Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Oneness Pentecostalism

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Oneness Pentecostalism is a movement of Pentecostal Christianity that believes in the atoning death of Jesus Christ, His resurrection, His soon return, and the Word of God as contained in the Bible, but differs from mainstream Pentecostalism by following the doctrine of Oneness. Oneness Pentecostalism teaches a literal interpretation of the biblical teaching of salvation with emphasis on the teaching of Jesus Christ & His Apostles, citing "John 3:1-12 & Acts 2:38 experience" as necessary for salvation and places special emphasis on the direct personal experience of God through the baptism of the Holy Spirit, as shown in the Biblical account of the Day of Pentecost. It teaches that personal conversion is to be followed by holy living and exhibiting the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22).

Contents

[hide]

 

* 1 Overview

* 2 History

o 2.1 The early Church

o 2.2 Modern History

* 3 Doctrine and theology

o 3.1 God

o 3.2 Salvation

o 3.3 Holiness

* 4 Common misunderstandings

o 4.1 Jesus' Name vs. Jesus Only

o 4.2 Oneness Theology IS NOT Unitarianism

* 5 Followers of Oneness Pentecostalism

o 5.1 Gospel and Contemporary Christian artists

* 6 References

* 7 See also

* 8 External links

o 8.1 Articles, indexes, & other resources

+ 8.1.1 Favoring views

+ 8.1.2 Comparative articles

+ 8.1.3 Other

* 9 Oneness Pentecostal Groups

o 9.1 North America

o 9.2 Other countries

 

[edit] Overview

 

Although both Oneness and Trinitarian denominations acknowledge the God of the Bible as the only God in existence, and that Jesus was born, died, and resurrected, Oneness doctrine differs from mainstream Christian denominations in that the traditional concept of the Trinity is rejected as an inadequate and inaccurate description of God. According to the United Pentecostal Church International, the largest Oneness Pentecostal body in the United States, Oneness Pentecostals identify Jesus essentially as the human manifestation of God (Jehovah), i.e. God incarnate. [1].

 

Citing 1Timothy 2:5, the Oneness doctrine affirms that God is indivisibly one, and sees the biblical distinction between God the Father and the man Jesus, as being a proper, observable father-son distinction, except between an incorporeal, transcendent, eternal God as Father, and a human, begotten man as Son, in whom God manifested Himself for the purpose of salvation. Oneness doctrine affirms the full deity of Jesus, by holding that God incarnate manifested Himself to humanity in the man Jesus. It refutes the Trinitarian proposal that the one, true God is composed of three co-divine, co-equal, co-eternal, co-powerful persons. In the sense that the one God and one man of 1Timothy 2:5 co-exist simultaneously, they teach that Jesus exists simultaneously both as man Jesus and as God (God the Father an invisible, transcendent, Spirit) inseparably united (see John 10:30) as the Son of God. Citing John 4:24 (God is a Spirit), Oneness doctrine uses the terms God the Father and Holy Spirit as references to the same one God, who is Spirit. It affirms that the Holy Spirit and God the Father are one in the same Godhead, but only as separate manifestations or relationships of the one person or being that is God.

 

"Oneness", "Apostolic" and "Jesus' Name" are adherents' preferred self-designations.[1].

 

Oneness Pentecostals have also been identified as "Holy Rollers" for their lively style of worship, which can include running church aisles, known as victory marches, as well as jumping, dancing, shouting, and clapping. The church services are also punctuated at times with acts of speaking in tongues (glossolalia), interpretations of tongues, prophetical messages, and the laying of hands for the purposes of healing. These events can happen spontaneously during normal service with no forewarning or direct guidance by the leader of the service, or more often at massive altar calls where the entire congregation is encouraged to come and pray together for various purposes at the altar.

 

Oneness Pentecostals commonly refer to all saved Christians as saints and often refer to the men as brothers and the women as sisters, often as a title (i.e. Bro. Smith or Sis. Henderson),in their normal day-to-day speech both in and outside of church.

 

While the UPCI, PAW, and other Oneness Pentecostal churches do allow women to serve as pastors and evangelize, some Oneness Pentecostals hold the belief that women ministers are unscriptural. Ministers at all levels are allowed to marry and have children. Homosexual marriages are forbidden under all circumstances.

 

[edit] History

 

Many people believe that the Oneness doctrine came into existence only in the early 20th century during the latter days of the Azusa Street Revival. Church historians, however, such as Dr. Curtis Ward, William Chalfant, Talmadge French, Dr. David Bernard, and Thomas Weisser in their research and writings argue there were Oneness believers long before the Azusa Street Revival that lead all the way to the beginning of the first century Christian church. Dr. Ward has proposed the view of an unbroken Church lineage and has chronologically traced its perpetuity throughout history. (see Matthew 16:18). Dr. Reckart has also done significant research in this area. Others teach the Apostolic church went into apostasy and became the Catholic Church. They believe modern Pentecostalism is a total restoration culminating after a step by step separation within Protestantism until the early Apostolic Church was fully restored (Acts 2:38 baptism and Oneness being the final restorations).

 

There are indications that the pioneering Oneness Pentecostal figures in the early twentieth century were guided and inspired by prior restorations within Protestantism. Yet none of them had any influence upon them by the ancient Modalists such as Sabellius, Noetus or Praxeas. Modern Oneness people respect the prior restorations within Protestantism but still stress dependence solely upon God and the Bible for the formation of their doctrines, seeking guidance not from ante and post-Nicene writings of men, but from illumination by the Holy Spirit upon the Scriptures. Pre and ante Nicene church history is deemed by Oneness people to be of great interest, but the neo-platoism, dogmas, creeds, and private interpretations are not binding upon them for their faith or doctrinal views. Thus, they are unorthodox to trinitarians but orthodox according to the literal sense of the word. Oneness Christians regard the historic Ecumenical Councils and creeds to be the opinions of men within an apostate falling away from the first Church. In contrast, Nicene (Catholic & Protestant) Christians (by their very definition of orthodox) regard all post-apostolic doctrinal developments as being guided by God's will using the councils and church leadership. As such all of the post-biblical stream of creeds, dogmas, decrees, papal decisions, and judgments of the councils and church leaders as binding upon them for their doctrinal views. Oneness discovered within trinitarian writings that the post-biblical interpretation of the trinity taken not from the Bible but classical Greek philosophy. It cannot be both Apostolic and a Greek invention thrust upon the Council of Nicaea. Catholics claim if Oneness Pentecostals deny the creeds and the actions of Catholic Bishops, they should not accept the Bible, as it was allegedly collected, compiled, and canonized by councils who believed in the Trinity. Oneness counter this by saying there was no Catholic church when the New Testament was written, therefore it was compiled and in a collected form two centuries before the Catholic church was born in 325AD. There are references to this collection before Nicaea and any such canonizing councils. In addition, sola scriptures, defines Oneness faith and that additional creeds, dogmas, papal decrees are unacceptable for doctrine, faith, and practice.

 

In the New Testament, Jews are described as rejecting Jesus' claims to divinity, accusing him of blasphemy. In the Gospel of Mark, for instance, Jesus forgives a man's sins and some Jewish teachers thought to themselves: "Why does this fellow talk like that? He's blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?" In the Gospel of John, some Jews began to stone Jesus, explaining that they did so "for blasphemy, because you, a mere man, claim to be God." This is the origin of dynamic monarchianism (Jesus is not God only a man). (see Unitarianism, Iglesia Ni Cristo, To God Be The Glory by Joel Hemphill, and Islam.

 

[edit] The early Church

 

Citing various sources, Oneness theologian David K. Bernard traces Oneness adherents back to the first converted Jews of the Apostolic Age, citing no evidence of Jews having any issues comprehending the new teachings and integrating them with their existing strict Judaistic monotheistic beliefs. In the Post-apostolic Age, he claims that Hermas, Clement of Rome, Polycarp, Polycrates and Ignatius from 90 to 140 A.D., and Irenaeus who died about 200 A.D, were either Oneness, modalist, or at most a follower of an "economic Trinity" (temporary Trinity, not eternal). [2]

 

Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one. (The coming of the Messiah was not to bring the revelation of 2 or 3 god's [tritheism]- it was to make manifest the revelation of the One God (Jehovah/Yahweh) that manifested himself in human form.

—Deuteronomy 6:4

 

And without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory.

—1Ti 3:16

 

In support of the theory that the majority of all believers up until Tertullian (died c. 225; first to use introduce the term "Trinity" to describe God) were Oneness adherents, Bernard quotes Tertullian as writing, "The simple, indeed (I will not call them unwise or unlearned), who always constitute the majority of believers, are startled at the dispensation (of the Three in One), on the very ground that their very Rule of Faith withdraws them from the world's plurality of gods to the one only true God; not understanding that, although He is the one only God, He must yet be believed in with His own economy. The numerical order and distribution of the Trinity, they assume to be a division of the Unity.[3]

 

Later Oneness, or closely similar to Oneness, teachers have been pointed out through history include the following: Abelard (1079-1142) who was accused of Sabellianism and forced into refuge in a monastery in France; Michael Servetus (1511-1553) eminent physician from Spain, sometimes cited as a motivating force of Unitarianism, who wrote, "There is no other person of God but Christ ... the entire Godhead of the Father is in him,"[4] was burned at the stake for heresy on October 27, 1553 for his anti-trinitarian doctrine, with the approval of John Calvin (for whom of Calvinism was named), though Calvin preferred Servetus be beheaded; Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772); Presbyterian minister John Miller, author of Is God a Trinity? (1876), John Clowes, pastor of St. John's Church in Manchester, reportedly wrote a book in 1828 that taught Oneness[5].

 

Bernard, as well as other Oneness historians and theologians, deny any direct link from earlier Oneness believers to the current Oneness Pentecostal movement.

 

[edit] Modern History

 

Oneness historian Morris Golder, cites PAW Bishop G. T. Haywood in an article from 1915 in The Voice in the Wilderness, as dating Oneness Pentecostalism to at least 1906 with the formation of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World - PAW. The founders were E. W. Doak, G. T. Haywood, and D. C. Opperman. According to Dr. David Bundy, a Pentecostal historian at the Christian Theological Seminary, as early as 1907, a white Baptist minister in Los Angeles, was preaching non-Trinitarian water baptism in the Name of Jesus. According to Dr. Deborah Sims LeBlanc, William and Maggie Bowden, the parents of former Assistant Presiding Bishop Frank Bowden, were baptized in the Name of Jesus after the Azusa Street Mission Revival (1906-1909).

 

However, the beginning for many was in April 1913 at The World-Wide Apostolic Camp Meeting held in Arroyo Seco, California and conducted by Maria Woodworth-Etter, organizers promised that God would "deal with them, giving them a unity and power that we have not yet known." [6] Canadian R. E. McAlister preached a message about water baptism "just prior to a baptismal service to be conducted". His message defended the "single immersion" method and "noted that apostolic baptism was administered as a single immersion in a single name, Jesus Christ", saying "'The words Father, Son, and Holy Ghost were never used in Christian baptism.'" This caused a controversy to erupt immediately when Frank Denny, missionary to China, jumped on the platform and tried to censor McAlister.

