BE STILL

BE STILL

Just before the coronavirus started taking its toll, a loud din could be heard throughout the world. People were toing and froing. Planks of wood were being hammered together. There was a busy busyness like bees at a hive, reminiscent of mankind at the Tower of Babel. As with a swarm of angry bees, so a frenetic and agitated mankind is best avoided. Be still! “Why are the nations so angry? Why do they waste their time with futile plans?” Psalm 2:1 NLT.

Ben & Loch Lomond, with Inchmurrin on right

As our government told us to stay at home, and the tumult of hammering still echoed in the distance, I watched a wee You Tube montage from Christians in Arrochar (where I used to holiday with my family as a child) and Luss (a picturesque village I used to visit on the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, Scotland). Their theme, during this present world chaos, is from an appropriate and timely verse of Scripture, “Be still, and know that I am God! I will be honored by every nation. I will be honored throughout the world.” Psalm 46:10 NLT.

COVID 19 is the terror of the nations. What are we to do in the midst of all this panic and seeming chaos? We are to be still. Be still and what? “Be still, and know that I am God!”, that’s what. But God, why don’t You stop this virus? “Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorant words?” Job 38:2 NLT. The echo of the piledriving is still being heard in the glen. Bang! Bang! Bang!

Are we being still yet? Have we stopped shaking our fists at Heaven? Have we stopped being angry with God? Have the raging nations spent themselves yet? Have we finished with all our toing and froing? Are we done with our judgmentalism? Are we done judging God and judging each other? Are we all done with our hammering? Have we finished nailing Jesus to His cross yet? Have we raised the Saviour of the world on His cross for all the world to see yet? Are we still yet, really still? If so, then do exactly what God says, “Look to Me, and be saved, All you ends of the earth! For I am God, and there is no other.” Isaiah 45:2 NKJV.

See, from His head, His hands, His feet, 

sorrow and love flow mingled down. 

Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, 

or thorns compose so rich a crown?” Isaac Watts.

Therefore,

“Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,

and all is darkened in the vale of tears,

then shall you better know His love, His heart,

Who comes to soothe your sorrow and your fears.

Be still, my soul: your Jesus can repay

from His own fullness all He takes away.” Kathrina Von Schlegel.

BLUE MOON

Blue Moon

The contemporary meaning of the term ‘once in a blue moon’ is easier to understand than its origin! Nowadays a blue moon is commonly understood to be an extremely rare occurrence, perhaps never. However, apparently originally it did not refer to a second full moon in a month but to the third full moon in a season with four. The word month comes from moon. The reason the date for Easter varies each year is on account of Easter Sunday needing to be within a week of the first full moon of the spring season. Indeed, the Triune God had seasons in mind when He created the sun, the moon and the stars, ‘Then God said, “Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and seasons, and for days and years’ Genesis 1:14. ‘He appointed the moon for seasons’ Psalm 104:19a.

The Apostle Paul refers to a ‘once in a blue moon’ occurrence where he says, ‘For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ Romans 5:7-8. Grace is the hardest thing for human beings to understand! Jesus did not lay down His life for the righteous or those who work hard at trying to be good. He died for sinners, i.e. wicked people. ‘As it is written: “There is none righteous, no, not one; There is none who understands; There is none who seeks after God. They have all turned aside; They have together become unprofitable; There is none who does good, no, not one.”’ Romans 3:10-12. My old theological professor used to say something like, ‘Grace is not receiving what you do deserve while receiving what you do not deserve.’

To sin is to break the law, God’s Law, in thought or word or deed. To break God’s Law is to incur God’s penalty, ‘The wages of sin is death’ Romans 6:23a. No human being escapes, ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’ Romans 3:23. However, here is the good news, here is the grace of God, in the second half of a verse just quoted ‘The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord’ Romans 6:23. Eternal life is a gift!

Once in a blue moon will you meet a Christian today who has understood and can articulate that God saves sinners by His grace alone! Salvation is a gift that has been earned by Christ alone and is received through faith alone, ‘For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.’ Ephesians 2:8-9.

What Jesus did on the cross was a ‘blue moon’ occurrence. ‘Not with the blood of goats and calves, but with His own blood He entered the Most Holy place once for all, having attained eternal redemption’ Hebrews 9:12. After celebrating the last Passover (which He transformed into the Lord’s Supper) He was arrested and crucified. As He hung on the tree we are told, ‘Now when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour’ Mark 15:33. We know that this darkness was not a solar eclipse because the Paschal Moon was a full moon. Solar eclipses cannot happen when the moon is full. The darkness symbolised spiritual darkness as the Father turned His face away from His Son on the cross. May He make His face to shine upon you.

