Inspiring people
Adelina and her triplets
Adelina came to our church for a baptism of her three sons. As I got to know her over the years and see how she loved and looked after her triplets as a single mum it was so inspiring especially as one of her boys was very disabled. I have never met such a patient lovely person
Chris
Chris and his wife Anna are heroes of mine. Anna works tirelessly giving a voice to the voiceless in the Middle East. Chris is one of those awesome people you meet in life who combine compassion, empathy and practical wisdom with intelligence that one never feels ‘alone’ when they are around. That might seem an odd thing to say, but I have found in life that when you are going through a tough time, it can be very lonely even if one is surrounded by sympathetic and kind people. But certain people have the authenticity (borne of real life experience that gives an and authority to their words and ‘weight’ to their presence) and genuine (unconditional and ‘I’m not going anywhere’) care that one never feels alone. I have had the sort of wobbles throughout my life that I have needed the assurance that these truly great men and women bring just by being themselves wherever they are and whoever they are with. I have noticed that they usually have a great sense of humour too, because they know that intensity helps no one (including themselves) be the best version of the person God made us to be. When I arrived in Brighton six years ago, Chris (along with Tom my friend and head of department) were instrumental in getting me cling on to normal life (work and the rest of life) through the trauma of my separation and divorce. I often felt like a bucket with holes in it who needed a constant refilling of the core truths that I could not hold on to alone: the love and mercy of God, my ability to be a good school teacher, my ability to be a ‘good’ person again (I of course mean ‘good’ in a relational sense – being faithful, trustworthy and having integrity – and not in an absolute sense like Jesus, cf Mark 10:18). Chris never lost patience in reminding me of the truth and making me feel like I wasn’t alone, and doing so in utter seriousness yet without intensity. The amount of times I cried and laughed with Chris in the same conversation is testament to that wonderful character set Chris has. That’s why he and Anna are so lovely. Kit and Ellis have amazing parents.
Stephen Hawking
I love this cartoon drawn on the day that Professor Stephen Hawking died. I don’t want to assume anything about Stephen’s freedom or God’s freedom, I just want to share this picture because the great scientist, who is now appropriately buried alongside Sir Isaac Newton in Westminster Abbey, shared the same diagnosis as me. I love the thought that this picture will apply to me one day when I go to meet my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. I pray too that I can have the same experience as Stephen did regarding his extraordinary life span with the diagnosis.
Dad
Dad was an amazing high jumper. He won the AAA championship in Crystal Palace with a jump of 6’1” which was his own height. He did so in the days before Fosbury Flop was possible because one had to land in a sand pit!
Dad was a gentle man who felt and thought deeply about the needs of society and especially teenage children who struggle behaviourally due to family problems or other issues. Having trained as a solicitor, he longed to work with social services. He was a man of great integrity who was not afraid to speak out if he felt compelled to do so on a point of principle, but he found animosity very hard to cope with. I wish with all my heart that this integrity had rubbed off on me more, as it did on Nicola. What did make a deep impression on me was the intimacy of the love that he knew with his heavenly Father and Shepherd of his soul, Jesus Christ. My bedtime prayers and little conversations with Dad introduced me to the Lord of all compassion and mercy, whose heart was tender to all that he had made, yet was furious about the suffering of the innocent and so passionate that no one should be lost to Him that he came to die in our place. I was given the children’s Bible on my Christening day, July 21st 1974 (which to this day Mum gives thanks for by lighting the original candle that she was given with these words from the baptism liturgy ‘ ‘ ). I remember looking through my Bible with Dad and coming to know through its pages the living God who parted the Red Sea to save his people; who saved Daniel from the lion den and who was with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the furnace; who helped a Shepherd boy defeat Goliath and lead a nation; who was merciful to Jonah and to Nineveh; who leaves the ninety nine to search for the one lost sheep; who never gives up on the Prodigal son or the legalistic and insecure elder brother who is struggling to accept a love that’s not earned; who calls us to have fearless compassion, kindness and generosity like the good Samaritan and the widow in the temple, who Jesus knew had given all she had. I knew that this was a living God because he sent his only begotten Son to be one with us in every way, to face every temptation we face, to be baptised of water and the Holy Spirit, even though he was God, and to die for us and rise again – the moment in history that changes everything. I didn’t learn doctrine systematically but in the very Anglican way, I think, of liturgy and worship. These are the two hymns from Holy Trinity Cuckfield that I am very formed by:
There Is A Green Hill
There is a green hill far away,
outside a city wall,
where our dear Lord was crucified,
who died to save us all.
We may not know, we cannot tell
what pains he had to bear;
but we believe it was for us
he hung and suffered there.
He died that we might be forgiven,
he died to make us good,
that we might go at last to heaven,
saved by his precious blood.
There was no other good enough,
to pay the price of sin;
he, only, could unlock the gate
of heaven and let us in.