 

Oneness Pentecostals mark this occasion as the initial "spark" in the Oneness revival movement. "John G. Schaepe, a young minister, was so moved by McAlister's revelation, that after praying and reading the Bible all night, he ran through the camp the following morning shouting that he'd received a 'revelation' on baptism that the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost was Lord Jesus Christ." [7] Ironically, Frank Denny himself, along with G. T. Haywood, Harry Morse, John G. Schaepe, R. J. Scott, George Studd, R. E. McAlister, Andrew D. Urshan, and Homer L. Falkner embraced Lord Jesus Christ as the three-in-one name of the trinity for baptism as the "exclusive apostolic formula." When other Oneness objected to this trinitarian baptism and said Lord Jesus Christ was the full name only of Jesus (began Jesus-Only new issue), trinitarians such as John Schaepe, Robert McAlister, and E. N. Bell bolted and returned to the use of the titles "Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in Matthew 28:19.[8]

 

Schaepe (whose name is often misspelled Scheppe in a number of sources) claimed that the revelation he'd received during the camp meeting revival was that the baptismal command posited by Peter in Acts 2:38 - i.e., baptism "in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ" - was the fulfillment and counterpart of the Great Commission in Matthew 28:19 - i.e., baptism "in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." This conclusion was accepted by several others in the camp and developed further theologically by a minister named Frank J. Ewart. By 1914, Frank Ewart and Glenn Cook publicly baptized each other in "the name of the Lord Jesus Christ but as the one name of Jesus not as a trinitarian formula." Thus, in 1913 Oneness Pentecostalism was again "revealed and restored" to a group of Holy Spirit filled individuals. In 1914 it was again publicly practiced as was done in the Apostles time in Acts 2:38. A number of ministers claimed they were baptized "in the Name of Jesus Christ" before 1914, including Frank Small and Andrew D. Urshan. Urshan claims to have baptized in Jesus Christ name as early as 1910. [9] Even Charles Parham himself baptized using a Christological baptismal formula prior to Azusa Street (Dr. Charles Wilson, Our Heritage, p. 12). However it was not their baptismal formula which was the issue, but rather the rejection of the Trinity that was the bigger issue to other Pentecostal ministers.

 

Schaepe's revelation caused a great stir within Pentecostalism. During the next year, Frank J. Ewart, another Pentecostal minister, struggled between his Trinitarian teachings and the new issue. He often spent hours debating with R. E. McAlister, attempting to bring the two doctrines together. (R.E. McAlister, the man who had fired the shot heard around the world at Arroyo Seco, defected. He formally renounced the Oneness doctrine in 1919 [8]. Thereafter, he became one of the Canadian teachers of orthodox Trinitarianism among Pentecostals in Canada as well as a propagator of the 'finished work of Calvary' doctrine[10]. The camp ground in Arroyo Seco, California, just outside Los Angeles, where the revelation occurred was also owned by Seymour's Mission. Many were re-baptized in the name of Jesus Christ, including E.N.Bell, who did so out of conviction for obedience to scripture. He recanted after undergoing severe pressure from J.Roswell Flowers. The re-baptisms also had the opposite effect on the Assemblies causing a backlash from many Trinitarians who feared the direction their organization might be heading. The fear was within J. Roswell Flowers, who initiated a resolution designed to cause the "Jesus' name" baptizers to withdraw from the organization. He was successful and is now considerered the "father" of the AG. By October 1916 the issue finally came to a head at the Fourth General Council of the Assemblies of God. The mostly Trinitarian leadership, fearing the new issue might overtake their organization, drew up a doctrinal statement affirming the Trinity among other issues. When the final votes were tallied the "Statement of Fundamental Truths" was adopted. More than one quarter of their ministerial and assembly membership left to form their own Oneness fellowships.[citation needed]

 

According to PAW historians, "From 1913 to 1914, for one year, the battle raged within the Association regarding the God-head and the "new issue."[citation needed] Consequently, in 1914, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World experienced its first split.[citation needed] Essentially, there were two questions around which the debate was centered: (1) "Is there one God, or are there three distinct persons in the God-head? and (2) How then, should an individual be baptized? Should one be baptized in the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, or should one be baptized in the Name of Jesus Christ? In 1916, after four years (1912-1916) of this intense and bitter debate, those leaders and individuals who embraced the Trinitarian concept (Father, Son and Holy Ghost) did not want the "Jesus' Name" baptizers among them any longer.[citation needed] The ministers who were rejected then formed the PAW which had no organizational board until 1919. During the transition period some minsters took their ministerial credentials from the Church of God in Christ group. In 1916 the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World was loosely organized in Indianapolis, Indiana, at the Christ Temple Assembly of the Apostolic Faith, where Bishop G. T. Haywood was the pastor.[citation needed] Bishop Haywood became the organization's first Presiding Bishop at that meeting.[citation needed] During that meeting, the organization's headquarters were established in Portland, Oregon.[citation needed] In 1919, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World headquarters were moved from Portland to Indianapolis, and was incorporated in the state of Indiana. The incorporators were E. W. Doak, G. T. Haywood, and D. C. Opperman". [11]

 

Several small Oneness ministerial groups formed after the 1914 restorations. Many of these merged into the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World (PAW) and some remained independent. Division occurred within the PAW over the role of women in ministry, wine or grape juice for communion, divorce and remarriage, and proper mode of water baptism. There were reports of racial tension in the early PAW. African Americans were joining the PAW in great numbers and were in many significant positions of leadership.[citation needed] In particular the African-American pastor G. T. Haywood served as General Secretary and signed all ministerial credentials. PAW resolutions were proposed that credentials be signed by individuals of the same race.[citation needed] This factor, along with Jim Crow segregation policy, contributed greatly to the split primarily along racial lines. In later decades progress has somewhat been made in racial relations in the UPCI in regard to leadership roles for all members of this fellowship.[citation needed] In 1932, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World was reorganized and elected Elder Samuel Grimes of New York, as the new Presiding Bishop.[citation needed] Bishop Grimes served as the Presiding Bishop for 35 years (1932-1967).

 

In 1945, a merger of two predominantly White Oneness Pentecostal organizations (the Pentecostal Church Incorporated and the Pentecostal Assemblies of Jesus Christ) resulted in the formation of the United Pentecostal Church [12] Presently they are called United Pentecostal Church International (UPCI), adding the word "International" in 1972.

 

The UPCI has suffered several splinters since its inception in 1945.

 

* In 1955, a group of ministers led by Bishop C. B. Gillespie (Fairmont, WV), Bishop Ray Cornell (Cleveland, Ohio), and Bishop Carl Angle (Nashville, Tennessee) rechartered the PAJC using the original charter.[citation needed]

 

* 1968 a number of ministers organized the Apostolic Ministerial Fellowship - AMF, citing the UPCI as 'too liberal'. Central issues were holiness and local church government.

 

* In 1986, Pastor L. H. Hardwick, a UPCI pastor in Nashville, Tennessee, broke away from what he called "legalists" (referring to the issue of dress code and standards), and formed Global Christian Ministries (now Global Network of Christian Ministries).[citation needed]

 

* In 2001, Bishop Teklemarim Gezahagne and the more than 1 million members of the Apostolic Church of Ethiopia (ACI)broke their 45 year alignment with the UPCI. The official position of the UPCI is that the division was over Christology. Bishop Teklemarim taught that the flesh of Jesus was God and had no human connection to the seed of Adam, David, or his mother Mary. He taught one nature in Christ and it was divine. The UPCI has always taught two natures in Christ, human and Divine. Bishop Tekelmarim refused to reconsider his stance after high ranking envoys came from the UPCI to Ethiopia to discuss his error. Thus the interpretation of Christology caused the division.

 

* The Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus (AAFCJ) and its sister church the Apostolic Church of the Faith in Christ Jesus (IAFCJ), left the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World to serve the Hispanic community in the United States and the nations of Latin America.[citation needed] The Apostolic Assembly is the largest Oneness Pentecostal group of primarily Spanish-speaking denomination in the United States of America, and it is also the oldest primarily Hispanic denomination in the World.[citation needed]

 

The Pentecostal Assemblies of the World has never left their original vision of a racially integrated body of believers. To this day, although predominantly black, they continue to reach out and work toward racial unity in worship and organization. There have been both white and black presiding bishops in this group. The United Pentecostal Church International in its worldwide ministry has accomplished a racially integrated body and this can be witnessed at the annual general convention. The same may be said of other "Jesus' Name" groups who are not only integrated, they hold no overt racist policies and engage in missionary work in many nations.

 

The Pentecostal Assemblies of the World is the oldest Oneness Pentecostal organization in existence.[citation needed] As a result of the Azusa Street Revival, a number of independent Pentecostal churches and their leaders, in an effort to stabilize these new works, felt the need to come together and form an Association of Churches of "like precious faith", thus forming the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World. Its goal was to further spread the Gospel and to give support to each other. It should be noted, that after 1914 and the Hot Springs meeting, G.T.Haywood was baptized by Glen Cook, a white man, who had been the treasurer at Azusa street mission in Los Angeles.[citation needed]

 

The substantial number of Pentecostal congregations formed in the years immediately following the Azusa Street Revival inevitably caused the new movement to be faced with the problem of formal organization. The independent churches and missions of the first type were somewhat remedied by the recognition of lay boards and elected pastors.

 

For the next few years, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World focused upon general meetings and the development of its organizational structure.[citation needed] The late Bishop Morris E. Golder wrote: "The original organization bearing the name of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World came into existence in the year of 1906 in the city of Los Angeles, State of California.[citation needed] The late Bishop G. T. Haywood concurs with this fact, writing in the Voice In The Wilderness in 1921: "It (The Pentecostal Assemblies of the World) was started in 1906 in Los Angeles, California."[citation needed]

 

This was also the position asserted by Bishop Ross Paddock, the former Presiding Bishop of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World. He declared that after one year of being organized, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World had its first annual business meeting and that, at the same time, it was Trinitarian in its doctrine and liturgy of water baptism.[citation needed]

 

It was in this context of varying ideas, personal differences, doctrinal and other conflicting elements that not only was the need of organization seen, but the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World in its original state (1906) came into existence.[citation needed] However, it was not until 1919 that it became incorporated and took on the identity of being an Apostolic "Oneness" body of ministers and believers.[citation needed]

 

According to Dr. David Bundy, a Pentecostal historian at the Christian Theological Seminary, as early as 1907, a white Baptist minister in Los Angeles, was preaching non-Trinitarian water baptism in the Name of Jesus. According to Dr. Deborah Sims LeBlanc, William and Maggie Bowden, the parents of former Assistant Presiding Bishop Frank Bowden, were baptized in the Name of Jesus Christ after the Azusa Street Mission Revival (1906-1909). It began in 1906, the same year the Azusa Street Revival began, making it older than even most of the Trinitarian Pentecostal organizations.[citation needed] It was never a part of the Assemblies of God and therefore never came out from it.[citation needed] "A few in the group which was ousted by the Assemblies of God later joined the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, but then demerged later [13].

 

[edit] Doctrine and theology

 

[edit] God

 

Oneness Pentecostalism holds to a conservative Jewish monotheistic view of God and stress Jesus Christ is the visible manifestation of God in the New Testament (the Father in the Son). God was known by several names and titles in the Old Testament, but with the New Covenant He has revealed His name as Jesus. It rejects all concepts of a polytheism, trinity, or other doctrines they see as representing multiple and separate Gods. As such it rejects three separate persons in the trinity who are each separately God. All concepts of Jesus Christ are explained as either the Father or the Son, the divine Spirit or the man Christ in two different modes. Jesus is fully God and fully human. As to his humanity Christ is the only begotten Son of God. They reject Jesus being seen as only one of three Gods. They believe Jesus as the Son is the only present high priest and at the same time God. Attempts to put into the mouth of Oneness that they believe the Son was only human (Unitarianism) have failed.

 

[edit] Salvation

 

Oneness Pentecostal doctrine and theology typically maintains that salvation comes by faith through grace. The acts of faith and subsequent grace is by obedience to specific commands and requirements that are found in the New Testament. These requirements necessary for salvation are: faith in Jesus Christ, repentance by faith, water baptism by faith in the name of Jesus Christ, and the gift of Holy Ghost baptism by faith with the evidence of speaking in tongues. The view of Oneness Pentecostals is that scripture either records the commandment of these acts of faith for salvation and explains that the lack of them would result in not having salvation. However, it should also be noted that not all Pentecostals who are Oneness regarding their view of the nature of God hold to this type of soteriology (the doctrine of salvation) and believe that water baptism and the baptism of the Holy Spirit are subsequent to salvation. One of the predecessor organizations of the UPCI, the Pentecostal Church, Inc. (PCI),brought this view over into the Oneness merger in 1945. These were called "one steppers"(which this view was held by a vocal minority) whereas those of the Pentecostal Assemblies of Jesus Christ (PAJC) following strictly Acts 2:38 were called "three steppers.