MAMBAS ARE DEADLY

Gazing at a photograph of my father’s post-war Liberty ship Fort Spokane sailing under Sydney Harbour Bridge made me wonder about the scope and energy of this man from Loch Lomondside whose wanderlust made him stoke that cargo ship, to work his passage to Australia.

My dad's ship sailing under Sydney Harbour Bridge, 1950

The wandering sailor had even been in Tasmania before me, I know, and in Canada before me for sure. I was born there when he and my mother Cathie settled near Toronto for seven years. My older brother Fearghas came with her to join him and Stuart was born in Toronto before my father found work in Ajax where I came along.

He was an apprentice plater in Denny’s shipyard in Dumbarton, Scotland, but sent to Mombasa to hammer buckled frigates back together in the Second World War, and became a young petty officer in the Royal Navy.

His ship was torpedoed in the Indian Ocean. He said he would like to tell us he had been heroic, calmly informing the captain when he and a fellow officer of the watch saw a silver trail ripping through phosphorescent sea towards their ship that dark and, he admitted, fearful night. But he wasn’t and he ran one way and the other ran another, and they collided with each other in stark desperation. The “fish” crashed in through the ship’s shattered bow plates and they waited for the moment the explosion would send them down. Yet, death did not come that night. The torpedo was a dud. 

This insatiable reader and amateur writer often spoke of his love of Ernest Hemingway, his terse style, his economy of description in conveying love or hate or fear. What he didn’t tell us was that he could do this himself. He was rumbled by Fearghas and a story was published in the Scottish literary magazine Chapman (issue 47-48) - a tale of a vicious struggle in a Mombasa Military Police cell. This then, from a man who stoked tons of powdered coal across the world and saw things to inspire the eye of a writer:

MAMBAS ARE DEADLY

 By Stuart McKinlay (Sen.) Deceased

My dad, Stuart McKinlay (Sen.)

The cell door lay open and the bright sunlight hurt my eyes. I just sat there and thought what I was going to say when they came for me.

The events were clear in my mind.

It all started one night in the Fleet Canteen in Mombasa. I was sitting there drinking beer, under waving palm trees and the wide African sky. Then a fight started.

This night the place was full. Half of the Pacific Fleet was in harbour. As usual the Big-ship men got to arguing with the Destroyer men, and I managed to get involved in the fracas that followed. Personally, I couldn’t have cared less about their crummy tin-cans, seeing as I was off the Boom-boat, which had the very unromantic task of dragging the anti-submarine net across the harbour entrance. But some clown knocked over my beer.

When the hullabaloo was at its height, I was dragged off by the beach patrol, heaved into the Chockey-waggon, and hauled up before the Officer of the Day. My apparently innocent escapade appeared as a heinous crime in the eyes of that good man. It staggered him. I had to be dealt with at a higher level. He put me on Commander’s report.

At the trial, it was evident that I had played a major roll in the disturbance. In fact, the evidence all seemed to suggest that I had planned and executed the entire battle. I was the ringleader; a trouble maker and a complete liability to the service, and a mutinous dog to boot.

Old Knocker White laid it on thick. Such conduct was detrimental to the good name of the Navy. This kind of thing had to be stopped. They were going to make an example of someone. You know the old crap. Somebody was going to be strung from the yardarm, and this time it was going to be me.

I was awarded twenty eight days detention (get that AWARDED), and second class for leave and conduct. On capped, about turned and marched off under escort.

I wasn’t worrying much. Twenty eight days were nothing. Although, when I doubled in the gates of Nyalli detention barracks with my kit-bag on my head, I had the feeling my troubles were just beginning.

Right away I ran foul of Stark. He was a sergeant of Military Police, which was probably the main reason he couldn’t live with himself. He landed me in trouble straight off. All I did was complain about the grub.

Once more I was branded as an agitator and a rabble-rouser. The Colonel in command of East African prisons gave me the business. Three days in solitary on prison diet number one, (Bread and water to you). That made good business for Stark. He was flogging our food anyway.

So they led me across the field to the cell which stands alone. I stood outside while Stark searched me thoroughly for tobacco or weapons - anything that would let them take another dig at me. He looked disappointed when he didn’t find anything.

“Have a good night’s sleep”, he sneered, as he shoved me inside. I glared at him, but said nothing. I was thinking there wouldn’t be much to do but sleep anyway. I didn’t know Stark.

I waited till the door clanged shut and his footsteps grew fainter. I waited while the stillness and blackness settled on me like layers of coal dust. Then from a small hole I had made in the fly of my pants, right next to the zipper where the cloth is doubled, I carefully extracted a cigarette and three matches. I held the cigarette in my mouth a long time savouring the taste. I struck a match and raised my cupped hands to my mouth. In the light cast by the flickering flame, I saw something writhing slowly in the corner of the cell. I looked closer, two snakes were coiled in a loathsome heap on the floor. The match fell from my palsied hand.

