Tom’s Testimony part 4.

Chapter six
Homeward bound

The hostel – apparently the largest independent one in the country – was fully functional. Such was the generosity of God, it even boasted its own dental surgery. For myself, the pressure was off – and my mind turned to what else I should be doing. I thought I might do a theology degree, through distance learning. I could choose the modules from some of the best colleges in the UK. Not only that, I found that I could earn my degree without ever once learning a single word of Greek or Hebrew. Languages had always been difficult for me: after nine years in Germany, I was still struggling with the menu in the local restaurant.

I signed up for the course, and bought the relevant textbooks. My first assignment arrived by email. I did really well at first, but then I had an idea of how to do even better. That’s when the problems started.

It occurred to me that I could access a superior source for my information. The authors of the required reading were revered, august biblical scholars with superlative credentials – but why not go to the top? Why not ask God to direct my thoughts and inform my understanding? I put away the commentaries, and started praying.

I was on my last assignment with my first tutor – it was on the subject of Job. I sought the direction of the Holy Spirit. After all, wasn’t he willing to lead me into all truth?

I was really pleased with the result, but my tutor wasn’t. He actually accused me of cheating. He said, “I don’t know where you are getting this stuff from, but I will find out”. He sent me a page and a half of such remarks, and marked me right down.

I wrote back and explained “where I was getting this stuff from”. He told me he never came across anything like this before, and he regretted his response. My next assignment was with a new tutor. Same reaction as before, but without the subsequent apology. I decided I could probably live without a theology degree. It had been a useful exercise, though. I had a lot of writing practice (something I would find handy later). More importantly, I learned that God was only too pleased to impart his knowledge and wisdom, if we were truly willing to lay aside our own preconceptions, and those of other people.

I was happy in Germany, but there was a growing sense that the tasks had been completed, and new challenges lay ahead. I didn’t want to return to the UK, but life is about God – it’s not about me. Paula applied for a job with Care for the Family, a charity based in South Wales. It’s run by Rob Parsons – not just one of the most inspirational writers and speakers the church has to offer, but also one of the most inspirational human beings you could ever wish to meet. I count it a huge privilege to be numbered among his friends.

Paula was offered a job, and we relocated to South Wales. We attended a local Baptist church. The one part of moving which appealed, was the opportunity it afforded to ‘church-hop’. I was somewhat miffed that the first church we tried was the one God wanted us to stay in.

We got involved with the homeless. I shared the gospel, and served them lunch. They complained endlessly about the food, my service – even the placement of the cutlery. And the more they complained, the more I apologised. It would not be uncommon for me to make 10 or 20 apologies, during the course of a Saturday lunchtime. I was pleased to do it. These people were the disenfranchised, the poor….the wounded. Some of them had never had a say about anything, and now they were being heard, now they were in control, what they thought actually mattered.

I signed up with Prison Fellowship…and not because I just couldn’t stay away from those places. I felt I should be doing that. We ran various courses and meetings, and I was very blessed by the response of the inmates.

A couple of events stick in my mind. I was once asked to do a talk on the Holy Spirit, for a group of inmates. My initial reaction was, “What’s the point? Most of them don’t even know who Jesus is, how do you expect them to understand anything about the Spirit of God?”

But having been told to do it anyway, I started writing. I compiled a 45 minute talk, which I entitled “the person and work of the Holy Spirit”. It was the all-singing, all-dancing lecture covering every aspect of the Spirit known to man. In my head, it was both a definitive exposition and a recipe for disaster in the environment it would be delivered. I recognised it would be a totally pointless exercise unless the Holy Spirit himself interacted in that room, so I got down to some serious prayer.

On the day, there were about a dozen prisoners in the room. I started my talk, detailing the complexities of how the Spirit has functioned historically. After about twenty minutes, I was struck by the fact that these guys hadn’t switched off – they were actually listening. Another twenty minutes passed, and I noticed the man directly in front of me had tears flowing down his cheeks. It looked so incongruous – he was a big bloke who obviously spent much of his time in the gym.

He saw me looking and spoke. He said, “I want to give my life to Christ”. To this day, I still struggle to believe how I reacted to him. I said, “Do you mind waiting until the end? I’ve nearly finished.” At that moment, any chance that guy in the Thessaloniki consulate had of supplanting me as the world’s dumbest Christian evaporated. What on earth was I thinking?

The muscle-man was having none of it. He stood up, towering above me. “I want to give my life to Christ now!”

Then there was another, then another. There was a guy crying in the corner. I asked him what was going on. He said, “My sister in Portugal sent me a book which arrived today. It was called ‘The Person and Work of the Holy Spirit”.