 

[edit] Holiness

 

Oneness Pentecostals believe that a Christian's lifestyle should be one characterized by holiness. This holiness begins at baptism where the blood of Jesus washes away sin and a person stands before God holy for the first time in their life. Subsequent to this sanctification, they hold separation from the world in both practical and moral areas will keep converts from lapsing back into the sins of their baptism. Moral or inward holiness is righteous living guided and powered by the indwelling Holy Spirit. Practical or outward holiness involves modest apparel and gender distinction. For some Oneness Pentecostal organizations, because of what they consider the amoral conduct of society in dress and nakedness, this involves establishing dress codes for its members (also known as "holiness standards") similar to those all Pentecostal denominations used for much of the first half of the 20th century. While these dress codes are officially treated as a matter of personal conviction, in practice there is strong social pressure in most circles to comply. Generally, women are expected not to wear pants, wear makeup or cut their hair; men are expected to be clean-shaven and short-haired. For a more in-depth review, see Oneness Pentecostalism (doctrine)

 

For a contrast and comparison of Oneness and Trinity, see Oneness vs Trinity.

 

[edit] Common misunderstandings

 

[edit] Jesus' Name vs. Jesus Only

 

Jesus' Name doctrine is often misunderstood as is the pejorative "Jesus Only". These terms are even misunderstood and applied by Oneness believers themselves. Critics of Oneness believers refer to them as "Jesus Only", meaning they deny the Father and the Holy Spirit of the trinity. Most Oneness Pentecostals consider that term to be a misreprentation of their true beliefs on the issue. Oneness believers do not deny the Father or the Son; they just describe them differently from trinitarians. Oneness historians claim the usage of the term "Jesus-Only" is misleading many to believe they reject the Father and the Holy Spirit. Rejection and different interpretation are two different things. Oneness believers prefer the phrase Jesus' Name when referring to their baptism beliefs or themselves as believers who were baptized in the name of Jesus Christ only (with no reference to the Father or Holy Spirit). "Jesus' Name", to Oneness Pentecostals refers to the revealed name of God for the present Church age. Jesus inherited his name from the eternal name of the Godhead. I am come in my Father's name. Oneness Pentecostals place "essential" emphasis on use of the name of Jesus, and regard it as the "Name above all names". They invoke it in word or deed in all things.

 

Oneness Pentecostals generally see the use of the term "Jesus Only" by trinitarians as being an attempt to mislead and/or confuse those interested in study of the Oneness doctrine. The label arose early on in reference to their insistence on baptizing only in the name of Jesus, but it tends to be used only by the movement's critics. The Oneness position is that do indeed believe in baptism into the name of Jesus only, but that to describe them as "Jesus Only" Pentecostals implies a denial of the Father and Holy Spirit -- a contention they vigorously reject as false.

 

Oneness believers generally consider the term "Jesus Only" to be inflammatory, because the speaker is generally a trinitarian critic trying to lead interested persons away from the Oneness doctrine. True, Oneness believers do not believe in three separate persons in the Godhead who each have a separate Spirit, Body, Mind, and Being. To Oneness believers this constitutes three Gods. They see Jesus as the true personality of God manifest in the flesh (1Timothy 3:16). Trinitarians infer by this that Oneness Pentecostals deny the separate being of Father and the separate being of the Holy Spirit. Oneness believers in fact deny the entire concept of a Trinity including the use of the term "God the Son", since this is never found in the New Testament. "Jesus Only" as explained by trinitarians is an incorrect use of the term because Oneness Pentecostals actually affirm the Father and the Holy Spirit, but assert that the Father is the Holy Spirit, and vice versa. Oneness Pentecostals believe there is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: one God.

 

[edit] Oneness Theology IS NOT Unitarianism

 

Some confuse the terms Unitarian and Oneness. Although Unitarians and Oneness people are similar in the belief that there is not a plurality of persons in the Godhead, Unitarians believe that Jesus was only a moral authority whereas the Deity and humanity of Jesus Christ are essential to Oneness doctrine.

 

[edit] Followers of Oneness Pentecostalism

 

Some of the better-known persons associated, or said to be associated, with Oneness Pentecostals are

 

* T.D. Jakes [14]

* Noel Jones

* Dr Bernie L. Wade

* Gaddi Vasquez

* Norman Wagner

* Tommy Tenney

 

[edit] Gospel and Contemporary Christian artists

 

* The Katinas

* Phillips, Craig and Dean

* Lee Greenwood

* Elvis Presley, the well known entertainer of early rock and roll, frequented Oneness Pentecostal Churches as well as Trinitarian Assemblies of God Churches and it is claimed that from these sources he picked up the rhythm and lively antics he incorporated into his performances. It is reported that Presley was baptized in the AG church, but was later rebaptized in the name of Jesus Christ by Bishop Joseph Rex Dyson a Oneness Pentecostal with the Church of Jesus Christ in Tennessee. (http://www.calvaryslighthouse.com/Memphis,TN.htm) [15] (http://www.commercialappeal.com/mca/elvis_presley/article/0,1426,MCA_457_1328348,00.html)[16]

* Jonny Lang, Grammy award winning singer and guitar player. Attends a UPCI church in Los Angeles.

 

[edit] References

 

1. ^ Dr. David K. Bernard, Unmasking Prejudice, Cyberjournal for Pentecostal-Charismatic Research

2. ^ Bernard, David K., The Oneness of God, Word Aflame Press, 1983, Ch. 10.

3. ^ Tertullian, Against Praxeas, 3, rpt. in Alexander Robers and James Donaldson, eds., The Ante-Nicene Fathers (rpt. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977), III, 598-599.

4. ^ "Unitarianism", Encyclopedia of Religion and Thics, XII, 520.

5. ^ Campbell, David, All the Fulness, Word Aflame Press, 1975, p. 167-173.

6. ^ "World-Wide Apostolic Faith Camp Meeting", Word and Witness, 20 March 1913, 1; Blumhofer, The Assemblies of God, 222; Blumhofer, Restoring, 20.

7. ^ Reckart, Sr. Dr. Gary P., Great Cloud Of Witnesses, Apostolic Theological Bible College, 124; Ewart, Phenomenon, 123-124; C. M. Rabic, Jr., "John G. Schaepe", in Dictionary, Burgess and McGee, 768-769; J. Schaepe, "A Remarkable Testimony", Meat in Due Season, 21 August 1917, 4; Minute Book and Ministerial Record of the General Assembly of the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, 1919-1920, 11.

8. ^ a b Reckart, Sr. Dr. Gary P, Great Cloud Of Witnesses, Apostolic Theological Bible College, 1998, 124

9. ^ Andrew D. Urshan, Pentecost As It Was in the Early 1900's (by the author, 1923; revised edition Portland, OR: ApostolicBook Publishers, 1981, 77; The Life Story of Andrew Bar David Urshan: An Autobiography of the Author's First Forty Years (Apostolic Book Publishers, 1967),102; Cf. E. N. Bell, "The Sad New Issue", Word & Witness, June 1915, 2-3; Anderson, Disinherited, 176.

10. ^ Miller, Thomas William, Canadian Pentecostals, A History of Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada, Full Gospel Publishing House, Messissauga, ON, 1994

11. ^ PAW - Taking the Word to the World!

12. ^ PCI and the remaining PAJC ministers, composed mostly of whites merged as the United Pentecostal Church (UPC). Beginning with 1,800 ministers and 900 churches, it has become the largest and, through aggressive evangelism and publishing efforts, most influential Oneness organization. thebereans.net/prof-onep.shtml

13. ^ (Dr. Charles Wilson, Our Heritage, p. 22)

14. ^ Christianity Today, February 2000

15. ^ www.calvaryslighthouse.com/Memphis,TN.htm

16. ^ Was the King baptized in two beliefs? : Local : Memphis Commercial Appeal

 

[edit] See also

[show]

v • d • e

Oneness Pentecostalism

Denominations

AAFCJ • ALJC • AM • Bible Way COOLJC • CJCI • CLJC • COOLJC • ICOF• PAJC • PAW • TJC • UPCI

People

Gilson Levi • Charles Gillespie • Raymond Cornell • T. D. Jakes • Bernie L. Wade • Noel Jones • William M. Branham; Kenneth Haney • Nathaniel Urshan • Don Johnson • John Pollard • David Bernard • Harold McFarlane •

Other Pages of Interest

Oneness Pentecostalism (doctrine) •Oneness vs Trinity • Jesus' Name doctrine

 

* Jesus' Name doctrine

 

[edit] External links

 

[edit] Articles, indexes, & other resources

 

[edit] Favoring views

 

* Apostolic Network Ministries

* Institute for Biblical Studies (Index of Oneness Pentecostal theological articles)

* Website of Apostolic results

* The Oneness of God (Book by Oneness scholar David K. Bernard, J.D., part of Series in Pentecostal Theology, Volume 1, freely available online)

* Testimonies of Jesus Christ by Oneness Pentecostals

* The Voice of the Pastor Study And The Word Became Flesh

* Understanding Pentecostal Theology (Blog about Oneness Pentecostal Theology with articles)

* Center for Oneness Research and Education (Blog by scholar Dr. Daniel Segraves with articles)

* Pentecostales del Nombre de Jesucristo page in Spanish

* Spanish Web Site Apostolic Studies in Spanish

* Articles of Study By Oneness Theologian Mike Blume

* Apostolic Theology.com Oneness Pentecostal Theology Site

 

[edit] Comparative articles

 

* Oneness Versus Trinity Links to various writings concerning Oneness vs. Trinity. Link is an opposing view site.

* Responding to Oneness Pentecostalism in the Light of Scripture

 

[edit] Other

 

* Apostolic Doctrine

* My Views on the Godhead - Christianity Today Magazine Bishop T. D. Jakes responds to Christianity Today article, "Apologetics Journal Criticizes Jakes."

* Apostolic Archives International Web Site dedicated to preserve the history of organizational leaders of various Oneness Pentecostal Denominations

 

[edit] Oneness Pentecostal Groups

 

Here are major and historical Oneness Pentecostal organizations. Not all Oneness Pentecostal churches affiliate with an organization. See Category:Oneness Pentecostalism for individual churches and organizations that may not be listed here.

 

[edit] North America

 

This is a list of Oneness Pentecostal organizations headquartered in North America.

 

* United Pentecostal Church International

* Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Christ Jesus

* Assemblies of the Lord Jesus Christ

* Bible Way Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ

* Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ of the Apostolic Faith

* International Circle of Faith

* Pentecostal Assemblies of the World

* Pentecostal Assemblies of Jesus Christ

* Church of the Lord Jesus Christ

* Churches of Jesus Christ International

* World Christian Ministries Association

* Worldwide Pentecostal Fellowship

* Truelight Pentecostal Church

 

[edit] Other countries

 

This is a list of Oneness Pentecostal organizations headquartered outside North America.

 

* United Pentecostal Church of Australia

* True Jesus Church - China/Taiwan

* Assemblies Lord Jesus Christ - Canada

* Apostolic Church International - Ethiopia

* International Circle of Faith of Togo

* Church of Jesus Christ-Greece

* Jesus' Name Apostolic Church - Ecuador

* Apostolische Pfingstgemeinde Deutschland - Germany

* Assemblea Apostolica della fede in Cristo Gesù - Italy

garyashcraft.com/default.aspx

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

The Museum of the Moon was still supposed to be on. Or, to be more accurate, I had not checked that it was still on, but would be a good excuse to return to Rochester for the first time in over a decade.

 

Last time here I took seven or so shots, I was hoping to improve on that.

 

But, as I was to find, the Moon moved out on Wednesday, so there was just the cathedral to look at and record, and I pretty much had the cathedral to myself.

 

There was a service in the chancel, so that and the Quire were out of bounds for a while, but once over I was given the nod I could go in.

 

How do you describe a cathedral? Especially one as grand and old as Rochester?

 

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The church is the cathedral of the Diocese of Rochester in the Church of England and the seat (cathedra) of the Bishop of Rochester, the second oldest bishopric in England after that of the Archbishop of Canterbury. The edifice is a Grade I listed building (number 1086423)

 

The Rochester diocese was founded by Justus, one of the missionaries who accompanied Augustine of Canterbury to convert the pagan southern English to Christianity in the early 7th century. As the first Bishop of Rochester, Justus was granted permission by King Æthelberht of Kent to establish a church dedicated to Andrew the Apostle (like the monastery at Rome where Augustine and Justus had set out for England) on the site of the present cathedral, which was made the seat of a bishopric. The cathedral was to be served by a college of secular priests and was endowed with land near the city called Priestfields.[3][a][b]

 

Under the Roman system, a bishop was required to establish a school for the training of priests.[4] To provide the upper parts for music in the services a choir school was required.[5] Together these formed the genesis of the cathedral school which today is represented by the King's School, Rochester. The quality of chorister training was praised by Bede.