For half a minute there wasn’t a part of me that would move. It was as if the current had been switched off. Then suddenly the juice came on again, and I was all motion. The cigarette fell from my lips, as I leapt for the steel mesh which formed the ceiling. I only got half a grip on the wire with my left hand. My weight swung me sideways and I crashed heavily to the floor. I was on my feet in an instant, flattening myself against the wall. I tried to claw my way up the door. I was frantic. “Staff”, I screamed, “Staff”.

It was the sound of my own voice that brought me to my senses. It didn’t sound like my voice. It was high-pitched and shrill. The gibbering idiot clutching the cell door couldn’t be me. I took a grip of myself. My emotions had run away with me. I tried to think.

I stared at the inky blackness and tried to picture the layout of the cell. The only weapon in the place was the latrine bucket. It was somewhere in the right-hand corner. In the middle of the floor were three planks raised high at one end. It was all nailed together and too heavy to throw around. You usually slept with your head at the high end. That was about all. Yet there should have been something else. I couldn’t think what it was, but it seemed important. There was something you always did in the tropics before turning in at night; something besides using the bucket.

The mosquito net - that was it! You let down your mosquito net. Hope welled within me. Once inside the net with the bottom tucked under the bed I would be safe. I peered into the darkness. There should be a mosquito net tied up in a loose knot from the ceiling. It was regulations. They didn’t have to give you blankets, but there had to be a mosquito net; and I had to go over there and get it down.

I figured three steps from the door would take me to the bed-boards. I stepped out quickly - too quickly. My toe caught the low end of the boards and I fell on my mouth and nose on the cement floor.

If anything cold and clammy had touched me then, I would have passed out. My skin felt far too tight for me and I had a rotten feeling in my stomach. It was pure fear. If only I could see: if only I could see.

My left leg was lying across the corner of the bed-boards. I twisted round and desperately scrambled aboard the bed like it was a raft in a shark infested sea. Then I got a break. Something rolled under my hand. It was one of my matches. I struck it and looked. It was a sickening sight. There seemed to be two heads and one writhing, coiling body. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t look away. One snake was in the act of swallowing the other. I stared, till the match burned my fingers.

I reached up and pulled the mosquito net down around me like a tent, tucking it well under the bed—boards. They say a snake goes to sleep after a heavy meal. Maybe I should have felt safe. I didn’t. Not one little bit. I sat in the dark and sweated it out.

Hours passed, or maybe it was days, or weeks, before I heard footsteps and a rattling of bolts and locks. The door was flung open and a feeble light from the pale African dawn came in. Stark was right behind.

He was big and loud and laughing his head off. “Did you have a good sleep boy?” he cried. “How did you enjoy the company of my little petsy-wetsy, my little snakesy-wakesy? eh!” he chuckled.

The bitterness came in my mouth like the taste of epsom salts. The dirty louse. Imagine it! He’d put a snake in the cell just to give me the horrors.

A couple of things could have saved Stark in the next few minutes. I could have warned him. If the light had been better he would have seen his mistake; but the sun hadn’t yet been catapulted into the sky, bringing broad daylight.

I just stood there and watched, while he bent down and picked up his big harmless grass snake which gave him laughs with clowns like me.

Unfortunately his “petsy-wetsy” was inside a Green Mamba, which must have got into the cell through the air-vent.

He dangled it in front of him and cooed at it, until with a vicious whiplike movement it struck his face. He plucked it from him in consternation, pulling away flesh and blood where the fangs had penetrated his cheek. He smashed the wriggling horror repeatedly on the stone floor.

He knew what it was. He turned and looked at me, but he didn’t seem to see me. His face was grey. He stumbled out of the door. Halfway across the field he looked as if he was wading through cotton wool. He didn’t quite make it to the other side.

I went back and searched under the bed until I found the cigarette I had dropped and my last match.

I lit up and took a long drag.

AWAY WITH THE BIRDS

AWAY WITH THE BIRDS

By Stuart McKinlay

There is an unnatural quietness to the darkening night falling over Byres Road. Usually an area straddling a street famous for guys ‘n’ dolls hauling in and out of the pubs and pubs and more pubs, given the limited vision of the Friday night crowds here.

Neil, Dot & Stuart, Tennent's Bar, Byres Road

Yet tonight is differently accented. For one thing the First Minister is lending the experts on pandemics the civic authority of her voice to tell the pubs to shut-it, and the teeming masses to disperse in their separate ways, the better to elude the coronavirus infection eager to leap from one to the other and others again in exponential numbers until untold harm is done. Italy stands in warning.

An unlikely skein of geese flies two or three hundred feet over the street, at ten o’clock tonight, heading north-maybe-east, kind of mysteriously given the naturalness of their winged susurration and the builded unnaturalness of the terrain. Yet the geese are reassuring in this unusual quiet.

