baptist Church. Like most people then, and many people still today, I assumed that a local church must be led by a man called the minister or vicar. It was his responsibility to lead and preach at all the services and that, to do this, he needed to have received a special call from God.

So when I refer to my call to the ministry I am using the expression in the way that I understood things back then. I have since come to see things very differently, and that will become evident in later talks. For now, it will be enough to say that I now understand that the word minister simply means servant and that, since all God’s people are called to serve him, all God’s people are in a sense ministers. But that is not to say that some people do not receive a special call to some particular area of service.

In my particular case, I now realise that other people may have seen in me the potential to become a preacher long before I realised it myself. I was only fourteen when I was asked to give a short talk in the Sunday evening service at my church. It was what was called a Youth Sunday when the young people from my father’s Bible class were asked to take responsibility for the service.

Three of us were asked to speak for five minutes each and my father gave us help as to what we might say. That was my first experience of public speaking and, to my surprise, the following year I was invited to take on the preaching single handed. Then, another year later, I was asked to preach at the Sunday morning service. I am so grateful to the church leaders for spotting the potential that was in me and giving me the opportunity to develop it.

Even then, however, although I enjoyed preaching, I did not feel any sense of call. That came when I attended a Baptist Church summer school held at Mamhead, not many miles from where I now live in beautiful Devon. Mamhead House, built in the nineteenth century regardless of cost and set in 164 acres of glorious parkland overlooking Lyme Bay and Exmouth has been described as ‘Devon’s grandest country mansion’.

Summer School was a holiday for young Christians which included sessions of teaching until 11:00 AM and evening meetings for worship and further teaching after the evening meal. The rest of the day was taken up with leisure activities which included trips to the nearby seaside town of Dawlish, coach trips to Dartmoor, and rambles in the countryside surrounding Mamhead.

I attended Summer School there for three years in succession from 1954 to 1956. But it was in 1955 that the Lord clearly spoke to me about my future. I had completed my O Levels in 1954 and was now halfway through my A Level course and beginning to think about my future. But I wasn’t particularly looking for guidance at that point as I was expecting to go to university after my A Levels and felt I had plenty of time to make up my mind.

Then, one evening, after the preacher had finished speaking and we had sung the final song, the Revd. Cyril Rushbridge, who had been leading the meeting, said something like this:

This isn’t part of what we had planned for this evening, but I just feel that the Lord wants me to tell you how I felt my call to the ministry.

He went on to explain that he had had no dramatic experience like Saul on the road to Damascus but described in a simple way how he had ‘received his call’. Unfortunately, I can’t remember the details of what he said. All I can tell you is that when he had finished speaking I just knew that God wanted me to be a minister. And to clinch it, Kathleen O’Connor, a girl from our church came up to me as soon as the meeting had finished and said,

David, do you now know what God wants you to do with your life?

To which I replied,

Yes, Kate, I’m going to be a minister.

I later went and spoke with the Revd. Rex Mason, a graduate of Regent’s Park College, Oxford, who had been the preacher that evening and asked for his advice. He had read English (I think) at St Edmund Hall, Oxford, before going on the read Theology at Regent’s Park. He recommended that I do something similar, widening my outlook on life by taking a degree in something different before concentrating on Theology.

The next thing to do was to let my parents know what had happened and, as I was away at Mamhead for at least another week, I sent them a postcard saying something like,

I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided to be a minister!

And when I got home they told me something they had never told me before. They had prayed for this from before I was born.

I also told my minister, the Revd. Leslie H. Moxham, about my call to the ministry and asked if there was anything I could do immediately to start to prepare for what God was calling me to. And he suggested that I start attending the midweek Prayer and Bible Study meeting, something I had not done because of all my other commitments to church activities. So I did what he suggested and was not disappointed. He was a great Bible teacher and I learnt a lot in those meetings, even though, as I have already mentioned, the number of meetings got me into trouble with my History teacher at school.

So looking back, I am very grateful to God for my years at Elm Park Baptist and, although I was to move on when I was baptised in the Spirit in 1959, my remaining years there were to prove some of the most exciting and significant years of my life.

But that’s the subject of the next talk.

Talk 6. Elm Park Baptist Church (1951-1958) Part One

Welcome to Talk 6 in our series where I’m reflecting on God’s goodness to me throughout my life. In the last two episodes I have been talking about my experiences at Brentwood School. Today we’re turning to my time at Elm Park Baptist Church.

One great advantage of being a day boy rather than a boarder at Brentwood School was that I was free on Sundays to attend church. It also meant that I came into regular contact with girls, something which was seriously lacking for boys who were boarders.

This, I think, was quite important for me because, as an only child, I had no sisters, but at least through the activities of the local church I was able to form healthy relationships with the opposite sex. In fact I suspect that as a teenager the girls were one of the attractions of going to church! And at Elm Park Baptist there were plenty of activities to choose from. So let’s begin by talking about the church programme.

Church programme

Unlike many churches today where there is only one meeting on a Sunday and another, perhaps, during the week, at our church something was happening every single day of the week. Of course, Sunday was the busiest day. From 10-11am the Boys’ Brigade held their Bible Class. From 11-12 there was the Morning Service.