 

The original cathedral was 42 feet (13 m) high and 28 feet (8.5 m) wide. The apse is marked in the current cathedral on the floor and setts outside show the line of the walls. Credit for the construction of the building goes to King Æthelberht rather than St Justus. Bede describes St Paulinus' burial as "in the sanctuary of the Blessed Apostle Andrew which Æthelberht founded likewise he built the city of Rochester."[c][7]

 

Æthelberht died in 617 and his successor, Eadbald of Kent, was not a Christian. Justus fled to Francia and remained there for a year before he was recalled by the king.[8]

 

In 644 Ithamar, the first English-born bishop, was consecrated at the cathedral.[d] Ithamar consecrated Deusdedit as the first Saxon Archbishop of Canterbury on 26 March 655.[9]

 

The cathedral suffered much from the ravaging of Kent by King Æthelred of Mercia in 676. So great was the damage that Putta retired from the diocese and his appointed successor, Cwichelm, gave up the see "because of its poverty".[10]

 

In 762, the local overlord, Sigerd, granted land to the bishop, as did his successor Egbert.[e][11] The charter is notable as it is confirmed by Offa of Mercia as overlord of the local kingdom.

 

Following the invasion of 1066, William the Conqueror granted the cathedral and its estates to his half-brother, Odo of Bayeux. Odo misappropriated the resources and reduced the cathedral to near-destitution. The building itself was ancient and decayed. During the episcopate of Siward (1058–1075) it was served by four or five canons "living in squalor and poverty".[12] One of the canons became vicar of Chatham and raised sufficient money to make a gift to the cathedral for the soul and burial of his

 

Gundulf's church

 

Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, amongst others, brought Odo to account at the trial of Penenden Heath c. 1072. Following Odo's final fall, Gundulf was appointed as the first Norman bishop of Rochester in 1077. The cathedral and its lands were restored to the bishop.

 

Gundulf's first undertaking in the construction of the new cathedral seems to have been the construction of the tower which today bears his name. In about 1080 he began construction of a new cathedral to replace Justus' church. He was a talented architect who probably played a major part in the design or the works he commissioned. The original cathedral had a presbytery of six bays with aisles of the same length. The four easternmost bays stood over an undercroft which forms part of the present crypt. To the east was a small projection, probably for the silver shrine of Paulinus which was translated there from the old cathedral.[f] The transepts were 120 feet long, but only 14 feet wide. With such narrow transepts it is thought that the eastern arches of the nave abuted the quire arch.[14] To the south another tower (of which nothing visible remains) was built. There was no crossing tower.[15] The nave was not completed at first. Apparently designed to be nine bays long, most of the south side but only five bays to the north were completed by Gundulf. The quire was required by the priory and the south wall formed part of its buildings. It has been speculated that Gundulf simply left the citizens to complete the parochial part of the building.[16] Gundulf did not stop with the fabric, he also replaced the secular chaplains with Benedictine monks, obtained several royal grants of land and proved a great benefactor to his cathedral city.

 

In 1078 Gudulf founded St Bartholomew's Hospital just outside the city of Rochester. The Priory of St Andrew contributed daily and weekly provisions to the hospital which also received the offerings from the two altars of St James and of St Giles.[17]

 

During the episcopates of Ernulf (1115–1124) and John (I) (1125–1137) the cathedral was completed. The quire was rearranged, the nave partly rebuilt, Gundulf's nave piers were cased and the west end built. Ernulf is also credited with building the refectory, dormitory and chapter house, only portions of which remain. Finally John translated the body of Ithamar from the old Saxon cathedral to the new Norman one, the whole being dedicated in 1130 (or possibly 1133) by the Archbishop of Canterbury, assisted by 13 bishops in the presence of Henry I, but the occasion was marred by a great fire which nearly destroyed the whole city and damaged the new cathedral. It was badly damaged by fires again in 1137 and 1179. One or other of these fires was sufficiently severe to badly damage or destroy the eastern arm and the transepts. Ernulf's monastic buildings were also damaged.

 

Probably from about 1190, Gilbert de Glanville (bishop 1185–1214) commenced the rebuilding of the east end and the replacement on the monastic buildings. The north quire transept may have been sufficiently advanced to allow the burial of St William of Perth in 1201, alternatively the coffin may have lain in the north quire aisle until the transept was ready. It was then looted in 1215 by the forces of King John during siege of Rochester Castle. Edmund de Hadenham recounts that there was not a pyx left "in which the body of the Lord might rest upon the altar".[14] However, by 1227, the quire was again in use when the monks made their solemn entry into it. The cathedral was rededicated in 1240 by Richard Wendene (also known as Richard de Wendover) who had been translated from Bangor.[14][18]

 

The shrines of Ss Paulinus and William of Perth, along with the relics of St Ithamar, drew pilgrims to the cathedral. Their offerings were so great that both the work mentioned above and the ensuing work could be funded.

 

Unlike the abbeys of the period (which were led by an abbot) the monastic cathedrals were priories ruled over by a prior with further support from the bishop.[19] Rochester and Carlisle (the other impoverished see) were unusual in securing the promotion of a number of monks to be bishop. Seven bishops of Rochester were originally regular monks between 1215 and the Dissolution.[20] A consequence of the monastic attachment was a lack of patronage at the bishop's disposal. By the early 16th century only 4% of the bishop's patronage came from non-parochial sources.[21] The bishop was therefore chronically limited in funds to spend on the non-monastic part of the cathedral.

 

The next phase of the development was begun by Richard de Eastgate, the sacrist. The two eastern bays of the nave were cleared and the four large piers to support the tower were built. The north nave transept was then constructed. The work was nearly completed by Thomas de Mepeham who became sacrist in 1255. Not long after the south transept was completed and the two bays of the nave nearest the crossing rebuilt to their current form. The intention seems to have been to rebuild the whole nave, but probably lack of funds saved the late Norman work.

 

The cathedral was desecrated in 1264 by the troops of Simon de Montfort, during sieges of the city and castle. It is recorded that armed knights rode into the church and dragged away some refugees. Gold and silver were stolen and documents destroyed. Some of the monastic buildings were turned into stables.[22] Just over a year later De Montfort fell at the Battle of Evesham to the forces of Edward I. Later, in 1300, Edward passed through Rochester on his way to Canterbury and is recorded as having given seven shillings (35p) at the shrine of St William, and the same again the following day. During his return he again visited the cathedral and gave a further seven shillings at each of the shrines of Ss Paulinus and Ithamar.

 

The new century saw the completion of the new Decorated work with the original Norman architecture. The rebuilding of the nave being finally abandoned. Around 1320 the south transept was altered to accommodate the altar of the Virgin Mary.

 

There appears to have been a rood screen thrown between the two western piers of the crossing. A rood loft may have surmounted it.[23] Against this screen was placed the altar of St Nicholas, the parochial altar of the city. The citizens demanded the right of entrance by day or night to what was after all their altar. There were also crowds of strangers passing through the city. The friction broke out as a riot in 1327 after which the strong stone screens and doors which wall off the eastern end of the church from the nave were built.[24] The priory itself was walled off from the town at this period. An oratory was established in angulo navis ("in the corner of the nave") for the reserved sacrament; it is not clear which corner was being referred to, but Dr Palmer[25] argues that the buttress against the north-west tower pier is the most likely setting. He notes the arch filled in with rubble on the aisle side; and on nave side there is a scar line with lower quality stonework below. The buttress is about 4 feet (1.2 m) thick, enough for an oratory. Palmer notes that provision for reservation of consecrated hosts was often made to the north of the altar which would be the case here.

 

The central tower was at last raised by Hamo de Hythe in 1343, thus essentially completing the cathedral. Bells were placed in the central tower (see Bells section below). The chapter room doorway was constructed at around this time. The Black Death struck England in 1347–49. From then on there were probably considerably more than twenty monks in the priory.

 

The modern paintwork of the quire walls is modelled on artwork from the Middle Ages. Gilbert Scott found remains of painting behind the wooden stalls during his restoration work in the 1870s. The painting is therefore part original and part authentic. The alternate lions and fleurs-de-lis reflect Edward III's victories, and assumed sovereignty over the French. In 1356 the Black Prince had defeated John II of France at Poitiers and took him prisoner. On 2 July 1360 John passed through Rochester on his way home and made an offering of 60 crowns (£15) at the Church of St Andrew.[27]

 

The Oratory provided for the citizens of Rochester did not settle the differences between the monks and the city. The eventual solution was the construction of St Nicholas' Church by the north side of the cathedral. A doorway was knocked through the western end of the north aisle (since walled up) to allow processions to pass along the north aisle of the cathedral before leaving by the west door.[27][28]

 

In the mid-15th century the clerestory and vaulting of the north quire aisle was completed and new Perpendicular Period windows inserted into the nave aisles. Possible preparatory work for this is indicated in 1410–11 by the Bridge Wardens of Rochester who recorded a gift of lead from the Lord Prior. The lead was sold on for 41 shillings.[g][29] In 1470 the great west window at the cathedral was completed and finally, in around 1490, what is now the Lady Chapel was built.[27] Rochester Cathedral, although one of England's smaller cathedrals, thus demonstrates all styles of Romanesque and Gothic architecture.[30]

 

In 1504 John Fisher was appointed Bishop of Rochester. Although Rochester was by then an impoverished see, Fisher elected to remain as bishop for the remainder of his life. He had been tutor to the young Prince Henry and on the prince's accession as Henry VIII, Fisher remained his staunch supporter and mentor. He figured in the anti-Lutheran policies of Henry right up until the divorce issue and split from Rome in the early 1530s. Fisher remained true to Rome and for his defence of the Pope was elevated as a cardinal in May 1535. Henry was angered by these moves and, on 22 June 1535, Cardinal Fisher was beheaded on Tower Green.

 

Henry VIII visited Rochester on 1 January 1540 when he met Ann of Cleves for the first time and was "greatly disappointed".[31] Whether connected or not, the old Priory of St Andrew was dissolved by royal command later in the year, one of the last monasteries to be dissolved.

 

The west front is dominated by the central perpendicular great west window. Above the window the dripstone terminates in a small carved head at each side. The line of the nave roof is delineated by a string course above which rises the crenelated parapet. Below the window is a blind arcade interrupted by the top of the Great West Door. Some of the niches in the arcade are filled with statuary. Below the arcade the door is flanked with Norman recesses. The door itself is of Norman work with concentric patterned arches. The semicircular tympanum depicts Christ sitting in glory in the centre, with Saints Justus and Ethelbert flanking him on either side of the doorway. Supporting the saints are angels and surrounding them are the symbols of the Four Evangelists: Ss Matthew (a winged man), Mark (a lion), Luke (an ox) and John (an eagle).[52] On the lintel below are the Twelve Apostles and on the shafts supporting it King Soloman and the Queen of Sheba.[53] Within the Great West Door there is a glass porch which allows the doors themselves to be kept open throughout the day.

 

Either side of the nave end rises a tower which forms the junction of the front and the nave walls. The towers are decorated with blind arcading and are carried up a further two stories above the roof and surmounted with pyramidal spires. The aisle ends are Norman. Each has a large round headed arch containing a window and in the northern recess is a small door. Above each arch is plain wall surmounted by a blind arcade, string course at the roof line and plain parapet. The flanking towers are Norman in the lower part with the style being maintained in the later work. Above the plain bases there are four stories of blind arcading topped with an octagonal spire.[54]

 

The outside of the nave and its aisles is undistinguished, apart from the walled up north-west door which allowed access from the cathedral to the adjacent St Nicholas' Church.[28] The north transept is reached from the High Street via Black Boy Alley, a medieval pilgrimage route. The decoration is Early English, but reworked by Gilbert Scott. Scott rebuilt the gable ends to the original high pitch from the lower one adopted at the start of the 19th century. The gable itself is set back from the main wall behind a parapet with walkway. He also restored the pilgrim entrance and opened up the blind arcade in the northern end of the west wall.[55]

 

To the east of the north transept is the Sextry Gate. It dates from Edward III's reign and has wooden domestic premises above. The area beyond was originally enclosed, but is now open to the High Street through the memorial garden and gates. Beyond the Sextry Gate is the entrance to Gundulf's Tower, used as a private back door to the cathedral.