There they are, free maybe on their way to a mass gathering at Montrose Bay, I remember, but then isn’t that what they do in late October, squadrons of them teaming up for the winter flight South? I don’t know, but they’re doing what they do even though it’s March. Here we are stuck down below, airlines cancelling flights, laying off staff, people’s holidays abandoned, currencies plunging, governments making extravagant promises, caught, as it were, with their plans down. It was supposed to be a good time.

The caged bird sings

with fearful trill

of the things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom

We are in a trap, and Maya Angelou puts it nicely. The free bird thinks of another breeze / and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of his dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing

And, of course, he sings of freedom, as she said before. A bit dramatic in this context; but the strangely comforting overhead passage of the geese on an unnatural Friday night maybe calls for a bit of exaggeration, hyperbole in its proper place, even in someone else's eloquence. A passage of poetry, indeed, and a passage of time we are told we must serve until this thing passes.

They also serve who only stand and wait, of course, says Milton in worse circumstance, of his own blindness. Things aren't bad really, not yet anyway, but there is uneasiness in the air.

RALLY IN THE VALLEY

RALLY IN THE VALLEY

Introduction

There’s a verse of Scripture that says, “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God” Isaiah 40:1. It’s during hard times like these that we really need to comfort each other.

The word “comfort” is made up of two words, i.e., com, together, and, fortis, meaning strong. Add it all together and we have “together strong”. With regards to the present coronavirus crisis, that is what I am attempting to do by the following, i.e., to make us strong as a community.

Ben Lomond

First, I’ll talk about the view, and then I’ll talk about you.

The View

“It is the valley, the lovely valley where the Leven flows.” So goes the words of a song we’re all no doubt familiar with. We all need to rally in the lovely valley! To help in this important task and worthy cause, please ask yourself the following question:

Monkey Island, River Leven, Balloch

What do I (i.e., you) like best about the valley?

Think hard. Is it the scenery? Let’s spend a wee moment talking about the view. Think about it: We have two grand rocky sentinels standing guard at each end of our valley. One at Balloch, and one at Dumbarton.

In Balloch, with sentimental and oft teary eyes, summer or winter, we raise a toast to our beautiful Ben. Proud and magnificent! And, where the Leven flows, at Dumbarton, as our river shakes hands with the Clyde, the sons and daughters of the Rock raise a glass (of Ballantine’s?) to the twin peaks. Steadfast and ancient!

The Leven flows under many bridges as it meanders through Alexandria, Bonhill, the Renton, and Dalreoch, as it takes Loch Lomond’s thirst-quenching contents to water the Elephant at the Castle. (Aye, my faither worked in Denny’s Shipyard back in the day! And, “Weel done Cutty Sark!”)

We’ve walked alongside the Leven, we’ve swam in the Leven, fished in the Leven, sailed on the Leven, and (some of us) have drank whisky made with the water from the Leven.

How are you coping during this time of personal trial? Drinking more? Feeling a bit depressed? Haratio Gates Spafford wrote the following in 1873 after hearing the tragic news from his wife that they had lost their four daughters at sea (not long after having lost their son in a fire):

“When peace like a river attendeth my way,

when sorrows like sea billows roll;

whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

‘It is well, it is well with my soul.’”

Aye, “It is the valley, the lovely valley where the Leven flows.” Take a wee stroll by the River Leven to calm your nerves, to find comfort for your soul, and may peace like a river attend your way. But, may the Ben and may the Rock comfort you because they remind you of the One who is behind the mountain and the Rock, i.e., God, to whom these are clear signposts.

The valley where the Leven flows does have some very beautiful scenery. Doesn’t it? This is one of the reasons why you love the place. Isn’t it? But, is that what you love most about the place? The scenery? Or is it the people? (It can be both of course!)

You

Look at the present rally in the valley. The valley folk are rallying to a cause. What cause? It’s the love cause. Love is a verb, a “doing” word. Butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers are all uniting in seeking to help others through this time of crisis. Like never before, we’re looking after our elderly, our sick and infirm. It’s as if wee Willie Winkie is running through the toon again:

“Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town, 

Up stairs and down stairs in his night-gown.

Tapping at the window, crying at the lock, 

Are the children in their bed, for it’s past ten o’clock?”

We’re checking on each other. We’re looking out for each other. We’re loving our neighbours as ourselves. Just like the Good Book says we should!

The coronavirus is mysterious to us. But sometimes, so is God.

“God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform” is the opening line of a hymn written by William Cowper in 1773. He wrote it just before he descended into a major bout of depression. Things became so bad in his eyes that he wanted to drown himself. But he didn’t! The hymn goes on to say:

“Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy and shall break

In blessings on your head.”