In the afternoon there was Sunday School from 2.30-3.30 and again from 3.30-4.30, the numbers attending being so great that two separate sessions were necessary. For teenagers there was Bible Class (taught by my father) followed by a discussion group for young people held between 4 and 5pm.

Very often we stayed at church for tea in order to be there for the 6.30 Evening Service which was then followed by a ‘sing-song’ at about 8pm. In fact, apart from going home at lunch time for the traditional Sunday roast prepared by my mother, as a teenager I was at church from 10am to 9pm every Sunday.

During the week, meetings for young people included the Boys’ Brigade, the Girls’ Life Brigade, the Young People’s Fellowship (YPF), and the Youth Club. For adults there was a midweek meeting for Prayer and Bible Study conducted by the Minister, and there were separate men’s meetings and women’s meetings too. All these activities took place on church premises. There were never any home groups in those days. That was something that became popular in the 1970s.

My personal involvement

I was personally involved in most of the activities I’ve just mentioned. This was not the result of any parental coercion. I just wanted to be there and, as I have already mentioned, on Sundays I was at church for almost the whole day. This was from the age of 14 until I was about 17.  It was largely through my father’s teaching in Bible Class on Sunday afternoons that I decided to give my life to Jesus – but more of that later.

Dad was a gifted preacher and teacher, and the majority of the thirty or more young people attending Bible Class made decisions for Christ as a result of his ministry. Whenever there was a baptismal service on a Sunday evening, Mum and Dad would invite three or four young people to come for tea after Bible Class and then go on to the service after tea.

Over the years, many of those young people responded to the appeal at the end of the service and walked forward to indicate that they were giving their lives to Jesus and would like to be baptised. One of those young people was my friend, Don Campbell, who emigrated to Australia and, when I last heard from him two or three years ago, he was still attending a Baptist church over there.

Apart from the Bible Class I attended on Sunday afternoons, I also went to the Boys’ Brigade Bible Class every Sunday morning. The Boys’ Brigade was found by Sir William Smith in 1886. If I remember it correctly, its purpose was:

The advancement of Christ’s kingdom among boys, and the promotion of habits of obedience, reverence, discipline, self-respect, and all that tends towards a true Christian manliness.

As well as the Sunday morning Bible Class, our company, which was known as the Second Hornchurch Company of the Boys’ Brigade, held two other meetings each week. Tuesday evenings were dedicated to drill practice, where, after we had been inspected to ensure that we were smartly dressed and our uniforms were being worn correctly, we learned how to stand to attention correctly, to salute the Lieutenants and Captain, and to do basic marching manoeuvres both individually and as company.

When I was seventeen and had been promoted to the rank of sergeant I was awarded the N.C.O’s Proficiency Star after demonstrating that I could give the correct commands for the Company to make these manoeuvres on drill parade.

Of course all this was exactly the same kind of thing the other boys at my school were doing in the CCF and I realise that some might see my being in the Boys’ Brigade as quite inconsistent with my refusal to join the CCF on the grounds that I was a conscientious objector. However, unlike the boys in the CCF, in the BB we were not taught to use military weapons.

On Fridays, time was given for more recreational activities, and opportunity was given to learn to play the bugle or a drum. After a couple of attempts at making the right sound come out of a bugle – it’s by no means as simple as just blowing – I decided it wasn’t for me. This was partly because at the time I found it difficult to sing in tune and I reasoned that if I couldn’t sing properly I probably wouldn’t be able to keep in tune on the bugle either! And sadly all the drums were already allocated to other boys.

But perhaps the best thing about the BB was its annual camp. This took place every year during the school summer holidays. Wherever it was held, it was always within walking distance of the sea.

My first camp was a great adventure for me as, at the age of twelve, I had never been away from home without my parents. It was held in Mudeford on the south coast of England, and I loved it. I went to BB camp on six occasions, Mudeford (1951), Highcliffe in Dorset (1952), Walmer in Kent (1953, ’54, and ’55), and Corton in Suffolk (1956).

It was fun sleeping in a field with six other boys in a tent, each with a straw-filled sack called a paillasse (pronounced pally ass!) as a mattress, your kit bag as a pillow, and only a couple of rough, rather itchy, blankets to keep you warm. If sleeping-bags were invented back then, we’d certainly never heard of them! I say it was fun, and it was, just rather uncomfortable fun.

And, of course, the first night we hardly slept. And when we did finally get to sleep it wasn’t long before we awakened by the musical notes of the bugle playing Reveille. Time to get up, get washed and dressed and go to the toilet. The toilets or ‘latrines’ were just holes in the ground dug the day before by the ‘advance party’ who had travelled down earlier to prepare the camp site, and the washing facilities were just metal bowls of cold water on trestle tables.

Every day was punctuated with a variety of bugle calls summoning us to ‘fall in’ (form a line outside our tents), or telling us that the next meal was ready, and so on, until the final call of the day, which was ‘lights out.’ Apart from mealtimes, activities included getting your tent ready for ‘tent inspection’ each morning, doing chores like peeling potatoes (otherwise known as ‘spud-bashing’), going down to the beach for a supervised swim, leisure activities such as football and cricket, and a certain amount of free time.