 

The north quire transept and east end are all executed in Early English style, the lower windows light the crypt which is earlier. Adjoining the east end of the cathedral is the east end of the Chapter Room which is in the same style. The exact form of the east end is more modern than it appears, being largely due to the work of Scott in the 19th century. Scott raised the gable ends to the original high pitch, but for lack of funds the roofs have not been raised; writing in 1897 Palmer noted: "they still require roofs of corresponding pitch, a need both great and conspicuous".[56]

 

On the south side of the cathedral the nave reaches the main transept and beyond a modern porch. The aisle between the transepts is itself a buttress to the older wall behind and supported by a flying buttress. The unusual position of this wall is best explained when considering the interior, below. The southern wall of the presbytery is hidden by the chapter room, an 18th-century structure.

 

he western part of the nave is substantially as Gundulf designed it. According to George H. Palmer (who substantially follows St John Hope) "Rochester and Peterborough possess probably the best examples of the Norman nave in the country".[60] The main arcade is topped by a string course below a triforium. The triforium is Norman with a further string course above. The clerestory above is of perpendicular style. From the capitals pilasters rise to the first string course but appear to have been removed from the triforium stage. Originally they might have supported the roof timbers, or even been the springing of a vault.[61]

 

The easternmost bay of the triforium appears to be Norman, but is the work of 14th-century masons. The final bay of the nave is Decorated in style and leads to the tower piers. Of note is the north pier which possibly contains the Oratory Chapel mentioned above.[62]

 

The aisles are plain with flat pilasters. The eastern two bays are Decorated with springing for vaulting. Whether the vault was ever constructed is unknown, the present wooden roof extends the full length of the aisles.

 

The crossing is bounded to the east by the quire screen with the organ above. This is of 19th-century work and shows figures associated with the early cathedral. Above the crossing is the central tower, housing the bells and above that the spire. The ceiling of the crossing is notable for the four Green Men carved on the bosses. Visible from the ground is the outline of the trapdoor through which bells can be raised and lowered when required. The floor is stepped up to the pulpitum and gives access to the quire through the organ screen.

 

The north transept is from 1235 in Early English style. The Victorian insertion of windows has been mentioned above in the external description. Dominating the transept is the baptistery fresco. The fresco by Russian artist Sergei Fyodorov is displayed on the eastern wall. It is located within an arched recess. The recess may have been a former site of the altar of St Nicholas from the time of its construction in 1235 until it was moved to the screen before the pulpitum in 1322. A will suggests that "an altar of Jesu" also stood here at some point, an altar of some sort must have existed as evidenced by the piscina to the right of the recess.[64] The vaulting is unusual in being octpartite, a development of the more common sexpartite. The Pilgrim Door is now the main visitor entrance and is level for disabled access.

 

he original Lady Chapel was formed in the south transept by screening it off from the crossing. The altar of the Blessed Virgin Mary was housed in the eastern arch of the transept. There are traces of painting both on the east wall and under the arch. The painting delineates the location of the mediaeval north screen of the Lady Chapel. Around 1490 this chapel was extended westwards by piercing the western wall with a large arch and building the chapel's nave against the existing south aisle of cathedral. From within the Lady Chapel the upper parts of two smaller clerestory windows may be seen above the chapel's chancel arch. Subsequently, a screen was placed under the arch and the modern Lady Chapel formed in the 1490 extension.

 

The south transept is of early Decorated style. The eastern wall of it is a single wide arch at the arcade level. There are two doorways in the arch, neither of which is used, the northern one being hidden by the memorial to Dr William Franklin. The south wall starts plain but part way up is a notable monument to Richard Watts, a "coloured bust, with long gray beard".[65] According to Palmer there used to be a brass plaque to Charles Dickens below this but only the outline exists, the plaque having been moved to the east wall of the quire transept.[66] The west wall is filled by the large arch mentioned above with the screen below dividing it from the present Lady Chapel.

 

The Lady Chapel as it now exists is of Decorated style with three lights along southern wall and two in the west wall. The style is a light and airy counterpart to the stolid Norman work of the nave. The altar has been placed against the southern wall resulting in a chapel where the congregation wraps around the altar. The window stained glass is modern and tells the gospel story.

 

The first, easternmost, window has the Annunciation in the upper light: Gabriel speaking to Mary (both crowned) with the Holy Spirit as a dove descending. The lower light shows the Nativity with the Holy Family, three angels and shepherds. The next window shows St Elizabeth in the upper light surrounded by stars and the sun in splendour device. The lower light shows the Adoration of the Magi with Mary enthroned with the Infant. The final window of the south wall has St Mary Magdelene with her ointment surrounded by Tudor roses and fleurs-de-lis in the upper light with the lower light showing the Presentation in the Temple. The west wall continues with St. Margaret of Scotland in the upper light surrounded by fouled anchor and thistle roundels. The reference is to the original dedication of the cathedral as the Priory of St Andrew. The lower light shows the Crucifixion with Mary and St Peter. The final window is unusual, the upper light is divided in three and shows King Arthur with the royal arms flanked by St George on the left and St Michael on the right. The lower light shows the Ascension: two disciples to the left, three women with unguents to the right and three bare crosses top right.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rochester_Cathedral

Gautama Buddha, also known as Siddhārtha Gautama, Shakyamuni, or simply the Buddha, was a sage on whose teachings Buddhism was founded. He is believed to have lived and taught mostly in northeastern India sometime between the sixth and fourth centuries BCE.

 

The word Buddha means "awakened one" or "the enlightened one". "Buddha" is also used as a title for the first awakened being in a Yuga era. In most Buddhist traditions, Siddhartha Gautama is regarded as the Supreme Buddha (Pali sammāsambuddha, Sanskrit samyaksaṃbuddha) of the present age. Gautama taught a Middle Way between sensual indulgence and the severe asceticism found in the śramaṇa movement common in his region. He later taught throughout regions of eastern India such as Magadha and Kosala.

 

Gautama is the primary figure in Buddhism and accounts of his life, discourses, and monastic rules are believed by Buddhists to have been summarized after his death and memorized by his followers. Various collections of teachings attributed to him were passed down by oral tradition and first committed to writing about 400 years later.

 

CONTENTS

HISTORICAL SIDDHARTA GAUTAMA

Scholars are hesitant to make unqualified claims about the historical facts of the Buddha's life. Most accept that he lived, taught and founded a monastic order during the Mahajanapada era during the reign of Bimbisara, the ruler of the Magadha empire, and died during the early years of the reign of Ajasattu, who was the successor of Bimbisara, thus making him a younger contemporary of Mahavira, the Jain tirthankara. Apart from the Vedic Brahmins, the Buddha's lifetime coincided with the flourishing of other influential śramaṇa schools of thoughts like Ājīvika, Cārvāka, Jainism, and Ajñana. It was also the age of influential thinkers like Mahavira, Pūraṇa Kassapa , Makkhali Gosāla, Ajita Kesakambalī, Pakudha Kaccāyana, and Sañjaya Belaṭṭhaputta, whose viewpoints the Buddha most certainly must have been acquainted with and influenced by. Indeed, Sariputta and Moggallāna, two of the foremost disciples of the Buddha, were formerly the foremost disciples of Sañjaya Belaṭṭhaputta, the skeptic. There is also evidence to suggest that the two masters, Alara Kalama and Uddaka Ramaputta, were indeed historical figures and they most probably taught Buddha two different forms of meditative techniques. While the general sequence of "birth, maturity, renunciation, search, awakening and liberation, teaching, death" is widely accepted, there is less consensus on the veracity of many details contained in traditional biographies.

 

The times of Gautama's birth and death are uncertain. Most historians in the early 20th century dated his lifetime as circa 563 BCE to 483 BCE. More recently his death is dated later, between 411 and 400 BCE, while at a symposium on this question held in 1988, the majority of those who presented definite opinions gave dates within 20 years either side of 400 BCE for the Buddha's death. These alternative chronologies, however, have not yet been accepted by all historians.

 

The evidence of the early texts suggests that Siddhārtha Gautama was born into the Shakya clan, a community that was on the periphery, both geographically and culturally, of the northeastern Indian subcontinent in the 5th century BCE. It was either a small republic, in which case his father was an elected chieftain, or an oligarchy, in which case his father was an oligarch. According to the Buddhist tradition, Gautama was born in Lumbini, nowadays in modern-day Nepal, and raised in the Shakya capital of Kapilavastu, which may have been in either present day Tilaurakot, Nepal or Piprahwa, India. He obtained his enlightenment in Bodh Gaya, gave his first sermon in Sarnath, and died in Kushinagar.

 

No written records about Gautama have been found from his lifetime or some centuries thereafter. One Edict of Asoka, who reigned from circa 269 BCE to 232 BCE, commemorates the Emperor's pilgrimage to the Buddha's birthplace in Lumbini. Another one of his edicts mentions several Dhamma texts, establishing the existence of a written Buddhist tradition at least by the time of the Maurya era and which may be the precursors of the Pāli Canon. The oldest surviving Buddhist manuscripts are the Gandhāran Buddhist texts, reported to have been found in or around Haḍḍa near Jalalabad in eastern Afghanistan and now preserved in the British Library. They are written in the Gāndhārī language using the Kharosthi script on twenty-seven birch bark manuscripts and date from the first century BCE to the third century CE.

 

TRADITIONAL BIOGRAPHIES

BIOGRAPHICAL SOURCES

The sources for the life of Siddhārtha Gautama are a variety of different, and sometimes conflicting, traditional biographies. These include the Buddhacarita, Lalitavistara Sūtra, Mahāvastu, and the Nidānakathā. Of these, the Buddhacarita is the earliest full biography, an epic poem written by the poet Aśvaghoṣa, and dating around the beginning of the 2nd century CE. The Lalitavistara Sūtra is the next oldest biography, a Mahāyāna/Sarvāstivāda biography dating to the 3rd century CE. The Mahāvastu from the Mahāsāṃghika Lokottaravāda tradition is another major biography, composed incrementally until perhaps the 4th century CE. The Dharmaguptaka biography of the Buddha is the most exhaustive, and is entitled the Abhiniṣkramaṇa Sūtra, and various Chinese translations of this date between the 3rd and 6th century CE. The Nidānakathā is from the Theravada tradition in Sri Lanka and was composed in the 5th century by Buddhaghoṣa.

 

From canonical sources, the Jataka tales, the Mahapadana Sutta (DN 14), and the Achariyabhuta Sutta (MN 123) which include selective accounts that may be older, but are not full biographies. The Jātakas retell previous lives of Gautama as a bodhisattva, and the first collection of these can be dated among the earliest Buddhist texts. The Mahāpadāna Sutta and Achariyabhuta Sutta both recount miraculous events surrounding Gautama's birth, such as the bodhisattva's descent from the Tuṣita Heaven into his mother's womb.

 

NATURE OF TRADITIONAL DEPICTIONS

In the earliest Buddhists texts, the nikāyas and āgamas, the Buddha is not depicted as possessing omniscience (sabbaññu) nor is he depicted as being an eternal transcendent (lokottara) being. According to Bhikkhu Analayo, ideas of the Buddha's omniscience (along with an increasing tendency to deify him and his biography) are found only later, in the Mahayana sutras and later Pali commentaries or texts such as the Mahāvastu. In the Sandaka Sutta, the Buddha's disciple Ananda outlines an argument against the claims of teachers who say they are all knowing while in the Tevijjavacchagotta Sutta the Buddha himself states that he has never made a claim to being omniscient, instead he claimed to have the "higher knowledges" (abhijñā). The earliest biographical material from the Pali Nikayas focuses on the Buddha's life as a śramaṇa, his search for enlightenment under various teachers such as Alara Kalama and his forty five year career as a teacher.