Tobias Smollett Monument, Renton

So, what are you afraid of? We’re all mainly (a)feart of the unknown. Our enemy, the coronavirus, is a hidden enemy. It is an unseen enemy. It operates by pure sneakiness and stealth.  It is an insidious interloper, an unwanted intruder. A murderer! Blindfolded, we are battling with darkness, shooting at shadows.

However, ponder for a moment the fact that we’ve already seen the hand of God at work in our midst. He’s been working in us, with us, and through us. How so? As we love our neighbours as ourselves. Just like He told us to! Ponder those words again:

“Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy and shall break

In blessings on your head.”

Courage in the face of adversity brings blessings in the end! Who’d have thought?

Think about it: I heard in church that the thing that is most commanded in the Bible is not found in the Ten Commandments, but in the words, “Fear not” as in God saying to His people, “Be not afraid”.

You all know those words in Psalm 23? You’ve all sung them (perhaps too many times) at funerals. Why do we tend to sing the Shepherd Psalm? Its words are intended to bring you comfort. Remember, “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God”?

Dumbarton Castle Wall

Aye, it’s dark right now in the Vale. But take courage, take comfort from following:

“Yea, though I walk through death’s dark vale,

yet will I fear none ill,

for Thou art with me; 

and Thy rod and staff me comfort still.”

There’s that word “comfort” appearing again.

“If God be for us, who can be against us?” Romans 8:31b. And, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” Romans 8:38-39. You may as well add the word “coronavirus” to that list

Conclusion

God is about good news to people, i.e., good news to people especially in times of adversity. E.g., “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” John 3:16.

Dumbarton Quay, Castle & Rock in background

Up and down the valley, from the bay at Balloch to the quay at Dumbarton and beyond, pray for each other, and answer your own prayers by physically helping others. There’s a blessing in it for you, and for the whole community. “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” Galatians 6:9.

It may not be exactly the one you know, but here’s one version of The Valley Where the Leven Flows:

There’s a valley nestles neatly ‘neath the shadow of the hills 

To which my heart is dear

Its beauty and its splendour with a joy my bosom fills

Tho I be far or near

It is the valley, the lovely valley where the Leven flows

In sun or showers, tis beauty’s bower

When the heather blows

With joy my heart is always dancing,

No other part is so entrancing 

As in the valley, the lovely valley

Where the Leven flows

If you ask the lonely exile who has left it for a while

And gone across the foam

To name the spot he loves the best, he’ll answer with a smile

‘It is my home sweet home’

Words and Music by Archibald McFarlane.

Let us continue to rally in the valley, the lovely valley where the Leven flows.

CORONA LOCUSTS

CORONA LOCUSTS

Like its owner, the dust encrusted laptop is showing the signs of aging. However, the coffee stains and cigarette ash didn’t seem to hinder its function mainly as a word processor. Nicotined sausage-fingers frantically pecked and scratched away at its keypad like some deranged free-range hen. The deadline for his sci-fi short story loomed on the digital clock at the bottom corner of the screen. The writer pauses as a drop from a sweat-covered forehead joins the coffee stains. Distracted, the writer’s mind goes blank just as the screen freezes. It had done this before. Would a reboot help?

“Wouldn’t it be nice if I could simply reboot myself?” thought our budding author out loud. “Time to fetch another coffee as this old computer rejigs itself. Darn! That’s right, I drank the last of it. I won’t get through this without another coffee!”

Image from Internet

The local supermarket was packed even though it wasn’t long till closing time. People were yelling at each other. Some were even swinging punches.

“What’s going on?”

The young shop assistant told him that the police had been called. Then added, “They’re fighting over toilet paper! Something to do with coronavirus.”

There were people everywhere with trolleys full of packets of toilet rolls.

“What’s gotten into them? Is it on sale? Are you giving it away free or something?” 
The young man didn’t answer this time.

The kettle was boiled and a couple of teaspoons of the freshly bought granulated coffee were quickly dissolved in our keyboardist’s favourite mug. Feeling slightly dizzy, he sat down again in front of his laptop, dropping ash on it. “Oh no! There’s something queer going on here! First coronavirus, and now computer virus.”

He imagined a battle scene in which wave after wave of crown-wearing invaders sweep in, like a plague of locusts, devouring everything green in their path.

“Why the crowns?” he thought, as the anti-virus scanned the endless ranks of the enemy. “This coffee isn’t helping. I still have writer’s block, and my throat is dry.”

His white corpuscles began saddling up their horses to meet the onslaught of the enemy as his writers’ block morphed into a total brain-freeze. A virus was taking over both him and his computer.

Fires, then floods, and then viruses. How much more can Australia take within one year? Fortuitously, at least the fires and the floods have kept the tourists away. However, fewer tourists from overseas, means less incoming spending. The Australian economy may tank, but at least we will have less coronavirus due to the averted invasion from overseas visitors.