There were also various devotional activities, like a service in the marquee on Sunday mornings and, if I remember correctly, a Bible reading and short word from the camp padre after breakfast on other days. But for most boys, the majority of whom did not come from Christian homes, the ‘religious’ bits were something you endured rather than enjoyed in order to be allowed to join in the fun that the other aspects of BB had to offer. In fact, as far as I know, sadly, very few of the fifty boys in the company ever made a decision for Christ.

The benefits for me, however, were inestimable. BB instilled in me the need for personal discipline and loyalty. It gave me the opportunity to mix with boys who were from a very different social background from most of my friends at Brentwood School. It gave me experience in leadership, and it taught me a great deal about how to organise a camp – something that was to prove very valuable when later, in pastoral ministry, I was able year after year to run a Youth Camp for up to 150 teenagers where we saw dozens of young people saved and filled with the Holy Spirit. But that’s a story for a later talk.

Apart from the uniformed organisations like the BB and the GLB (Girls’ Life Brigade, a title later to be abbreviated to Girls’ Brigade), there were three other weekly opportunities for young people to meet together.

I have already mentioned the teenage Bible Class led by my father on Sunday afternoons, but I also attended the YPF (Young People’s Fellowship) on Friday evenings and Youth Club on Saturday evenings.

YPF was an opportunity for young Christians to meet together to worship the Lord, pray, share testimonies, and learn from the Word. There was also plenty of time for discussion, which was something I particularly enjoyed. It took place in what was called the parlour, which even then was a rather old-fashioned term for a lounge. This was at the back of the church building, right next to the kitchen, so conveniently situated for making hot drinks at the end of the meeting.

The Youth Club was primarily intended to be an opportunity for evangelism. Held in the Youth Hall, part of the church’s property but separate from the main building, it provided facilities for table-tennis, snooker, darts etc. and was followed by a fifteen-minute epilogue which included a hymn, a prayer and a short message.

Looking back on it, I think that, although it was valuable as a means of keeping young people off the streets, Youth Club was not an effective tool of evangelism. Most of the forty or so young people who came to it never came to any of the other church activities and I cannot remember any who became Christians as a result of it.

But that is not to say that such activities can never be effective. Perhaps if it had been led by someone with a clear evangelistic gift the results might have been very different. I was later to learn that for effective evangelism there is no substitute for the power of the Holy Spirit. That is what will attract people to Jesus, and that is what will keep them going on with God. But that’s a subject for later.

Next time I’ll be sharing how at Elm Park Baptist I first dedicated my life to Christ, was baptised, became a church member, started to preach, and felt God calling me to become a minister of the Gospel.

My Story   Talk 5   Brentwood School (1950-1956) Part Two

Welcome to Talk 5 in our series where I’m reflecting on God’s goodness to me throughout my life. Today we’re talking about the academic programme at Brentwood, the chaplain, the chapel and Divinity lessons, and the school CCF.

Academic Programme

A typical day at Brentwood began with chapel or assembly at 8.50am. This lasted about half an hour. Lessons, which were all 45 minutes long, began at 9.30. The first two periods were followed by a 15 minute break at 11am and the next two periods were followed by lunch at 1pm. With the exception of Wednesdays and Saturdays which were dedicated to sporting activities, there were three periods each afternoon, beginning at 1.45 and ending at 4pm.

And then of course there was homework, which at Brentwood was called prep. In the first year this was expected to take us an hour and a half each evening, increasing to three hours when you were in the sixth form taking A levels. This often involved memorizing things on which you were going to be tested the next day.

And there were huge incentives for doing your prep thoroughly. Apart from the fact that you might be put in detention on Wednesday afternoon if you failed the test, a form order was produced every two or three weeks and sent home to your parents to let them know your current position in class. This certainly kept us on our toes, and, although at Brentwood I never came top as I had regularly done at primary school, I made sure I was always in the top 10.

Subjects in our first year, all of which were compulsory, included English, French, Latin, Maths, History, Geography, Physics, Art or Woodwork, Divinity (Religious Education), and Gym. But after the first year, which at Brentwood was referred to as the second form, the system changed and the subjects you took depended on which stream you had chosen to enter.

The Third Form (i.e. the second year) was divided into four streams, Classical Three, Science Three, Modern Three, and General Three. The advantage of this system was that boys could concentrate early on the areas where they hoped to specialise later. The disadvantage was, of course, that not everyone was at all sure at such a young age of what those future areas might be. It also meant that relatively little teaching was given on some quite important subjects. For example, you did relatively little science if you went into the classical stream.

However, in my case, I think the system proved beneficial. I opted for the classical stream because I was interested in languages and had shown that I had a measure of ability in that area. In doing so I was able to begin studying Greek at the age of 12 which was to prove important in what the Lord had for me in the future.

At the age of 15, when we were in the fifth form, we all took O-level exams (General Certificate of Education, Ordinary Level), after which another choice had to be made.  Which sixth form stream to enter? Although successful in all my exams, my best results were in languages, and of all the streams available the choice for me was narrowed down to Lower Sixth Classics where I could take Latin, Greek, and Classical History, or Lower Six Arts where the options were Latin or English Literature, French, and German or Mediaeval History. Not knowing then the future God had planned for me, I opted for the Arts stream and chose Latin, French, and Mediaeval History for my A-level subjects and Spanish as a subsidiary subject for O-level.