 

Traditional biographies of Gautama generally include numerous miracles, omens, and supernatural events. The character of the Buddha in these traditional biographies is often that of a fully transcendent (Skt. lokottara) and perfected being who is unencumbered by the mundane world. In the Mahāvastu, over the course of many lives, Gautama is said to have developed supra-mundane abilities including: a painless birth conceived without intercourse; no need for sleep, food, medicine, or bathing, although engaging in such "in conformity with the world"; omniscience, and the ability to "suppress karma". Nevertheless, some of the more ordinary details of his life have been gathered from these traditional sources. In modern times there has been an attempt to form a secular understanding of Siddhārtha Gautama's life by omitting the traditional supernatural elements of his early biographies.

 

Andrew Skilton writes that the Buddha was never historically regarded by Buddhist traditions as being merely human:

It is important to stress that, despite modern Theravada teachings to the contrary (often a sop to skeptical Western pupils), he was never seen as being merely human. For instance, he is often described as having the thirty-two major and eighty minor marks or signs of a mahāpuruṣa, "superman"; the Buddha himself denied that he was either a man or a god; and in the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta he states that he could live for an aeon were he asked to do so.The ancient Indians were generally unconcerned with chronologies, being more focused on philosophy. Buddhist texts reflect this tendency, providing a clearer picture of what Gautama may have taught than of the dates of the events in his life. These texts contain descriptions of the culture and daily life of ancient India which can be corroborated from the Jain scriptures, and make the Buddha's time the earliest period in Indian history for which significant accounts exist. British author Karen Armstrong writes that although there is very little information that can be considered historically sound, we can be reasonably confident that Siddhārtha Gautama did exist as a historical figure. Michael Carrithers goes a bit further by stating that the most general outline of "birth, maturity, renunciation, search, awakening and liberation, teaching, death" must be true.

 

BIOGRAPHY

CONCEPTION AND BIRTH

The Buddhist tradition regards Lumbini, in present-day Nepal to be the birthplace of the Buddha. He grew up in Kapilavastu. The exact site of ancient Kapilavastu is unknown. It may have been either Piprahwa, Uttar Pradesh, present-day India, or Tilaurakot, present-day Nepal. Both places belonged to the Sakya territory, and are located only 15 miles apart from each other.

 

Gautama was born as a Kshatriya, the son of Śuddhodana, "an elected chief of the Shakya clan", whose capital was Kapilavastu, and who were later annexed by the growing Kingdom of Kosala during the Buddha's lifetime. Gautama was the family name. His mother, Maya (Māyādevī), Suddhodana's wife, was a Koliyan princess. Legend has it that, on the night Siddhartha was conceived, Queen Maya dreamt that a white elephant with six white tusks entered her right side, and ten months later Siddhartha was born. As was the Shakya tradition, when his mother Queen Maya became pregnant, she left Kapilvastu for her father's kingdom to give birth. However, her son is said to have been born on the way, at Lumbini, in a garden beneath a sal tree.

 

The day of the Buddha's birth is widely celebrated in Theravada countries as Vesak. Buddha's Birthday is called Buddha Purnima in Nepal and India as he is believed to have been born on a full moon day. Various sources hold that the Buddha's mother died at his birth, a few days or seven days later. The infant was given the name Siddhartha (Pāli: Siddhattha), meaning "he who achieves his aim". During the birth celebrations, the hermit seer Asita journeyed from his mountain abode and announced that the child would either become a great king (chakravartin) or a great sadhu. By traditional account, this occurred after Siddhartha placed his feet in Asita's hair and Asita examined the birthmarks. Suddhodana held a naming ceremony on the fifth day, and invited eight Brahmin scholars to read the future. All gave a dual prediction that the baby would either become a great king or a great holy man. Kondañña, the youngest, and later to be the first arhat other than the Buddha, was reputed to be the only one who unequivocally predicted that Siddhartha would become a Buddha.

 

While later tradition and legend characterized Śuddhodana as a hereditary monarch, the descendant of the Suryavansha (Solar dynasty) of Ikṣvāku (Pāli: Okkāka), many scholars think that Śuddhodana was the elected chief of a tribal confederacy.

 

Early texts suggest that Gautama was not familiar with the dominant religious teachings of his time until he left on his religious quest, which is said to have been motivated by existential concern for the human condition. The state of the Shakya clan was not a monarchy, and seems to have been structured either as an oligarchy, or as a form of republic. The more egalitarian gana-sangha form of government, as a political alternative to the strongly hierarchical kingdoms, may have influenced the development of the śramanic Jain and Buddhist sanghas, where monarchies tended toward Vedic Brahmanism.

 

EARLY LIFE AND MARRIAGE

Siddhartha was brought up by his mother's younger sister, Maha Pajapati. By tradition, he is said to have been destined by birth to the life of a prince, and had three palaces (for seasonal occupation) built for him. Although more recent scholarship doubts this status, his father, said to be King Śuddhodana, wishing for his son to be a great king, is said to have shielded him from religious teachings and from knowledge of human suffering.

 

When he reached the age of 16, his father reputedly arranged his marriage to a cousin of the same age named Yaśodharā (Pāli: Yasodharā). According to the traditional account, she gave birth to a son, named Rāhula. Siddhartha is said to have spent 29 years as a prince in Kapilavastu. Although his father ensured that Siddhartha was provided with everything he could want or need, Buddhist scriptures say that the future Buddha felt that material wealth was not life's ultimate goal.

 

RENUNCIATION AND ASCETIC LIFE

At the age of 29, the popular biography continues, Siddhartha left his palace to meet his subjects. Despite his father's efforts to hide from him the sick, aged and suffering, Siddhartha was said to have seen an old man. When his charioteer Channa explained to him that all people grew old, the prince went on further trips beyond the palace. On these he encountered a diseased man, a decaying corpse, and an ascetic. These depressed him, and he initially strove to overcome aging, sickness, and death by living the life of an ascetic.

 

Accompanied by Channa and riding his horse Kanthaka, Gautama quit his palace for the life of a mendicant. It's said that, "the horse's hooves were muffled by the gods" to prevent guards from knowing of his departure.

 

Gautama initially went to Rajagaha and began his ascetic life by begging for alms in the street. After King Bimbisara's men recognised Siddhartha and the king learned of his quest, Bimbisara offered Siddhartha the throne. Siddhartha rejected the offer, but promised to visit his kingdom of Magadha first, upon attaining enlightenment.

 

He left Rajagaha and practised under two hermit teachers of yogic meditation. After mastering the teachings of Alara Kalama (Skr. Ārāḍa Kālāma), he was asked by Kalama to succeed him. However, Gautama felt unsatisfied by the practice, and moved on to become a student of yoga with Udaka Ramaputta (Skr. Udraka Rāmaputra). With him he achieved high levels of meditative consciousness, and was again asked to succeed his teacher. But, once more, he was not satisfied, and again moved on.

 

Siddhartha and a group of five companions led by Kaundinya are then said to have set out to take their austerities even further. They tried to find enlightenment through deprivation of worldly goods, including food, practising self-mortification. After nearly starving himself to death by restricting his food intake to around a leaf or nut per day, he collapsed in a river while bathing and almost drowned. Siddhartha was rescued by a village girl named Sujata and she gave him some payasam (a pudding made from milk and jaggery) after which Siddhartha got back some energy. Siddhartha began to reconsider his path. Then, he remembered a moment in childhood in which he had been watching his father start the season's ploughing. He attained a concentrated and focused state that was blissful and refreshing, the jhāna.

 

AWAKENING

According to the early Buddhist texts, after realizing that meditative dhyana was the right path to awakening, but that extreme asceticism didn't work, Gautama discovered what Buddhists call the Middle Way - a path of moderation away from the extremes of self-indulgence and self-mortification, or the Noble Eightfold Path, as was identified and described by the Buddha in his first discourse, the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta. In a famous incident, after becoming starved and weakened, he is said to have accepted milk and rice pudding from a village girl named Sujata. Such was his emaciated appearance that she wrongly believed him to be a spirit that had granted her a wish.

 

Following this incident, Gautama was famously seated under a pipal tree - now known as the Bodhi tree - in Bodh Gaya, India, when he vowed never to arise until he had found the truth. Kaundinya and four other companions, believing that he had abandoned his search and become undisciplined, left. After a reputed 49 days of meditation, at the age of 35, he is said to have attained Enlightenment. According to some traditions, this occurred in approximately the fifth lunar month, while, according to others, it was in the twelfth month. From that time, Gautama was known to his followers as the Buddha or "Awakened One" ("Buddha" is also sometimes translated as "The Enlightened One").

 

According to Buddhism, at the time of his awakening he realized complete insight into the cause of suffering, and the steps necessary to eliminate it. These discoveries became known as the "Four Noble Truths", which are at the heart of Buddhist teaching. Through mastery of these truths, a state of supreme liberation, or Nirvana, is believed to be possible for any being. The Buddha described Nirvāna as the perfect peace of a mind that's free from ignorance, greed, hatred and other afflictive states, or "defilements" (kilesas). Nirvana is also regarded as the "end of the world", in that no personal identity or boundaries of the mind remain. In such a state, a being is said to possess the Ten Characteristics, belonging to every Buddha.

 

According to a story in the Āyācana Sutta (Samyutta Nikaya VI.1) - a scripture found in the Pāli and other canons - immediately after his awakening, the Buddha debated whether or not he should teach the Dharma to others. He was concerned that humans were so overpowered by ignorance, greed and hatred that they could never recognise the path, which is subtle, deep and hard to grasp. However, in the story, Brahmā Sahampati convinced him, arguing that at least some will understand it. The Buddha relented, and agreed to teach.

 

FORMATION OF THE SANGHA

After his awakening, the Buddha met Taphussa and Bhallika — two merchant brothers from the city of Balkh in what is currently Afghanistan - who became his first lay disciples. It is said that each was given hairs from his head, which are now claimed to be enshrined as relics in the Shwe Dagon Temple in Rangoon, Burma. The Buddha intended to visit Asita, and his former teachers, Alara Kalama and Udaka Ramaputta, to explain his findings, but they had already died.

 

He then travelled to the Deer Park near Varanasi (Benares) in northern India, where he set in motion what Buddhists call the Wheel of Dharma by delivering his first sermon to the five companions with whom he had sought enlightenment. Together with him, they formed the first saṅgha: the company of Buddhist monks.

 

All five become arahants, and within the first two months, with the conversion of Yasa and fifty four of his friends, the number of such arahants is said to have grown to 60. The conversion of three brothers named Kassapa followed, with their reputed 200, 300 and 500 disciples, respectively. This swelled the sangha to more than 1,000.

 

TRAVELS AND TEACHING

For the remaining 45 years of his life, the Buddha is said to have traveled in the Gangetic Plain, in what is now Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and southern Nepal, teaching a diverse range of people: from nobles to servants, murderers such as Angulimala, and cannibals such as Alavaka. Although the Buddha's language remains unknown, it's likely that he taught in one or more of a variety of closely related Middle Indo-Aryan dialects, of which Pali may be a standardization.

 

The sangha traveled through the subcontinent, expounding the dharma. This continued throughout the year, except during the four months of the Vāsanā rainy season when ascetics of all religions rarely traveled. One reason was that it was more difficult to do so without causing harm to animal life. At this time of year, the sangha would retreat to monasteries, public parks or forests, where people would come to them.

 

The first vassana was spent at Varanasi when the sangha was formed. After this, the Buddha kept a promise to travel to Rajagaha, capital of Magadha, to visit King Bimbisara. During this visit, Sariputta and Maudgalyayana were converted by Assaji, one of the first five disciples, after which they were to become the Buddha's two foremost followers. The Buddha spent the next three seasons at Veluvana Bamboo Grove monastery in Rajagaha, capital of Magadha.

 

Upon hearing of his son's awakening, Suddhodana sent, over a period, ten delegations to ask him to return to Kapilavastu. On the first nine occasions, the delegates failed to deliver the message, and instead joined the sangha to become arahants. The tenth delegation, led by Kaludayi, a childhood friend of Gautama's (who also became an arahant), however, delivered the message.