The old man’s daughter let herself in. “Dad! Are you OK?”

“Oh, it’s you dear! I must have fallen asleep. I wasn’t feeling too well. And neither is my old laptop. Oh, wait. I think we’re both now back among the living.”

“I think you ought to lie down. What have you been doing?”

 “I’m OK now. I’ve been writing a piece I’m calling, “When Kings Go Forth To Battle”. It’s a sci-fi story from an idea I got from the Book of Revelation.”

“Dad, I’m glad the doctor confirmed that you only have a mild case of the flu, and not that crazy coronavirus. Who knows where that’s all going to end up!”

“I think that coronavirus will be a fizzer. It’ll all be over in about five months. Sure, sadly it’ll take a toll on the old and the infirm. But, the young, and all healthy human beings, will survive. Look, even my old laptop has just survived a computer virus. You just need to have the right antivirus program, I guess.”

“But what about all those panic buyers? What kind of virus do they have? Something must be attacking their brains! Stocking up on toilet paper. You’d think baked beans or coffee would be more like the thing. But, no! It’s toilet paper that they’re going to war over. Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better now. What was the verse from Revelation that inspired you to write your story about?”

“Let me read it to you as you’re making my coffee. Thanks. And don’t worry. I promise I won’t light up. My last cigarette made me feel dizzy! It’s those verses about locusts being given power on earth. ‘Then out of the smoke locusts came upon the earth. … The shape of the locusts was like horses prepared for battle. On their heads were crowns of something like gold, and their faces were like the faces of men. They had hair like women’s hair, and their teeth were like lions’ teeth. And they had breastplates like breastplates of iron, and the sound of their wings was like the sound of chariots with many horses running into battle. They had tails like scorpions, and there were stings in their tails. Their power was to hurt men five months. And they had as king over them the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in Hebrew is Abaddon, but in Greek he has the name Apollyon.’ Revelation 9:3,7-11.”

“Oh, so that’s why you think the coronavirus will be history in five months?”

“Not necessarily five months. And I don’t think these verses apply directly to our present situation. It’s just the principle of the thing. All the past plagues and pestilentials came, did their damage, then went. Therefore, so will this one.”

“Dad, what makes you so sure?”

“The ending for my sci-fi story, that’s what! I need to have it sent in by midnight tonight.”

“Why? What happens at midnight?”

“You’re reading my mind. What’s left of it anyway!”

“Well dad. I suppose I should go and leave you in peace to finish off your blockbuster story. I just thought I’d drop in to see how you were coping with your flu. And please, no more cigarettes!”

Our writer flexes his fat fingers and begins dexterously tapping his keypad.

There arose at that time a great leader, one who would save the planet from these alien invaders, one who would fight against all evil, and the evil corona locusts. He was the King of kings. And on his head were many crowns. Every eye was on him as he pointed his laser sword towards the enemy and cried out, “All who would save themselves and their households from the enemy, stay inside with your doors closed as darkness falls. But before you close your door, sprinkle your threshold with water while saying these words, ‘Whether we live or whether we die, we belong to the King of kings. Thus, swear allegiance to me!’"

At midnight there could be heard a great humming of wings like the drumming of hooves as the corona locusts advanced on the city of the King of kings and its occupants. The darkness grew darker as a shroud of evil began to cover the city. However, in the midst of the darkness there was a light, a great light, the King of kings sitting astride a flying white horse-like creature. He began, as it were, galloping to and fro, up and down the ranks of the buzzing corona locusts, uncrowning all as he went.

The next morning the anxious city dwellers, those who had survived the night, those who had the household protection, emerged to see a great fiery pyre upon which the King of kings had thrown all the enemy. There could be heard much agonistic wailing emanating from thence. However, though at first fearful of the noise and of the sight, realising the great victory of the King of kings, they began to hear music and joyful singing which drowned out the pitiful cries of the corona locusts. It was the city dwellers singing their praises to the King of kings.

The deserts created by the destructive and devouring corona locusts began to bloom. The solar years they had eaten were restored. The planet Eden, and everyone thereon, was now safe forever more as the King of kings sat on his throne overseeing his dominion. THE END.

FAITH & REASON

The following is a short excerpt from my eBook The Nexus: The True Nature of Nature at: https://tinyurl.com/tclhh2s

Here is a link to my lengthier lecture on FAITH & REASON given in Canberra 2006?

Listen at the following: https://tinyurl.com/red4k6a

FAITH & REASON - The Relationship Between Theology & Philosophy

As you consider the sun, the moon, the stars, the earth, the sea, what have you concluded? As you consider your own existence, what assumptions have you made? Do you believe that ‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth’? Did God put you, and everything else there is, there? Or, did it all come into being by some other means? Is reality perhaps all just a projection of your own mind, or a projection of someone else’s mind for that matter?