I thank God that, with his help, I passed all these exams. I was particularly grateful about History. A few months before we were due to sit the exams, my history teacher, Mr. Moulde, said to me,

Quite honestly, Petts, I think you’re going to fail History.

The basic reason for this was that I wasn’t doing enough prep because of all the church activities I was engaged in because, among other things, halfway through my A-level course I had felt God calling me to the ministry. But more about that in the next talk. So, in front of the whole class, I replied,

The problem is, Sir, that I believe that God has called me to be a minister, and that to gain as much experience as I can, I need to be involved as much as possible in my local church. I believe that if I honour God, and if he wants me to pass History, then he will help me to do so.

To which he replied,

Well, Petts, I respect your faith, but I can’t say that I agree with you. Unless you put in a lot more work, you will certainly fail.

I did try to put in more work on History without giving up any of my church activities. When the results came through I was delighted to discover that I had scored 60% (the pass mark being 40). And at the beginning of the next term, as I happened to meet Mr. Moulde in the quad, he said to me with a broad smile,

Well, Petts, what do you mean by getting 60? I would never have believed it. Congratulations.

Later that term I won a scholarship at Brasenose College, Oxford to read Philosophy, Politics and Economics. But more of that in a later talk. I need now to say more about my Christian faith while I was at Brentwood. This, of course, needs to be understood alongside my experience at Elm Park Baptist Church which will be the subject of our next talk. At school I was to get a taste of a different kind of Christianity, some of which wasn’t Christianity at all as I understood it. But this will become clear in a moment.

The Chaplain, the Chapel, and Divinity lessons

The religious climate in the UK in the 1950s was very different from today. Although church attendance had dropped, probably caused by disillusionment because of the war, there was still a general acceptance of the basic truths of Christianity. This, coupled with the fact that religious teaching at Brentwood was, in the words of the school prospectus, in accordance with that of the Church of England, meant that with the exception of Divinity (RE) lessons, apart from one experience I will mention later, there was rarely anything much that would challenge my Christian faith.  Surprisingly the source of that challenge was the Chaplain, the Chapel, and what was taught in Divinity lessons.

The Chaplain, the Reverend R. R. Lewis, M.A. was a graduate of Jesus College, Oxford, and an ordained Church of England priest. As such, he was responsible for most of what went on in chapel and taught all the weekly Divinity lessons. From this it was clear, because he openly acknowledged it, that he did not believe in the deity of Christ, the virgin birth, or the resurrection. In fact he denied the possibility of miracles on the grounds that, if God created the laws of the universe, he would not break his own rules! Of course, when I told my father about this, he reminded me of the outstanding miracle experienced by Auntie May which I mentioned at the beginning of this series.

On another occasion we were told that God could not foretell the future because, if he could, that would mean that we could not be held responsible for our actions. I know some Christians do struggle with this, but, as I have pointed out elsewhere, if I know that something will happen it does not mean that I am causing it to happen.

Having said all that, Mr. Lewis was a nice enough man. I just could not, and still cannot, understand how the Church of England can allow people with such views to hold office in the church. Anglicans often talk about what they consider to be the advantages of the C. of E. being what they call a broad church, but in my view what they claim to be its greatest strength is actually its greatest weakness.

Of course, back then I knew nothing of the evangelical wing of the Church of England and tended to assume that Anglicans all held views like those of our school chaplain. It was later at Oxford that I first met godly people who were part of the C. of E. and whose views, apart from the fact that they believed in infant baptism, were much closer to mine.

And I praise God for the great things that are happening today in those parts of the church where the Bible is honoured and charismatic gifts are encouraged. But from my, admittedly limited, experience of Anglican worship, it was very different from that in the 1950s.

Worship in chapel was very different from what I experienced in our Baptist Church each Sunday. Some differences were relatively unimportant. For example, in chapel we sang Psalms instead of reading them, and we knelt for prayer rather than sitting. But others were more serious. Prayers were never spontaneous, but read from a book, and they were the same prayers week after week!

And preachers would be dressed in robes and precede their sermons with,

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen,

something which at times verged on the blasphemous bearing in mind the content of what sometimes followed in the sermon.

But none of this seriously challenged my faith, unlike an experience I had in class, once again with our French teacher, M. Jacquotet. I don’t remember what I had said, but I do remember his response:

Monsieur Petts, you are a silly little fool if you think that, if there is a God, he can possibly be interested in you!

At the time, I had no answer. There is an apparent logic to arguments like these, but I knew that there must be an answer. So that evening I told my father what my teacher had said, to which he replied,

But that is exactly what we Christians dare to believe. God isn’t limited like us. He’s so big that he has the capacity to care about every single person and every single thing in the universe. Your teacher clearly doesn’t understand this.

And I remembered something that we had been told to memorise in our English Literature lessons. It was taken from Matthew 6:26.

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

So my father’s advice and the shield of faith, which is the word of God, extinguished yet another of those flaming arrows sent by the evil one (Ephesians 6:16). But my father’s Christian influence on my thinking was also very evident in a decision I made with regard to the school Combined Cadet Force.