 

Now two years after his awakening, the Buddha agreed to return, and made a two-month journey by foot to Kapilavastu, teaching the dharma as he went. At his return, the royal palace prepared a midday meal, but the sangha was making an alms round in Kapilavastu. Hearing this, Suddhodana approached his son, the Buddha, saying:

 

"Ours is the warrior lineage of Mahamassata, and not a single warrior has gone seeking alms."

 

The Buddha is said to have replied:

 

"That is not the custom of your royal lineage. But it is the custom of my Buddha lineage. Several thousands of Buddhas have gone by seeking alms."

 

Buddhist texts say that Suddhodana invited the sangha into the palace for the meal, followed by a dharma talk. After this he is said to have become a sotapanna. During the visit, many members of the royal family joined the sangha. The Buddha's cousins Ananda and Anuruddha became two of his five chief disciples. At the age of seven, his son Rahula also joined, and became one of his ten chief disciples. His half-brother Nanda also joined and became an arahant.

 

Of the Buddha's disciples, Sariputta, Maudgalyayana, Mahakasyapa, Ananda and Anuruddha are believed to have been the five closest to him. His ten foremost disciples were reputedly completed by the quintet of Upali, Subhoti, Rahula, Mahakaccana and Punna.

 

In the fifth vassana, the Buddha was staying at Mahavana near Vesali when he heard news of the impending death of his father. He is said to have gone to Suddhodana and taught the dharma, after which his father became an arahant.The king's death and cremation was to inspire the creation of an order of nuns. Buddhist texts record that the Buddha was reluctant to ordain women. His foster mother Maha Pajapati, for example, approached him, asking to join the sangha, but he refused. Maha Pajapati, however, was so intent on the path of awakening that she led a group of royal Sakyan and Koliyan ladies, which followed the sangha on a long journey to Rajagaha. In time, after Ananda championed their cause, the Buddha is said to have reconsidered and, five years after the formation of the sangha, agreed to the ordination of women as nuns. He reasoned that males and females had an equal capacity for awakening. But he gave women additional rules (Vinaya) to follow.

 

MAHAPARINIRVANA

According to the Mahaparinibbana Sutta of the Pali canon, at the age of 80, the Buddha announced that he would soon reach Parinirvana, or the final deathless state, and abandon his earthly body. After this, the Buddha ate his last meal, which he had received as an offering from a blacksmith named Cunda. Falling violently ill, Buddha instructed his attendant Ānanda to convince Cunda that the meal eaten at his place had nothing to do with his passing and that his meal would be a source of the greatest merit as it provided the last meal for a Buddha. Mettanando and Von Hinüber argue that the Buddha died of mesenteric infarction, a symptom of old age, rather than food poisoning. The precise contents of the Buddha's final meal are not clear, due to variant scriptural traditions and ambiguity over the translation of certain significant terms; the Theravada tradition generally believes that the Buddha was offered some kind of pork, while the Mahayana tradition believes that the Buddha consumed some sort of truffle or other mushroom. These may reflect the different traditional views on Buddhist vegetarianism and the precepts for monks and nuns.

 

Waley suggests that Theravadin's would take suukaramaddava (the contents of the Buddha's last meal), which can translate as pig-soft, to mean soft flesh of a pig. However, he also states that pig-soft could mean "pig's soft-food", that is, after Neumann, a soft food favoured by pigs, assumed to be a truffle. He argues (also after Neumann) that as Pali Buddhism was developed in an area remote to the Buddha's death, the existence of other plants with suukara- (pig) as part of their names and that "(p)lant names tend to be local and dialectical" could easily indicate that suukaramaddava was a type of plant whose local name was unknown to those in the Pali regions. Specifically, local writers knew more about their flora than Theravadin commentator Buddhaghosa who lived hundreds of years and kilometres remote in time and space from the events described. Unaware of an alternate meaning and with no Theravadin prohibition against eating animal flesh, Theravadins would not have questioned the Buddha eating meat and interpreted the term accordingly.

 

Ananda protested the Buddha's decision to enter Parinirvana in the abandoned jungles of Kuśināra (present-day Kushinagar, India) of the Malla kingdom. The Buddha, however, is said to have reminded Ananda how Kushinara was a land once ruled by a righteous wheel-turning king that resounded with joy:

 

44. Kusavati, Ananda, resounded unceasingly day and night with ten sounds - the trumpeting of elephants, the neighing of horses, the rattling of chariots, the beating of drums and tabours, music and song, cheers, the clapping of hands, and cries of "Eat, drink, and be merry!"

 

The Buddha then asked all the attendant Bhikkhus to clarify any doubts or questions they had. They had none. According to Buddhist scriptures, he then finally entered Parinirvana. The Buddha's final words are reported to have been: "All composite things (Saṅkhāra) are perishable. Strive for your own liberation with diligence" (Pali: 'vayadhammā saṅkhārā appamādena sampādethā'). His body was cremated and the relics were placed in monuments or stupas, some of which are believed to have survived until the present. For example, The Temple of the Tooth or "Dalada Maligawa" in Sri Lanka is the place where what some believe to be the relic of the right tooth of Buddha is kept at present.

 

According to the Pāli historical chronicles of Sri Lanka, the Dīpavaṃsa and Mahāvaṃsa, the coronation of Emperor Aśoka (Pāli: Asoka) is 218 years after the death of the Buddha. According to two textual records in Chinese (十八部論 and 部執異論), the coronation of Emperor Aśoka is 116 years after the death of the Buddha. Therefore, the time of Buddha's passing is either 486 BCE according to Theravāda record or 383 BCE according to Mahayana record. However, the actual date traditionally accepted as the date of the Buddha's death in Theravāda countries is 544 or 545 BCE, because the reign of Emperor Aśoka was traditionally reckoned to be about 60 years earlier than current estimates. In Burmese Buddhist tradition, the date of the Buddha's death is 13 May 544 BCE. whereas in Thai tradition it is 11 March 545 BCE.

 

At his death, the Buddha is famously believed to have told his disciples to follow no leader. Mahakasyapa was chosen by the sangha to be the chairman of the First Buddhist Council, with the two chief disciples Maudgalyayana and Sariputta having died before the Buddha.

 

While in the Buddha's days he was addressed by the very respected titles Buddha, Shākyamuni, Shākyasimha, Bhante and Bho, he was known after his parinirvana as Arihant, Bhagavā/Bhagavat/Bhagwān, Mahāvira, Jina/Jinendra, Sāstr, Sugata, and most popularly in scriptures as Tathāgata.

 

BUDDHA AND VEDAS

Buddha's teachings deny the authority of the Vedas and consequently [at least atheistic] Buddhism is generally viewed as a nāstika school (heterodox, literally "It is not so") from the perspective of orthodox Hinduism.

 

RELICS

After his death, Buddha's cremation relics were divided amongst 8 royal families and his disciples; centuries later they would be enshrined by King Ashoka into 84,000 stupas. Many supernatural legends surround the history of alleged relics as they accompanied the spread of Buddhism and gave legitimacy to rulers.

 

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

An extensive and colorful physical description of the Buddha has been laid down in scriptures. A kshatriya by birth, he had military training in his upbringing, and by Shakyan tradition was required to pass tests to demonstrate his worthiness as a warrior in order to marry. He had a strong enough body to be noticed by one of the kings and was asked to join his army as a general. He is also believed by Buddhists to have "the 32 Signs of the Great Man".

 

The Brahmin Sonadanda described him as "handsome, good-looking, and pleasing to the eye, with a most beautiful complexion. He has a godlike form and countenance, he is by no means unattractive." (D, I:115)

 

"It is wonderful, truly marvellous, how serene is the good Gotama's appearance, how clear and radiant his complexion, just as the golden jujube in autumn is clear and radiant, just as a palm-tree fruit just loosened from the stalk is clear and radiant, just as an adornment of red gold wrought in a crucible by a skilled goldsmith, deftly beaten and laid on a yellow-cloth shines, blazes and glitters, even so, the good Gotama's senses are calmed, his complexion is clear and radiant." (A, I:181)

 

A disciple named Vakkali, who later became an arahant, was so obsessed by the Buddha's physical presence that the Buddha is said to have felt impelled to tell him to desist, and to have reminded him that he should know the Buddha through the Dhamma and not through physical appearances.

 

Although there are no extant representations of the Buddha in human form until around the 1st century CE (see Buddhist art), descriptions of the physical characteristics of fully enlightened buddhas are attributed to the Buddha in the Digha Nikaya's Lakkhaṇa Sutta (D, I:142). In addition, the Buddha's physical appearance is described by Yasodhara to their son Rahula upon the Buddha's first post-Enlightenment return to his former princely palace in the non-canonical Pali devotional hymn, Narasīha Gāthā ("The Lion of Men").

 

Among the 32 main characteristics it is mentioned that Buddha has blue eyes.

 

NINE VIRTUES

Recollection of nine virtues attributed to the Buddha is a common Buddhist meditation and devotional practice called Buddhānusmṛti. The nine virtues are also among the 40 Buddhist meditation subjects. The nine virtues of the Buddha appear throughout the Tipitaka, and include:

 

- Buddho – Awakened

- Sammasambuddho – Perfectly self-awakened

- Vijja-carana-sampano – Endowed with higher knowledge and ideal conduct.

- Sugato – Well-gone or Well-spoken.

- Lokavidu – Wise in the knowledge of the many worlds.

- Anuttaro Purisa-damma-sarathi – Unexcelled trainer of untrained people.

- Satthadeva-Manussanam – Teacher of gods and humans.

- Bhagavathi – The Blessed one

- Araham – Worthy of homage. An Arahant is "one with taints destroyed, who has lived the holy life, done what had to be done, laid down the burden, reached the true goal, destroyed the fetters of being, and is completely liberated through final knowledge."

 

TEACHINGS

TRACING THE OLDEST TEACHINGS

Information of the oldest teachings may be obtained by analysis of the oldest texts. One method to obtain information on the oldest core of Buddhism is to compare the oldest extant versions of the Theravadin Pali Canon and other texts. The reliability of these sources, and the possibility to draw out a core of oldest teachings, is a matter of dispute. According to Vetter, inconsistencies remain, and other methods must be applied to resolve those inconsistencies.

 

According to Schmithausen, three positions held by scholars of Buddhism can be distinguished:

 

"Stress on the fundamental homogeneity and substantial authenticity of at least a considerable part of the Nikayic materials;"

"Scepticism with regard to the possibility of retrieving the doctrine of earliest Buddhism;"

"Cautious optimism in this respect."

 

DHYANA AND INSIGHT

A core problem in the study of early Buddhism is the relation between dhyana and insight. Schmithausen, in his often-cited article On some Aspects of Descriptions or Theories of 'Liberating Insight' and 'Enlightenment' in Early Buddhism notes that the mention of the four noble truths as constituting "liberating insight", which is attained after mastering the Rupa Jhanas, is a later addition to texts such as Majjhima Nikaya 36

 

CORE TEACHINGS

According to Tilmann Vetter, the core of earliest Buddhism is the practice of dhyāna. Bronkhorst agrees that dhyana was a Buddhist invention, whereas Norman notes that "the Buddha's way to release [...] was by means of meditative practices." Discriminating insight into transiency as a separate path to liberation was a later development.

 

According to the Mahāsaccakasutta, from the fourth jhana the Buddha gained bodhi. Yet, it is not clear what he was awakened to. "Liberating insight" is a later addition to this text, and reflects a later development and understanding in early Buddhism. The mentioning of the four truths as constituting "liberating insight" introduces a logical problem, since the four truths depict a linear path of practice, the knowledge of which is in itself not depicted as being liberating:

 

[T]hey do not teach that one is released by knowing the four noble truths, but by practicing the fourth noble truth, the eightfold path, which culminates in right samadhi.

 

Although "Nibbāna" (Sanskrit: Nirvāna) is the common term for the desired goal of this practice, many other terms can be found throughout the Nikayas, which are not specified.

 

According to Vetter, the description of the Buddhist path may initially have been as simple as the term "the middle way". In time, this short description was elaborated, resulting in the description of the eightfold path.