To ponder these kinds of subjects is to enter into the sciences of Theology and Philosophy. Therefore every thinking rational being is a theologian and a philosopher – at least after a fashion. The crucial question we need to answer is this: Are Faith and Reason mutually exclusive? Are Theology and Philosophy autonomous exercises? Or is there a unifying factor – something that unites Theology, Philosophy, Faith, and Reason?

We shall seek to demonstrate that whilst it is healthy to make distinctions between the disciplines of Theology and Philosophy, in order to give an accurate knowledge and a logical sense of reality, both are dependent upon revelation of and from the Triune God.

The Christian Theologian, Philosopher, and Apologist Cornelius Van Til says:

Philosophy, as usually defined, deals with a theory of reality, with a theory of knowledge, and with a theory of ethics. That is to say philosophies usually undertake to present a life and world view. They deal not only with that which man can directly experience by means of his senses but also, and ofttimes especially, with the presuppositions of experience. In short, they deal with that which Christian theology speaks of as God. On the other hand Christian theology deals not only with God; it deals also with the world.[44]

If we have understood Van Til correctly, Philosophy seeks to present a philosophy of life, i.e., a ‘life and world view.’ And to do this Philosophy needs to deal with at least three main issues: a) Reality or the Metaphysical, (i.e., the ‘What is?’) b) Knowledge or the Epistemological, (i.e., the ‘How do we know what is?’) and c) The Ethical, (i.e., How should we then live in light of a and b?’)

Philosophy, then, as Van Til has alerted us, in a nutshell deals with how we should live our lives according to what we know about reality. Thus we acknowledge that there is a practical aspect to Philosophy. Philosophy is not all thinking and knowing. It is also doing. Thus men tend to behave according to their philosophies, i.e., according to their life and worldview.

Again, thinking of what Van Til has already said, that which man experiences through his senses necessarily includes what he presupposes about these experiences. Thus Philosophy builds its life and worldview upon knowledge gained from information received by and through the senses. But the subtlety is that man has prior assumptions about the information he is receiving. Says Ronald Kirk,

Godless education, or rather indoctrination, is a shipwreck. Godless science rarely admits that its starting place is not the objective, factual universe it claims. Humanistic science systematically avoids discussion of its foundational philosophical presuppositions regarding origins, necessarily religious at root. Instead, the godless merely assert their materialistic faith as objective science. In fact, it is nothing more than the sinful, rebellious counterpart to Christianity’s faith in God. If the materialists forthrightly declared themselves, the rest of us would soon realize that much of modern science is actually conclusion drawn from mere humanistic preference.[i]Humanistic science systematically avoids discussion of its foundational philosophical presuppositions regarding origins, necessarily religious at root. Humanistic science systematically avoids discussion of its foundational philosophical presuppositions regarding origins, necessarily religious at root. Instead, the godless merely assert their materialistic faith as objective science. In fact, it is nothing more than the sinful, rebellious counterpart to Christianity's faith in God. If the materialists forthrightly declared themselves, the rest of us would soon realize that much of modern science is actually conclusion drawn from mere humanistic preferenceHumanistic science systematically avoids discussion of its foundational philosophical presuppositions regarding origins, necessarily religious at root. Instead, the godless merely assert their materialistic faith as objective science. In fact, it is nothing more than the sinful, rebellious counterpart to Christianity's faith in God. If the materialists forthrightly declared themselves, the rest of us would soon realize that much of modern science is actually conclusion drawn from mere humanistic preferenceaims. Humanistic science systematically avoids discussion of its foundational philosophical presuppositions regarding origins, necessarily religious at root. Instead, the godless merely assert their materialistic faith as objective science. In fact, it is nothing more than the sinful, rebellious counterpart to Christianity's faith in God. If the materialists forthrightly declared themselves, the rest of us would soon realize that much of modern science is actually conclusion drawn from mere humanistic preference."aims. Humanistic science systematically avoids discussion of its foundational philosophical presuppositions regarding origins, necessarily religious at root. Instead, the godless merely assert their materialistic faith as objective science. In fact, it is nothing more than the sinful, rebellious counterpart to Christianity's faith in God. If the materialists forthrightly declared themselves, the rest of us would soon realize that much of modern science is actually conclusion drawn from mere humanistic preference."
-Ronald Kirk
(Thy Will Be Done: When All Nations Call God Blessed)

Christian Theology & Christian Philosophy

Theology, i.e., Christian theology, holds that that which the Philosopher is directly experiencing through his senses is revelation of God. Therefore, as far as Christian Theology is concerned, man experiencing the five senses – seeing, hearing, touching, smelling and tasting – is man experiencing God. Thus, if there is a difference between Theology and Philosophy it is that Christian Theology is the science that works to produce Christian concepts, whilst Christian Philosophy is the science that reflects upon these Christian foundations and applies them.

