Opinion - God's faithfulness - a potter's tale

A journey of faith might be likened to a pilgrimage with landmarks and guideposts, hazards and moments of feeling lost, our destination being reached when we come before our maker.

A journey of faith might be likened to a pilgrimage with landmarks and guideposts, hazards and moments of feeling lost

I do not recall ever subscribing to atheist conclusions but must admit to being lukewarm – like those of the church in Laodicea – indifferent and preoccupied with worldly matters. I believe life might be composed of three threads – employment for financial support, at least one pastime and a faith of some form. For many, the latter remains in abeyance.

I grew up with an awareness of a higher being to whom I could appeal, later finding him to be compassionate through his provision and protection. When very young, at bedtime, one of my parents would lead me in a simple prayer. This assured me of God’s existence – I wasn’t addressing a void. Circumstances made me aware of our mortality.

I grew up on a small housing estate in Reading. The cul de sac where we lived provided a playground for us as children. There was one evening though, when our games ceased, our attention being diverted by a group of people singing choruses on the street corner. They were from ‘The Chapel on the Hill’ which I could see half a mile away from my bedroom window. Of what they sang, was vital. I was transfixed and reluctant to leave, but my mother promised I could attend the Sunday School. So my involvement began – each Sunday afternoon for several years I set out clutching a Bible and a ‘Golden Bells’ hymn book.

At the Sunday School we studied the Bible and prayed and sang. We learnt of what Jesus had said and done. Mr Lockhead was the minister, he had been a Salvation Army officer. We always enjoyed visits from some evangelists who arrived in a green campervan. They entertained whilst still teaching us.

We always enjoyed visits from some evangelists who arrived in a green campervan.

At school our religious upbringing wasn’t neglected. Every morning there was ‘assembly’ - a simple devotion consisting of a hymn, a prayer and a Bible reading. In our secondary school, form masters taught scripture.

My brother Richard was five years younger than me, and joined the Sunday School later. When I was about 11, I joined the scouts and began to worship at St John’s, the Parish church. My scoutmaster ‘Skipper’ Knight was a sidesman and something of a mentor to me. I became a Queen’s scout and attended the parade at St George’s Chapel in Windsor.

I wasn’t baptised until I was 14. My parents had suggested I could make that decision for myself. Having been baptised, I could be confirmed. At the confirmation service, the Bishop actually appealed, when laying his hands on the candidates “Let thy Holy Spirit ever be with them” and also “…let them daily increase in the Spirit more and more”. In New Testament times this did represent an imparting of the Holy Spirit, its function being to launch the church. Many do not consider the Spirit to be active today. Subsequently, I was permitted to receive the bread and wine at Holy Communion. Richard and I became servers or ‘acolytes’. Sometimes I carried the processional cross. We wore vestments. I found the ritual and symbolism to be meaningful.

I’ve had a lifelong involvement with education, first as a pupil, then as an art student practising painting and pottery. There was some significance in me obtaining a book ‘The Life of Christ in Paintings of the 11th to 15th Centuries’. Art communicates. Having gained the necessary qualification, I went on to teach, first in secondary schools, then specialising in pottery at an Adult Centre in Reading near where I had grown up.

I found the ritual and symbolism to be meaningful.

At the art college I was in my element, being in the company of like minded people. I befriended a small group of devout Methodists. I saw in their dedication, something I wanted very much. I also met there Jennifer (Jen) who would become my wife. Whilst gaining my teaching qualification, although impoverished, we married and were able to rent a cottage in Shottesbrooke Park just outside Maidenhead. From there I cycled daily to teach in Reading. As well as being housed, there were outbuildings suitable for the making of pottery which it seemed I was meant to do – I have been doubtful on hearing others say such things, but everything needed to practise the craft was just coming my way. I still needed to distribute and sell my work, the difficulty being that I was unable to drive.

The problem of transport was overcome in a most surprising way. I acquired a carrier tricycle – ‘stop me and buy one’. This looked like one of God’s little jokes, but the timing was perfect and it was ideal for transport and display. I was able to pedal to events about 15 miles distant. Very soon, organisers were urging me to provide a demonstration and again, God in his providence granted the wherewithal to do it and eventually a truck to carry everything. With help, I was enabled to visit events and demonstrate. A college friend lived nearby and I attended events he’d organised and in the winter, sign-painted for him.

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It will be seen that my experience is not one of conversion from atheist to believer, but a realisation that Jesus had been active throughout my life.

my experience is not one of conversion from atheist to believer

The 1970’s saw the emergence of the Charismatic Movement within the historic churches. As a result, thousands were finding their faith reignited, although others were cautious, but we were seeing an equipping to carry out God’s work. I found my own church involvement had become important.

Everything appeared to be falling into place, but unexpectedly, I experienced a mental breakdown and had to be admitted to hospital. I asked a visitor from the church “What’s gone wrong? What am I doing here?” I was told nothing was wrong, which seemed rather lame – I was obviously quite ill. The lesson I learnt was that God had something planned for me. ‘My ways are not your ways’ saith the Lord.(Isaiah 55:8)

There was much else that was seemingly wrong. We had a son Joe, but it had been a difficult birth and Jen had developed diabetes. After being discharged from hospital, I was convalescing for many months, but found a post as a pottery technician at East Berkshire College. This could be recognised as Divine providence, though a sceptic would be doubtful.

Telling others is an important part of the church’s work and perhaps most demanding.

I held the post for 28 years retiring at 65. By then I’d parted with the tricycle, but downsized my demonstration and display, also making use of the opportunity to distribute tracts and other literature which told of the opportunity of entering God’s kingdom. I added a display for this. Telling others is an important part of the church’s work and perhaps most demanding. We have been commissioned by Jesus himself to carry out this task (Matthew 28:19) .

We continued to work at open air events, which were at the mercy of the weather and our health. Failing health has now put a stop to that, but God remains faithful throughout.

Psalm 42 is among my favourite passages from the Bible, and holds of lot of meaning:

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?

My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’

These things I remember as I pour out my soul:how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One

with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng.

Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God.

My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon – from Mount Mizar.

Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.

By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me – a prayer to the God of my life.

I say to God my Rock, ‘Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?’

My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’

Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God.

Photos with kind permission.