Most of the time, of course, it wasn’t like that. But there were some interesting events. I remember a guy who came to faith during a course. The next week, he made a beeline for me at the start. He asked, “Do we always do what the big man says?” I thought I should tread carefully, until I knew what he meant. “What has the big man said?” “He said I should plead guilty when I go to court”. So I replied, “Yes, we always do what the big man says”. It turned out he thought he could beat the rap, and the jury would acquit him. But he had some sort of vision or encounter with Christ in his cell.

I was asked to write all the intros to the books of the Old Testament, for Care for the Family’s own NIV bible. I was busy with this one day, when an idea came to mind. It wasn’t the kind of idea I would normally have, and I felt it was the leading of God. I spoke to my wife – “I believe God wants us to split £1,000 between two ladies (and I named them) – how are we for money?” Paula checked, and we were fine – our worldly wealth came to eleven hundred pounds, so we could afford it.

Giving the first lady £500 was easy – it was just slipped into her handbag. The second was a little more difficult. I was seeing her on the Thursday, but there would be no opportunity to do it anonymously. We talked about how we could do that, but it seemed every time we had a plan, something prevented us from getting the job done.

I met her on that Thursday. She had a face like thunder, and was obviously distressed about something. “What on earth is up with you”, I asked. “I’m really upset”, she said, ”God promised to drop some cash on me – never done that before – but it hasn’t turned up. I don’t know what’s going on!”

I tried my best to conceal my shock. It hadn’t occurred to me that God would actually tell her she had money coming. I was completely freaked out. I said, “God would never let you down. There must have been some sort of glitch – some reason why you haven’t got the money yet. But I’m absolutely sure God will make it happen if he’s told you that. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns up tonight”. I would have been more surprised if it didn’t turn up!

As soon as I could, I called Paula and asked her to just chuck the money through her letter box. By an odd coincidence, I was speaking to the lady on the phone when the money dropped onto her doormat! She got terribly excited – “It’s turned up….it’s turned up!” Even I was getting excited, and I knew all about it. I was so blessed by God’s confirmation of what I felt we should do. And no, I won’t be getting my reward in heaven – I’ve already had that down here. That was as much fun as you can have with money. Not that it cost me anything, anyway: unexpectedly, I was paid £1,000 for those Old Testament intros!

Chapter seven
From prison to rehab….and back to prison.
I can’t honestly remember when I started preaching, or where….or why. Perhaps a pulpit became available after a road accident, and I was walking past the church at the time. I can remember the churches at which I preached, but the details of how it all began elude me. Pretty soon, I seemed to be doing that every Sunday. The AGM of my home church rolled round. To be frank, I never enjoyed the AGM – I’m not wired for admin. I would walk slowly in, giving Jesus one last chance to return before taking my seat. If possible, I would find a chair behind a lady with a baby on her shoulder, so I could amuse myself pulling faces at the child. But when I received notice of the next AGM, it occurred to me that I hadn’t been in a service for nearly six months, because of preaching engagements. I didn’t feel I had the right to vote. You may think that anyone who spends their time at the AGM pulling faces at babies shouldn’t be allowed to vote anyway, but it bothered me that I was never there, yet still had a say. I felt the honourable thing to do was to resign from membership.

About this time, I started writing a discipleship course. I would eventually spend two years on that project. It gets used by various churches and organisations, who can download it for free off the internet. About six months into the writing, I felt God was telling me he had something for me to do. Being somewhat immature, I was like a child tearing at the wrappings of a Christmas present. I wanted it now, I wanted to see what it was….I had to know what I was getting. God wasn’t telling me.

I prayed. I knew there was something, and I prayed every day that he would reveal it to me. This went on for eighteen months, and still no sign of what he had for me. Paula and I went on holiday, and I decided this matter must be resolved. In my version of “unless you give me that right now, I’m going to hold my breath until I turn blue”, I told God that unless he delivered within a week of our return, I would not be mentioning the subject again. Well, that told him, didn’t it?

Now, I would hate to give the impression that I think God could be swayed by such a childish tantrum. I have no special influence with him. As a matter of fact, I am sure that – while he loves me – he thinks I am a complete buffoon. I know this for two reasons: 1, God is omniscient (he knows everything) and 2, I am indeed a complete buffoon. That said, I think he makes a lot of allowances, and may (at times) humour me.

Perhaps this was one of those times. Two days after our return, Rob Parsons invited me for coffee. His opening words got my attention: “What would it take for you to start a rehab?” I told him. He suggested I spoke to a friend of his, who had a suitable building which had just become vacant.