The point being made is that there is a sense in which both sciences (Christian Theology and Christian Philosophy) are dealing with the same thing. Both are working with revelation of God. Christian Theology seeks to categorize and systematize that revelation. Christian Philosophy seeks to ponder and apply it.

Thus we see that Christian Theology and Christian Philosophy are two distinct but related disciplines. They are distinct in that Theology produces and categorizes concepts, and Philosophy thinks these concepts through, and builds a life and worldview upon them. Theology and Philosophy are related because each is dealing with revelation of God. Yet, importantly, neither one is subordinate to the other because both are equally valid ways of dealing with revelation. Indeed, they compliment each other, and of necessity, must borrow from each other. Whereas Theology deals with man’s scientific knowledge of the Creator, Philosophy deals with man’s scientific knowledge of creation.

Thus, though Theology and Philosophy have their own distinct spheres, they interpenetrate and overlap each other. Van Til notes the distinction and the relationship where he says:

Philosophy and science deal more especially with man in his relation to the cosmos and theology deals more especially with man in his relation to God. But this is only a matter of degree.[45]

The theologian is simply a specialist in the field of biblical interpretation taken in the more restricted sense. The philosopher is directly subject to the Bible and must in the last analysis rest upon his own interpretation of the Word. But he may accept the help of those who are more constantly and more exclusively engaged in biblical study than he himself can be.[46]

C. Stephen Evans also notes the intimate relationship between the sciences of Theology and Philosophy thus:

Although some would make a sharp distinction between philosophy and theology, there is substantial overlap in the questions each treats. One way to distinguish between the two is in terms of their audiences: A thinker who is speaking to a religious community and can presuppose the authorities recognized by that community is doing theology. The same thinker addressing a broader community may be doing philosophy.[47]

Though we believe in a ‘practical theology’ we believe John M Frame has gone a tad too far in the following statement:

The best way to define theology, in my view, is as the application of the whole Bible to the whole of human life. Theology is not an attempt to articulate our feelings about God (Schleiermacher), but neither is it merely an attempt to state the objective truth, or to put the truth in ‘proper order’ (Hodge), for Scripture already does those things perfectly well. Theology is, rather, teaching the Bible for the purpose of meeting human needs. It answers human questions, tries to relieve doubts, applies texts to life-situations.[48]

In this view the hippopotamus of Theology has swallowed the camel of Philosophy. For we hold that the application of the whole Bible to the whole of human life belongs to the sphere of Philosophy and not Theology, for Philosophy, as our definition has already noted, deals with life and worldviews. Therefore, Christian Philosophy is the thought-through application of Christian Theology. However, we wholeheartedly agree with Dr Frame that the whole Bible needs to be applied to the whole of human life.

As already alluded to, there is also an added and real danger that if we adopt the view of Theology as stated by Dr Frame we will have subordinated and subsumed Philosophy to Theology. Thus Philosophy simply becomes Jonah reflecting in the belly of the great fish of Theology. The flaw in this view is that it implies that we are to build our life and worldview solely upon God’s written revelation.

Though at first blush this sounds noble and pious, the subtlety is that it would seem to ignore and discard the revelation God supplies to all men through the things He has made. Man experiences this revelation of God through his senses. This is what Calvin calls man’s ‘sense of deity.’ To be sure, God’s Word is the spectacles through which man needs to look in order to clearly see God in nature (to use another of Calvin’s terms). Yet men do know and do learn about God through the things God has made (Psalm 19; Romans 1:20&21).

The Bible, for example, mentions the rainbow, but does not explain what colours to mix to make green. The Bible mentions bronze, but not what metals to mix to make bronze. To talk of mixing colours to paint and mixing metals to sculpt is to talk about art and metallurgy. Aesthetics and engineering are just two areas cultural man needs to continue to explore. And as he explores these and other areas, he will be confronted with revelation of God at every turn. 

Thus empirical knowledge is still revelation of God needing to be philosophically pondered. Theology does the cataloguing, putting it, as (Frame above says that) Hodge says, in its ‘proper order,’ and Philosophy does the pondering and applying. They must work together. The reason being is that if you separate them or subordinate or subsume one to the other, Christian man runs the risk of granting non-Christian man autonomy from God. For fallen men readily uncouple the railway carriage of Philosophy from the railway carriage of Theology and sideline and the latter – intending Theology for the scrapheap.

We see this in our own age in the way that Faith has been separated from and even divorced by Reason.

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[i] Ronald W. Kirk, Thy Will Be Done: When All Nations Call God Blessed, Nordskog Publishing Inc, Ventura, California, 2013.