The CCF and pacifism

As I mentioned in Talk One, my father was a conscientious objector during the war. As a Christian he took seriously all the teaching of Jesus, and that included the command to Love your enemies (Matthew 5:44) and he could not see how he could obey this command by killing them. He had to go before a tribunal and answer searching questions to test if his objections were genuine and, as a result, was exempted from military service and allowed to continue his profession as a schoolteacher.

Now at Brentwood it was compulsory for boys in the fourth form and above to be part of the school’s Combined Cadet Force (CCF), generally referred to in school as ‘the corps’. This meant that every Thursday boys would dress in Army or Air Force uniform throughout the day and during the last period of the afternoon receive military training on the school playing fields.

There was, however, a provision for a boy to register as a Conscientious Objector if he could satisfy the Headmaster that his objections were sincere. And so, following my father’s example, at the age of 14, I was interviewed and asked to explain my objections, as a result of which I was allowed to do First Aid training with the Red Cross as part of the non-uniformed branch of the corps.

Now I realise that most Christians do not take the same pacifist stance. This is one of those issues where Christians are disagreed, and each person must follow their own conscience in the matter. But for me at the time, arguing for pacificism was in many ways the most vital way I had of expressing my Christian faith. Memories of World War II were still very real and our armed forces were already engaged in conflict in the Korean War from 1950 to 1953. Fear of a third world war was very real, and at the time all boys of eighteen were compelled to do National Service involving two years’ military training in one of the armed forces.

So the issue of whether it is right to take up arms against one’s fellow human beings was particularly relevant throughout my school years, and there were frequent discussions about it both at school and at church.

Whether I was right or wrong to adopt a pacifist position is for others to decide, but what it did for me and the development of my character was undeniable. I was forced to stand up for what I believed in, despite the teasing and accusations of cowardice that inevitably come to people who refuse to fight. The ability to think independently rather than following the majority view, and the resolve to take seriously the teaching of Jesus and to follow it, were to become the determining factors of my life.

So I thank God for my years at Brentwood. They not only provided the foundation for future academic achievements but gave me opportunity to learn how to think for myself and to stand up for what I believe to be right. And, best of all, they were years when I determined to follow Jesus. My faith was both challenged and encouraged, but Brentwood was, of course, by no means the only factor, because throughout my years there I was also a regular attender at Elm Park Baptist Church, which is the subject of the next talk.

Talk 4 Brentwood School (1950-56) Part One

As I mentioned in the last talk, life for children and young people from Christian families tends to be pretty much dominated by what goes on at school and at church. It was certainly true for me during my years at primary school and continued to be so when I moved on to Brentwood School. Even my recreational activities, in term time at least, took place either at school or in connection with church. So in this talk and the next I’ll be concentrating on my experience at Brentwood School, and I think it will be helpful if I start by talking about:

The educational system in England

Just like today, children left primary school in the July of the school year in which they became eleven. But the school they moved up to depended on their academic ability, which was assessed by their performance in an examination known as ‘the scholarship’ or ‘the eleven plus’, a system which still exists in some areas today.

Only those who were successful in these exams were accepted into what were usually referred to as ‘High Schools’ or ‘Grammar Schools’. (There were no ‘Comprehensive’ schools as we know them today). Children who did not pass the eleven plus would normally go to a ‘Secondary Modern’ school where there would be little or no opportunity later to progress to academic qualifications like GCEs and A levels.

Brentwood, however, came into a different category. It was founded in 1558 as what paradoxically came to be called a public school. Many of the older schools in England come into this category. Well known examples are Eton and Harrow. They were originally called public schools because pupils could attend them regardless of their location, denomination, or family background. However, the term is misleading because, being independent of the state system, they’re not actually open to all the public because they charge fees which very few can afford. So how did I come to go to Brentwood?

Gaining admission to Brentwood

It all started with a recommendation from my headmaster at primary school. I remember feeling a bit nervous as I took the eleven plus exams at primary school. I was under pressure because I was aware that so much depended on it, and because everyone was expecting me to pass because each year I had come top of the class. What I didn’t know was that the headmaster, Mr. Occomore, had had his eye on me for some time, and was about to make a recommendation that I think surprised even my parents.

Once I had passed the eleven plus, he contacted my father and suggested that, instead of applying to any of the local high schools or grammar schools, I might try to see if I could get into Brentwood School which, he felt, would offer me an even better standard of education.

To gain admission I would have to go to Brentwood and sit another exam with a view to winning a Foundation Scholarship. Unfortunately there were only six such scholarships available each year. But, after talking it through with me, my parents encouraged me to try. They were no doubt praying that if Brentwood was the best place for me, God would open the door.

And he did. In the week following the exam, Mr Allison, the headmaster at Brentwood, phoned my father and told him that they were prepared to offer me a place, even though I had not come in the first six. I had come seventh! And because Brentwood had accepted me, the Essex Education Committee would cover the cost of the fees. This was because Brentwood was on the Direct Grant List of the Ministry of Education.

Without that, my father would never have been able to afford to pay for me to go to Brentwood where I soon found myself mixing with boys some of whose parents were far wealthier than mine. I am so grateful to God that I grew up at a time when education was available to all, regardless of their family’s income.