It was during this conversation that I realised why I had been waiting 18 months. Not just because the building had been occupied, but I didn’t have a programme that could tackle addiction from a Christian viewpoint. Suddenly, the two years I spent on the discipleship programme made perfect sense. I never knew why I was writing it, I was just sure that I must.

And so our rehab – Livingstones – was born. Financing it was a major problem – it can be difficult to get churches on board for addiction issues, and the government don’t want to know about Christian rehabs. Despite the fact we were many times more successful than secular institutions, money remained a huge issue. I wasn’t getting paid, in fact – I had to take a part-time job to pay the rent. I became a sessional chaplain at Cardiff Prison.

The head of security wasn’t happy. He said, “You’ve got a worse criminal record than most of the people in here”. Obviously, he didn’t believe the prison system worked, if he thought convicts couldn’t change.

The rehab ran for two years, and changed a lot of people’s lives. I’m not talking just about those who got free of their addictions, but those they went on to share their faith with, those they discipled – those churches which would later be impacted by what they had learned.

One Sunday, I came back to the rehab after preaching, and showed the lads a cheque for £500. They were very impressed. They had no idea preaching paid so well. And they seemed rather disappointed when I told them it was actually a gift to the rehab from the church I’d visited, which was Croes-y-Parc chapel.

Chapter eight.
Croes-y-Parc Chapel.
The chapel had a single-digit congregation, mostly older people. I started preaching there often, and quite soon, they invited me to be the pastor. I won’t lie: I’ve never wanted to be a pastor. But because life isn’t about what I want, I thought I’d better pray about it. I accepted.
I was somewhat surprised when they then offered me £12,000 per annum as a part-time minister – it hadn’t occurred to me that I would be paid at all. It may not seem much, but it was a huge step of faith – it was two and a half times their current annual income. I switched to full-time when the fellowship grew.

Before I could take up the post, I had to pass muster with the Baptist Union. They were somewhat alarmed by my CRB check, and sent a guy from head office to meet me at the rehab. He asked me how I had come to faith. I was halfway through my testimony, when he suddenly stood up, pointed his finger at me, and exclaimed, “You speak to God, and expect to hear back from him!” I was rather surprised. I assumed that was normal for a Christian. In my world, all relationships function through communication, and I couldn’t see why my relationship with God should be any different.

As a rural chapel in a quiet community, growth was very slow – though numbers aren’t really important, anyway. I remember inviting a couple along to the service: “What time does the service start?”, the lady asked. “What time could you be there?”, I replied. It was small enough to be flexible.

The challenges of pastoring are many and varied. They include helping others to cope with deaths, illnesses and (often) hurts from the past. One of the bigger challenges is to develop the kind of relationships where people feel comfortable and safe talking about their struggles….where they don’t feel judged, but supported and encouraged.

But the biggest challenge is found in oneself, and it is actually a test faced by every Christian, not just those in full-time ministry.

That challenge is described in John 13:34. At first glance, it is an innocuous little verse – just another snippet of teaching for Christ’s early followers. It says, “‘A new command I give you: love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”

Well, that’s nice – Jesus wants us to love one another. At least, that’s what I used to think this verse meant, before I gave it prayerful consideration. The reality is somewhat different.

Firstly, this is not a suggestion. It is not how Jesus would like things to pan-out in an ideal world, either – it is a command. He insists upon it….apart from anything else, it is an essential element of our witness to the world. Secondly, the command is to love one another, “as I have loved you”.

“As I have loved you”. We are commanded to love with the same passion, the same self-sacrifice and the same intensity as Christ loves us. And so, for example, we are not required to sympathise with the pain of others, or even empathise. We are required to feel their pain – to own it for ourselves, and to do whatever we can to alleviate it. For me, to love as Christ loves is a challenge of unimaginable difficulty, and one which I would assume to be totally unachievable, if anyone but Jesus had issued it.

I think about the quality of Christ’s love often. God created humanity for a loving relationship – though he didn’t have to do it. But at the very moment he chose to love us, he also chose to experience things which would otherwise remain completely unknown to an omnipotent being: He chose to experience disappointment, heartache, anger and rejection – for love. He also chose to experience pain – not just on the cross, but also the emotional pain of seeing many of those he loved rush headlong towards their own destruction. In a very real sense, when this omnipotent God embraced humanity, he also embraced vulnerability. As some will no doubt know, when we truly love our feelings are (in a sense) held hostage by the one we love. I can’t begin to imagine what our species has put God through – though there are plenty of clues in his Word.