Lord Jesus, dearly you have loved,
and we must love you too;
and trust in your redeeming blood,
and live our lives for you.
Cecil Alexander
Living Lord
Lord Jesus Christ you have come to us
You are one with us, Mary’s Son.
Cleansing our souls from all their sin
pouring Your love and goodness in
Jesus our love for you we sing,
living Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ now and every day
Teach us how to pray, Son of God.
You have commanded us to do
this in remembrance Lord of you
Into our lives your power breaks through,
living Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ, you have come to us
Born as one with us, Mary’s Son.
Led out to die on Calvary,
risen from death to set us free,
living Lord Jesus help us see
You are Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ I would come to you
live my life for you, Son of God.
All your commands I know are true,
your many gifts will make me new,
into my life your power breaks through,
living Lord.
Patrick Appleford
When we were ready to pray, Dad would fold his hands around mine and say “My hands around your hands, God’s hands around our hands.” His hands around mine spoke of the security of faith. We often said Psalm 23 together as a prayer, and to this day I pray it in my mind (in the authorised version of the Book of Common Prayer that Dad loved so much) at times when I need courage and assurance. I remember praying it on the start line of my Boat Race in the nervous moments when the coxswains are trying to line their boats as the stream of not so still water gushes beneath the boat. Dad would always finish with the Lord’s Prayer and the blessing given to Aaron:
The Lord bless you , and keep you : The Lord make his face shine upon you , and be gracious unto you : The Lord lift up his countenance upon you , and give you peace (Numbers 6:24-26).
I have always found this to be a comforting reality. Nicky and I like to think that as Jesus intercedes for us in heaven (Hebrews 7:25), Dad’s prayer is the same for all of us.
Thanks to my father and my heavenly Father and the example of our vicar who visited us the morning Dad died to convey such compassion and assurance that dad was safe in the Father, I felt a call from God to be a parish vicar; to share this love and conviction of the sure and certain hope that only Jesus can give us at times such as this. Later on this calling deepened through the profound experience of serving Him as an acolyte in the preparation of the bread and wine to remember together the Lord – one full and perfect sacrifice. I felt the truth and reality of what we were participating in. Likewise, at baptisms I felt a tangible sense that the reality of Jesus’ resurrection life is present to us by the Holy Spirit in a profound way as we turn from death to life in repentance and faith, confessing the gospel that Jesus Christ is Lord – my Lord and Saviour, my God. I am so thankful for God’s grace in leading me to know his way, truth and life from these formative moments, and I thank God for a mother and father who were committed to bringing Nicola and I up in a loving Christian home.
Dad was 42 when I was born and whilst he loved to recount the scrapes that he and his brothers Norman and Raymond would get up to as children, I knew very little of his late teens and adult life until after he died when we found a photo album he had made and a drawer that was full of athletics and National Service awards for physical training and marksmanship. There was a collection of pocket diaries from his 20s that mainly had a record of the score of the Saturday game of ‘rugger’ for Old Reigatians! But there was an odd comment here and there which gave me treasured insights into what he was up to in work, church and socially. One comment that spoke of his awe of the nurses he had met over the years, and how he would like to marry a nurse, always used to make me happy because of course a decade later he met Mum in Oxford, where she was working at the Radcliffe Infirmary and he was working as a trainee social worker. They were married a few months later and set up home in Headington, where both Nicola and I were born.
This is Nick
If I was to describe Nick Vujicic in one word I would choose joy. Nick is the most joyful person I know and yet he has no arms or legs. When I first saw him about ten years ago I felt so sorry for him and so humbled as I thought about the things that I take for granted. But by the time he had finished talking to us I didn’t feel sorry for him. Not just because pity was clearly the absolute last thing he wanted, but simply because Nick radiates joy that is so real that it’s infectious. Everyone there had a smile on their face as we listened to him because he was so genuinely joyful. This was no ‘performance’, no stage managed saccharine happiness, there was such an authenticity and naturalness about his joy – it rubbed off on all of us and there was nothing remotely heavy or intense about being with him or listening to him tell his story. It was totally inspiring.
So I no longer feel sorry for Nick. But I do remain deeply humbled. Nick would be the first to say that his joy is a gift from God. By definition, gifts are unearned; Nick would not want to take credit. He is one of those people who give you such a glimpse of Jesus. So if it’s all about God and not about some superhuman extraordinary quality of Nick’s, why do I feel humbled by him? Because I think I am coming to realise that only someone who has trusted God so deeply with their questions in the darkest moments of life (and we all have them) can emerge that radiant. Nick tried to end his life at the age of eight. He was not born joyful. His parents and those around him were not able to somehow give him unwavering acceptance, and assurance that all would be well. But at the age of fifteen he decided to deeply trust God with the burning question of his childhood, ‘why did you let me be born this way?’ I am humbled because I’ve had thirty years since my fifteenth birthday and I have not yet come close to trusting God like he has. But Nick inspires me that I can. In this video Nick tells a bit of his story.