First impressions

Life at Brentwood was very different from life at primary school. For one thing, it took much longer to get there. My primary school was only a 10-minute walk away from my home, whereas to get to Brentwood I had to walk to Hornchurch station, catch the number 66 bus into the centre of Hornchurch and then wait for the school bus to arrive. There were only two or three boys who got on at Hornchurch, but the bus picked up about 40 more as it passed through Upminster on the way to Brentwood. The journey took another half an hour to get us to school.

Unlike primary school, all the boys were in uniform. We wore a maroon-coloured cap and a grey suit accompanied by grey socks, black shoes, and a black tie. The rules on uniform were very strict and rather detailed. For example, in the first year it was compulsory to wear short trousers – something which was not uncommon in those days – whereas in the second year it was permissible to wear long trousers and a white shirt. I suppose, like most kids of today, we really couldn’t see the point of these apparently trivial regulations.

On arriving at school, we all went straight into Chapel or assembly in the Memorial Hall, depending on which day of the week it was, but more of that next time. Once in class, I was initially surprised by two things. First, the classes were considerably smaller than they had been at primary school where the average class at that time numbered between 40 and 50 pupils. At Brentwood there were only 30. Another surprise was that all the teachers wore gowns. This was a tradition that reflected the fact that they were all university graduates, the majority with MA degrees from Oxford or Cambridge.

At 10.45 each morning there was a 15-minute break when we were able to go to the tuck shop, where we could buy a sticky bun for a penny and drink the third of a pint of milk provided free to all children by the government. This break was a welcome relief from the strict discipline in the classroom where the teacher could administer corporal punishment for something as trivial as not being in your seat before the teacher arrived. But that brings us on to the subject of discipline.

Discipline

I have already mentioned the strict rules about uniform, but there were other minor regulations such as not putting your hands in your pockets, not combing your hair or eating in public.

I well remember the occasion during my first week at Brentwood when I was eating an apple on the pavement outside school while I was waiting for the bus. Suddenly, who should appear but the headmaster himself who approached me and said,

Are you a new boy? And then he added,

Perhaps you don’t know that at Brentwood we don’t eat in the street. Are you very hungry?

To which I replied, Yes, Sir.

Well perhaps you could put it away now and save it until you get home.

Needless to say, I was very relieved that he had dealt with me so kindly, but I must confess that once I had got upstairs on the bus where the headmaster could not see me, I took the apple out of the bag and ate it.

Of course, it was unusual for the head to be dealing with such a trivial thing. Such matters were usually dealt with by praepostors, a word which comes from the Latin meaning placed ahead and which is roughly equivalent to what in most schools was called a prefect. These were boys chosen from the sixth form and were easily distinguished by the fact that they wore a special tie instead of the regulation black one. They had authority to remind boys of the school rules and to impose discipline, like setting essays for offenders to write, or giving them 100 lines, which meant writing out the same sentence 100 times.

In class, of course, discipline was maintained by the teachers. Most of them achieved this by keeping their lessons interesting, and, as someone pointed out to me when I started teaching, interest is the best form of discipline. Occasionally, however, this was backed up by putting offenders in detention, which meant doing classwork for two hours all Wednesday afternoon instead of playing cricket or football.

This happened to me once, not for breaking any rules, but for not adequately memorising what the teacher had told us to learn for our homework, or ‘prep’ as it was called at Brentwood. Another time I avoided detention by agreeing to be caned instead. It happened like this.

It was during the French lesson, and I was sitting at the back of the class. I had in my head the tune of a chorus we had been singing at church and, rather stupidly, I started to whistle it very quietly. Of course, the teacher heard it and asked who was whistling. Monsieur Jacquotet was an elderly Frenchman who was bald on top but had white woolly hair at the back and sides. But what made his appearance rather unusual was the fact that he wore pince-nez glasses, something we boys found highly amusing.

When he asked who was whistling I immediately put up my hand to confess, which, I think, anyone else in our school would have done. To which Jacko (as we somewhat disrespectfully called him) imposed my sentence:

Eh bien, Monsieur Petts, you will go in detention.

However, there was one problem. I was opening bat for the house cricket team and there was a match on the next day. So the team captain went to our housemaster, Lt. Col, D.J Jones, and asked him if he could get me off detention. As a result of which, M. Jacquotet agreed, provided that Col. Jones gave me the cane instead. So that afternoon, with a rather sore backside, feeling something of a hero, I went out to bat for the house team. Sadly, I was out first ball, and my heroic suffering proved in vain!

Sport

One of the things that first excited me about Brentwood was the wonderful facilities on campus – though ‘campus’ was not a term that was used in England in those days. The school boasted the largest school playing fields in England, some 60 acres, enough space for the entire school to be out playing football or cricket at the same time. There were also tennis courts, squash courts, a fives court, two well equipped gyms and an open-air swimming pool where, in the Summer Term, we were all taught to swim.

Initially there had been one thing that had disappointed me about Brentwood. We had to go to school on Saturdays! This may have been because about 180 of the boys were boarders and the headmaster once remarked that he viewed ‘dayboys’ as ‘boarders who go home to sleep’! Something which is clearly a contradiction in terms, and I confess, we dayboys refused to take it seriously when we were told that we should wear school uniform on Sundays!