It is this quality of unconditional love, which I believe is commanded in John 13. Our love must be of the same order – the same class – as Christ’s love for us. Currently, I have to report my own failure to consistently keep this command. Typically, those times when I fall short have a common factor: my sense of impotence to help someone occasionally tempts me to insulate myself through emotional detachment. Understandable, perhaps – but also inexcusable. I am working on this challenge, however – in the only way I know. Jesus famously commanded us to Love the Lord our God with all our hearts….and also to love our neighbour as ourselves. I’m thinking my only chance of meeting the requirement of that second command, is to obey the first one. I therefore spend quite a lot of time in prayer. Pastoring – like Christianity in general – would be so much easier if you weren’t too bothered how well you did it. But of course, the moment you weren’t bothered – you wouldn’t be doing it at all.

About three and a half years ago, I lost my voice – something which may be considered slightly problematical for a preacher. I actually broke the habit of a lifetime and went to the doctor promptly – it was making my work difficult. There were some tests, and I was scheduled to see a consultant at the hospital, where the results would be revealed. I entered his office, but he really didn’t need to say anything – I had already noticed the MacMillan nurse gliding in behind me. I had cancer on the vocal chords.

I can’t say that I prayed about it too much – that’s what a fellowship is for, isn’t it? I was offered the choice between surgery and radiotherapy. I was told the latter would give me the best chance of keeping a voice, so I went with that. What I wasn’t told, was that as soon as I signed up for it, they would pull seven of my teeth out: apparently, they remove any teeth that are not in top condition prior to treatment. Bizarrely, I was asked to sign a form granting a university in Bristol sole ownership of those teeth, as they wanted them for some kind of project. Like I cared where they went after they left my face!

The treatment itself was uneventful, unless you count the inexplicable mix-up in my medication. For some reason, they were feeding me Imodium instead of tranquilizers. My system – already bunged-up – shut down completely. After a night in another hospital and five enemas, I strode out into the morning sunshine with as much dignity as I could muster – walking like there was an invisible horse between my legs.

The treatment appears to have been successful. Some unkind person in my fellowship actually suggested that cancer on the vocal chords had improved my singing, but I forgave him. And it made a change to go to hospital for an illness, rather than the usual mishaps. I am notoriously accident prone. Two years ago, I somewhat rashly bought a motorcycle (I used to drive cars in my youth, but I never really took to driving sober). So I’ve ended up in the ambulance one Wednesday in October. What do I do when I get to hospital? I get a pair of crutches, and hobble off to the toilet before the doctor can see me. I lock the door, and then I slowly and painfully remove all the bandages and dressings from the other motorcycle accident I had two days before! I didn’t want the doctor thinking I was a complete idiot, just because I am.

I must mention one particular mishap, if only because it was the only one which wasn’t my fault. This was entirely down to my wife. For whatever reason, she left me home alone with a hard skin problem on my foot, and with access to a Stanley knife. What on earth was she thinking? At A&E the nurse told me I had solved the hard skin problem …. and the soft skin problem. There wasn’t enough left to sew it up.

The chapel has gone from strength to strength. Though small, we are very active in our community – connecting with the local school, older people and various other groups. We have become a hub for a Christian counselling organisation, with a number of our folks trained in counselling. Further afield, our congregation is involved in all kinds of projects and charities. It’s all about the expression of love.

Three years ago, we stepped out in faith and built a new church hall, so that we would be better equipped to serve our neighbourhood. The Victorian-era building itself is not user friendly, and boasts what are generally regarded as the most uncomfortable pews in the world. And we’ve’ toilet-twinned’ with facilities which are more inviting than the one in the chapel.

Spiritually, it would be comfortable to think that we’re in a much better place than many other churches – but the standard isn’t what is happening somewhere else, and we still have a long way to go to become all God would have us be.

Yes, we have real, vibrant and loving relationships, with God and with each other. There is openness and honesty, and when one part suffers, every part suffers with it. Everyone is valued, everything they do – be it making the tea or cleaning the chapel – is also valued. The head of this body is Christ, and all the parts are treated with equal honour. But on the path of discipleship, there is always so much more. Our walk with God and with each other could always be closer, more empowering and more intimate.

Between us, we have had our share of grief and tragedy. But we also have a grown-up and biblical theology of suffering: we don’t buy into the lie of the ‘prosperity scammers’ that God is obliged to make us healthy and wealthy. That said, we have experienced the gracious and unmerited intervention of God many times. I would like to share just one of those instances with you, on the understanding that it says nothing whatsoever about me, but may serve to demonstrate the love and compassion of God.

Some years ago, my wife and I went to Devon, to spend time with my ageing father. As my family had lived there since records began, we thought it would be nice to check out where they had once resided. They tended to spend about a century in one village, then move to a nearby settlement for the next hundred years – and then back again. We thought we’d take dad to a place called Trusham, where my ancestors had occupied a property known as “New Buildings”.

We were struggling to locate “New Buildings” in this peaceful hamlet. Paula stopped the car where a man was tending his garden, and I asked him. He told us he was new to the village, but he might be able to find out something about my family from the village directory, which he fetched. Thumbing through, he said “Ah, yes – one of your ancestors was awarded a prize for the biggest turnip in 1795”. Never let it be said that we are under-achievers!

Anyhow, he said we should talk to the elderly man who compiled the directory, as he would know more – and pointed to a house on a hill. I left Paula in the car, and walked up the long garden path with my dad. A woman in her sixties opened the door. Before I had the chance to tell her of our mission, she said, “Come on in – can I get you something to eat?” I was rather surprised by such hospitality – we could have been anyone. We went inside. There was a man in his mid-eighties sat there, grimacing in obvious pain. I felt uncomfortable for intruding. They both introduced themselves (we’ll call them Alice and Frank). While Alice made drinks, we told Frank about our quest, and he said, “I’ve got plenty of information on your family. Matter of fact, one of your cousins was here some years ago. I’ll go and get it”.

I instantly regretted asking. He laboriously got out of his chair, shuffled to the bottom of the stairs, and started ascending. The pain was palpable – every step looked agonizing. Alice handed round coffee. Then she started sharing the gospel message. This interested my dad for all the wrong reasons. An avowed atheist all his life, he nevertheless saw a good opportunity for conversation. He pointed his walking stick at me – “Tell her what you do for a living, son!”

I told her. I also told her how impressed I was that she was welcoming, and that I was even more impressed that she took the chance to speak about Jesus. “I guess you share your faith all the time”, I said. Alice looked a little sheepish and replied, “Actually, I have never done it before today”.

Seeing the surprise on my face, she explained. “Frank is dying. He is riddled with cancer, and it has spread to into his bones. He knows what the situation is – he’s a retired doctor himself. He has come home to die, but he’s in so much pain. I was pleading with God for mercy for him, but all I felt God was saying is that I must share my faith. I’ve been a Christian all my life, and you are the first person to whom I’ve witnessed”.

Frank eventually made it back downstairs. We looked through his paperwork, and then I asked if I could pray for him – which I did. On the Sunday, I asked the fellowship to pray for Frank.

A few days later, Alice emailed me. She didn’t want to get in touch before, in case it was just a blip. Frank was free from pain. Entirely free from pain. A week later, she sent me a copy of his current medical report. There was no sign of cancer, and all his readings had returned to normal parameters. The consultant had written that his tests showed “nothing of cancer significance whatsoever”.

Frank lived another four and a half years, succumbing to advanced old age in his ninetieth year. I am told – in all that time – he never needed as much as an aspirin. Alice started touring local venues, talking about what God had done for her. Her reticence to share the gospel had disappeared. And my father, unable to sustain his atheism in the light of these events, came to faith in Jesus. He was taken to church by Alice a few times, before his health further deteriorated.

For myself, I have no idea why it has been my thoroughly undeserved privilege to witness such powerful intervention, or to have a walk-on part in this and other divine occurrences. I can only assume God has an unimaginable capacity to overlook my personal failings.

Chapter nine.
Closing thoughts.

Looking back over my life, I am amazed at how quickly the time has flown by. The transition from juvenile to senile delinquent seems to have happened overnight! There are regrets….mostly, about all those wasted years. Be that as it may, I try not to dwell too much on those lost years and lost opportunities. I endeavour to emulate the Apostle Paul – “But one thing I do: forgetting what is behind and straining towards what is ahead, I press on towards the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenwards in Christ Jesus”. I’m still not that good at it, though.

I know there are people who look at testimonies like mine, and rather wish they’d had some of those experiences. For myself, I envy those who have had quiet, childhood conversions, and then spend their whole lives serving the Lord. God didn’t have to shout at them, they just fell in behind Jesus and followed him. “Blessed are those who have believed and not seen”, as someone once said, and I think such people have the greater nobility of spirit.

I have no plans for the future. There is no apartment by the sea awaiting my retirement, no pension pot and even less interest in the kind of pursuits which might generally appeal to a man of leisure. The truth is, I’ve been spoilt. I have known how it feels to be laid hold of by God, and deposited in the situation of his choosing. I’ve known the blessing of submission to his will, even at those times when I have initially resisted him. Speaking to Nicodemus, Jesus said, “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” It is my hope that I will end my time on earth still being lifted up and carried along by his Spirit just like that – to whatever destination he sees fit. I cannot conceive of a more wonderful plan.

Tom Pridham