However, I soon got over my disappointment about going to school on Saturdays, as the whole afternoon on Wednesdays and Saturdays was dedicated to sporting activities, which I loved, and anyway our school holidays were longer than those in other schools – eight weeks in the summer, for example, instead of the usual six.

I enjoyed playing football and cricket and, later, rugby. I remember playing left wing for my house team and, on one occasion, scoring 7 goals while my friend John Bramble on the right wing scored another 7. This absurd result was probably because the opposing team was from one of the boarding houses which had fewer boys to choose from than the dayboy houses. This may also account for the fact that in one cricket match I took 4 wickets for the loss of only 1 run! I also played full back in our house rugby team which won the cup for three years in succession, probably because Col. Jones our housemaster was a former Welsh international and an excellent coach.

And finally, in the sixth form, I played centre half at football in the school second eleven and was hoping to be promoted to the first eleven until I badly sprained my ankle running down the stairs of the school library two at a time and was out of action until I left school at the end of that term.

Next time I’ll tell you something about the academic programme at Brentwood before sharing how my Christian faith was both tested and encouraged during my time there.

My Story  Talk 3  Home, Family, Christmas & Holidays (1947-1953)

Welcome to Talk 3 in our series where I’m reflecting on the goodness of God throughout my life. From what I’ve said so far it’s clear that after the war my life in the 1940s was largely comprised of school and church. I suppose that was true of most Christian children in those days and continues to be so today. And what was true of my years at primary school and Sunday school was also true of the years that followed. Most of my activity was to be centred on school and church.

But before I move on to those things in the next talk, I need to say more about my family, because without a doubt our family is by far the strongest influence in the formation of our character, our behaviour, and our outlook on life. And life is not just about our education or work or church. It’s about relationships, people, recreation, having fun, and healthy enjoyment of the things God has so graciously lavished upon us. So this talk is about my home, my family, Christmas and holidays.

Home

For the first 23 years of my life I lived with my parents in the home in Hornchurch where I was born. It was a fairly standard three bedroomed semidetached house, but it benefited from a rather large garden which backed onto the railway. We weren’t disturbed by the noise of the trains because the garden was some 200 feet – about 60 metres – long, but by walking to the end of the garden and looking down the railway embankment we could watch electric trains on the District Line and the steam locomotives on the London, Midland and Scottish Railway.

My parents were both keen gardeners and had chosen the house because of the size of the garden. They planted several apple trees, two pear trees, two plum trees, a greengage tree, as well as strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries, blackcurrants and redcurrants. My grandfather had also planted for me an ash tree at the very end of the garden and, by looking at Google Earth, it looks as though it’s still there today. Sadly, the large fishpond which I helped my father build when I was about ten seems to have gone.

Family and Friends

One of the advantages of having a large garden was that there was a big enough lawn for my father to teach me to play cricket and football. So, although I was an only child, I was never a lonely child. There were always plenty of friends who liked to come and play.

I also enjoyed playing board games with my grandad, my mother’s father, who lived with us for about five years, and later with my grandmother, my father’s mother, who came later to live with us for six years and who died at the age of 86 when I was 16. Having elderly parents living with us for eleven years was not easy for my mother, but she seldom if ever complained, and her example taught me the real meaning of love, a commitment to serving others despite the cost to ourselves. I also got some idea of what it’s like to be in your eighties!

Family at Christmas

I saw relatively little of other family members as my uncles, aunts and ten cousins all lived too far away for frequent visits. But we did see most of them at Christmas and sometimes during the other school holidays. Because, with one exception, all my cousins were older than I was, Christmas was usually spent with my Auntie Addie – Adelaide actually, but I never heard anyone actually call her that! She was a year or two younger than my mother and had two sons, Brian who was a year older than me, and Geoffrey who was born shortly after the war when Uncle Bert returned from years away fighting in Burma (now known as Myanmar).

We usually alternated where we would spend Christmas, either at our house in Hornchurch or at their prefab in Woodford Green near Walthamstow. Prefabs were prefabricated bungalows introduced after the war to provide housing that could be erected more quickly than by using the usual methods of construction. Originally they were intended to last for, I think, only ten years, but in practice most of them lasted for decades. One of the exciting things about them was that they were all provided with a fridge with a small freezer compartment, so we could have ice-cream whenever we liked. Fridges were a luxury in those days and it was many years later that we ourselves had one. Eileen and I had our first fridge in 1968, six years after we were married.

Brian and I had to share a bed every Christmas and I have vivid memories of waking up in the early hours of the morning to see what Santa had left in our ‘stockings’ – which were actually pillowcases, as stockings weren’t large enough to accommodate the vast number of presents we each received.

I don’t remember how old I was when I realised that Santa wasn’t real, but it must have been well before I left primary school. I do know that some Christians, quite understandably, believe it’s wrong to tell their children something which isn’t true, fearing especially that, when they finally understand that the whole Santa thing is a myth, they will conclude the Christmas story found in the Bible is a legend too.

That’s a view that I understand and fully respect, but I can only say that it was never a problem for me, or, as far as I know, for my children and grandchildren for that matter. If we teach our children that what is in the Bible is true, they will soon discover that Father Christmas is nowhere to be found in the Bible, but is just a nice story that, although it isn’t true, gave them a lot of fun when they were too young to understand otherwise. But each of us must follow our own conscience in this matter, as we always must when confronted with issues over which Christians disagree.

Christmas dinner, as I remember it, was very similar to what most people have today, with one notable exception. I can’t remember when we first had turkey, but for several years our celebratory meal was roast chicken. Unlike today, chicken was then very expensive, and Christmas was the only time we had it. At other times our regular Sunday roast was lamb, which, also unlike today, was the cheapest meat you could get.

Our typical weekly menu was roast lamb on Sundays, cold lamb on Mondays, minced lamb in the form of shepherd’s pie on Tuesdays, and lamb stew with dumplings on Wednesdays. So chicken at Christmas was a real treat!

Apart from eating, we spent most of Christmas Day and Boxing Day playing with the games we had received as presents. These were always very competitive and included subuteo football, a form of cricket you could also play on the table, table tennis, darts, and a bagatelle pin board. We also enjoyed heading a balloon to one another and counting how many times we could keep it up. When we later tried it outside with a football we found it was much harder!

Another good thing about staying at Auntie Addie’s house was that we were able to visit other family members, as three of my aunts lived quite near to her. There was always quite a crowd in the evenings when we all joined together for a party, when we played traditional party games like musical chairs and pass the parcel.

Years later I was to discover that some people’s idea of a party was a time when you did little more than sit around and drink too much. This shocked me because our parties had never been like that. My parents were both teetotallers and, although most of the rest of the family were not, they respected their wishes and rarely drank in the presence of children and teenagers.

Of course, the consumption of alcohol is another of those matters where Christians disagree, but hopefully all would at least agree that abstinence is the best policy in the presence of those who might become addicted. I personally think of myself as an abstainer, but not a total abstainer.  And I’m grateful that, because of the example set by my family, I have always been cautious in these matters and am happy to say that I have never been drunk, something which even some Christians find hard to believe.

Family and Holidays

But Christmas was not the only time when I met other family members. There were the summer holidays too. Hotels were too expensive, and we usually spent a couple of weeks away from home staying with family. During my primary school years we went several times to Cowes on the Isle of Wight where my father’s sister, Auntie Lil, had a flat overlooking the sea.

Her husband, Uncle Ernie, was a lighthouse keeper on the Needles, an impressive rock formation just offshore at the western end of the island. His job required him to live on the lighthouse for several weeks at a time, so sometimes we never saw him at all during the weeks we were on holiday with Auntie Lil. But when he was able to be with us, I remember that he was very generous.

We usually had to travel everywhere by bus, but on one occasion he paid for a taxi to take us on a tour of the whole island. Another time, when I was eight, he paid for my father and me to go on a ‘joy-ride’, a five minute trip on an aeroplane, an Auster light aircraft with just enough room for Dad and me to sit behind the pilot. I realise that this might not sound very exciting to young people today. Plane travel is so common, and many families take flights abroad for their holidays. But in those days it really was something exceptional. No one in my class at school had ever been in a plane, and my teacher got me to tell them all what it was like. We had only gone up to 1000 feet, but the experience of flying was exhilarating as we looked down on houses that now looked no bigger than a matchbox and were able to see so far into the distance, across to the southern coast of England and beyond.

I’m so grateful to Uncle Ernie for making that experience possible for me. (It cost him seven shillings and sixpence which was a lot of money in those days, but which in today’s decimal currency equates to 37.5p). Due to his kindness and Auntie Lil’s hospitality we always enjoyed our holidays on the Isle of Wight.

Another favourite holiday destination, particularly during my early teens, was Canterbury where my mother’s sister, another Auntie Lil, lived with her husband Will and her daughter Doreen who was an English teacher in a Grammar School. I remember listening to her discussions with my dad about the nature of language, something I was particularly interested in because by then I was already studying French, Latin, and Greek at school. But more of that later.

While in Canterbury we enjoyed visiting its wonderful cathedral and other places of historical interest like the Westgate Tower and the ducking stool where in less enlightened centuries women who scolded their husbands were ducked in the river to teach them a lesson!  We also took advantage of the beautiful countryside around Canterbury and particularly enjoyed walking across the golf course which immediately overlooked my aunt’s back garden.

Other days were spent taking bus trips to the coastal resorts that lay within easy reach of Canterbury – places like Herne Bay, Margate, and Ramsgate, all lovely places, but nothing of course to compare with the beauty of Devon where I now live! My first holiday in Devon was when I was fifteen – but that’s something I’ll come back to next time when I talk about my teenage years at church and my life at Brentwood School where I was privileged by God’s grace to receive a first-class education.

But finally, I’m conscious that in this talk I’ve made little mention of God, but I’m reminded that in the book of Esther God isn’t mentioned either, yet it’s very clear as we read it that he was at work in every detail of the story. So it is with us. His purpose for each of us is different, but he is at work in the ordinary everyday things in our lives, not just in any miracles he may perform for us.

So I thank God for the home I grew up in, the family I was part of, and the fun we had together at Christmas and on holiday. These things, I believe, played an important part in my childhood and teenage years enabling me to grow into adulthood, confident to face the future, knowing that God loved me and had a purpose for my life.