 

According to both Bronkhorst and Anderson, the four truths became a substitution for prajna, or "liberating insight", in the suttas in those texts where "liberating insight" was preceded by the four jhanas. According to Bronkhorst, the four truths may not have been formulated in earliest Buddhism, and did not serve in earliest Buddhism as a description of "liberating insight". Gotama's teachings may have been personal, "adjusted to the need of each person."

 

The three marks of existence may reflect Upanishadic or other influences. K.R. Norman supposes that these terms were already in use at the Buddha's time, and were familiar to his listeners.

 

The Brahma-vihara was in origin probably a brahmanic term; but its usage may have been common to the Sramana traditions.

  

LATER DEVELOPMENTS

In time, "liberating insight" became an essential feature of the Buddhist tradition. The following teachings, which are commonly seen as essential to Buddhism, are later formulations which form part of the explanatory framework of this "liberating insight":

 

- The Four Noble Truths: that suffering is an ingrained part of existence; that the origin of suffering is craving for sensuality, acquisition of identity, and fear of annihilation; that suffering can be ended; and that following the Noble Eightfold Path is the means to accomplish this;

- The Noble Eightfold Path: right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration;

- Dependent origination: the mind creates suffering as a natural product of a complex process.

 

OTHER RELIGIONS

Some Hindus regard Gautama as the 9th avatar of Vishnu. The Buddha is also regarded as a prophet by the Ahmadiyya Muslims and a Manifestation of God in the Bahá'í Faith. Some early Chinese Taoist-Buddhists thought the Buddha to be a reincarnation of Lao Tzu.

 

The Christian Saint Josaphat is based on the Buddha. The name comes from the Sanskrit Bodhisattva via Arabic Būdhasaf and Georgian Iodasaph. The only story in which St. Josaphat appears, Barlaam and Josaphat, is based on the life of the Buddha. Josaphat was included in earlier editions of the Roman Martyrology (feast day 27 November) — though not in the Roman Missal — and in the Eastern Orthodox Church liturgical calendar (26 August).

 

Disciples of the Cao Đài religion worship the Buddha as a major religious teacher. His image can be found in both their Holy See and on the home altar. He is revealed during communication with Divine Beings as son of their Supreme Being (God the Father) together with other major religious teachers and founders like Jesus, Laozi, and Confucius.

 

In the ancient Gnostic sect of Manichaeism the Buddha is listed among the prophets who preached the word of God before Mani.

 

WIKIPEDIA

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Every year I walk barefeet with the Christian community of Mumbai and share their grief pain on Good Friday, I feel their pain their sadness and I shoot this as a documentary of our secular spirit, I am able to complete this walk because of my Christian friends who encourage and support me , the most touching aspect of this walk is when I reach Vakola fish market the fisher women wash my burnt feet and I weep as I am close to Jesus Christ as I am to humanity..

 

Being a Christian or a Muslim in my case is not as important as being human feeling our neighbors pain his sufferings become our own ..and this is the message of the Lentan walk on Good Friday, the walk begins at Sacred Heart Church 9.30 am and finshies at Vakola at about 4 pm..on the way enacting the 14 Stations of the Cross..and this is bought out by Joe Dias and his Cross team, lovers of Jesus and Humanity most of all.. even this year little girls began walking barefeet along with me ..

   

The CROSS

The Indian Christian Church (Clergy & Laity) Initiative

 

Sub: Request to Announce & Cover Good Friday, 22nd April, 2011, 10.30am to 2.30 pm.

Place: Sacred Heart Church, Khar (W), Mumbai 10.30 am onwards

 

24th Annual Lenten Walking Pilgrimage

Thousands to Walk in Prayer & ProtestGood Friday, also called Holy Friday or Great Friday, is the Friday preceding Easter Sunday. It commemorates the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ at Calvary.

  

Original Events of Good Friday

 

According to the New Testament, Jesus was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane by the Temple Guards through the guidance of his disciple, Judas Iscariot. Judas received money for betraying Jesus. He told the guards that whomever he kisses is the one they are to arrest. Jesus was brought to the house of Annas, who is the father-in-law of the current high priest, Caiaphas. There he is interrogated with little result, and sent bound to Caiaphas the high priest, where the Sanhedron had assembled (John 18:1-24).

 

Conflicting testimony against Jesus is brought forth by many witnesses, to which Jesus answers nothing. Finally the high priest adjures Jesus to respond under solemn oath, saying "I adjure you, by the Living God, to tell us, are you the Anointed One, the Son of God?" Jesus testifies in the affirmative, "You have said it, and in time you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Almighty, coming on the clouds of Heaven." The high priest condemns Jesus for blasphemy, and the Sanhedron concurs with a sentence of death (Matthew 26:57-66). Peter also denies Jesus three times during the interrogations. Jesus already knew that Peter would deny him three times.

 

In the morning, the whole assembly brings Jesus to the Roman governor Pontius Pilate, under charges of subverting the nation, opposing taxes to Caesar, and making himself a king (Luke 23:1-2). Pilate authorizes the Jewish leaders to judge Jesus according to their own Law and execute sentencing, however the Jewish leaders reply that they are not allowed by the Romans to carry out a sentence of death (John 18:31).

 

Pilate questions Jesus, and tells the assembly that there is no basis for sentencing. Upon learning that Jesus is from Galilee, Pilate refers the case to the ruler of Galilee, King Herod, who was in Jerusalem for the Passover Feast. Herod questions Jesus but receives no answer; Herod sends Jesus back to Pilate. Pilate tells the assembly that neither he nor Herod have found guilt in Jesus; Pilate resolves to have Jesus whipped and released (Luke 23:3-16).

 

It was a custom during the feast of Passover for the Romans to release one prisoner as requested by the Jews. Pilate asks the crowd who they would like to be released. Under the guidance of the chief priests, the crowd asks for Barabbas, who had been imprisoned for committing murder during an insurrection. Pilate asks what they would have him do with Jesus, and they demand, "Crucify him" (Mark 15:6-14). Pilate's wife had seen Jesus in a dream earlier that day; she forewarns Pilate to "have nothing to do with this righteous man" (Matthew 27:19).

 

Pilate has Jesus flogged, then brings him out to the crowd to release him. The chief priests inform Pilate of a new charge, demanding Jesus be sentenced to death "because he claimed to be God's son." This possibility filled Pilate with fear, and he brought Jesus back inside the palace and demanded to know from where he came (John 19:1-9).

 

Coming before the crowd one last time, Pilate declares Jesus innocent, washing his own hands in water to show he has no part in this condemnation. Nevertheless, Pilate hands Jesus over to be crucified in order to forestall a riot (Matthew 27:24-26). The sentence written is "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews." Jesus carries his cross to the site of execution (assisted by Simon of Cyrene), called the place of the Skull, or "Golgotha" in Hebrew and "Calvary" in Latin. There he is crucified along with two criminals (John 19:17-22).

 

Jesus agonizes on the cross for three hours, during which there is darkness over the whole land.[1] With a loud cry, Jesus gives up his spirit. There is an earthquake, tombs break open, and the curtain in the Temple is torn from top to bottom. The centurion on guard at the site of crucifixion declares, "Truly this was God's Son!" (Matthew 27:45-54)

 

Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin and secret follower of Jesus, who had not consented to his condemnation, goes to Pilate to request the body of Jesus (Luke 23:50-52). Pilate asks confirmation from the centurion whether Jesus is dead (Mark 15:44). A soldier pierced the side of Jesus with a lance causing blood and water to flow out (John 19:34), and the centurian informs Pilate that Jesus is dead (Mark 15:45).

 

Joseph of Arimathea takes the body of Jesus, wraps it in a clean linen shroud, and places it in his own new tomb that had been carved in the rock (Matthew 27:59-60) in a garden near the site of crucifixion. Another secret follower of Jesus and member of the Sanhedrin named Nicodemus (John 3:1) also came bringing 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes, and places them in the linen with the body of Jesus, according to Jewish burial customs (John 19:39-40). They rolled a large rock over the entrance of the tomb (Matthew 27:60). Then they returned home and rested, because at sunset began the Sabbath (Luke 23:54-56).

 

On the third day, Sunday, which is now known as Easter Sunday, Jesus rose from the dead

In the Roman Catholic Church

The Roman Catholic Church treats Good Friday as a fast day, which in the Latin Rite Church is understood as having only one full meal (but smaller than a regular meal) and two collations (a smaller repast, two of which together do not equal one full meal). In countries where Good Friday is not a day of rest from work, the afternoon liturgical service is usually put off until a few hours after the recommended time of 3 p.m.

  

Crucifix prepared for veneration on Good Friday.The Roman Rite has no celebration of Mass after that of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday evening until that of the Easter Vigil, and the only sacraments celebrated are Penance and Anointing of the Sick.[2] While there is no celebration of the Eucharist, Holy Communion is distributed to the faithful only in the Service of the Passion of the Lord, but can be taken at any hour to the sick who are unable to attend this service.[3]

 

The altar remains completely bare, without cross, candlesticks or altar cloths.[4] It is customary to empty the holy water fonts in preparation of the blessing of the water at the Easter Vigil.[5] Traditionally, no bells are rung on Good Friday or Holy Saturday until the Easter Vigil.

 

The Celebration of the Passion of the Lord takes place in the afternoon, ideally at three o'clock, but for pastoral reasons a later hour may be chosen.[6] The vestments used are red.[7] Before 1970, they were black except for the Communion part of the rite, for which violet was used,[8] and before 1955 black was used throughout.[9]If a bishop celebrates, he wears a plain mitre.[10]

 

The liturgy consists of three parts: the Liturgy of the Word, the Veneration of the Cross, and Holy Communion.

 

The first part, the Liturgy of the Word, consists of the reading or chanting of Isaiah 52:13-53:12, Hebrews 4:14-16, 5:7-9, and the Passion account from the Gospel of John, which is often divided between more than one singer or reader. This part concludes with a series of prayers: for the Church, the Pope, the clergy and laity of the Church, those preparing for baptism, the unity of Christians, the Jewish people, those who do not believe in Christ, those who do not believe in God, those in public office, those in special need.[11]

 

The second part of the Good Friday liturgy is the Veneration of the Cross: a crucifix, not necessarily the one that is normally on or near the altar at other times, is solemnly displayed to the congregation and then venerated by them, individually if possible, while special chants are sung.[12]

  

Communion from the Reserved Sacrament on Good Friday (Our Lady of Lourdes, Philadelphia).The third and last part is Holy Communion according to a rite based on that of the final part of Mass, from the Our Father on. The Eucharist, consecrated at the Mass of Holy Thursday is distributed at this service.[13] Before the reform of Pope Pius XII, only the priest received Communion in the framework of what was called the "Mass of the Presanctified", which included the usual Offertory prayers, with the placing of wine in the chalice, but which omitted the Canon of the Mass.[14]

 

Priest and people then depart in silence, and the altar cloth is removed, leaving the altar bare except for the cross and two or four candlesticks.[15]

  

The Way of the Cross, celebrated at the Colloseum in Rome on Good Friday.In addition to the prescribed liturgical service, the Stations of the Cross are often prayed either in the church or outside, and a prayer service may be held from midday to 3.00 p.m., known as the Three Hours' Agony. In countries such as Malta, Italy, Philippines and Spain, processions with statues representing the Passion of Christ are held.

 

In Polish churches, a tableau of Christ's Tomb is unveiled in the sanctuary. Many of the faithful spend long hours into the night grieving at the Tomb, where it is customary to kiss the wounds on the Lord's body. A life-size figure of Christ lying in his tomb is widely visited by the faithful, especially on Holy Saturday. The tableaux may include flowers, candles, figures of angels standing watch, and the three crosses atop Mt Calvary, and much more. Each parish strives to come up with the most artistically and religiously evocative arrangement in which the Blessed Sacrament, draped in a filmy veil, is prominently displayed.

  

[edit] Acts of Reparation to Jesus Christ

 

El Greco's Jesus Carrying the Cross, 1580.The Roman Catholic tradition includes specific prayers and devotions as acts of reparation for the sufferings and insults that Jesus suffered during His Passion on Good Friday. These Acts of Reparation to Jesus Christ do not involve a petition for a living or deceased beneficiary, but aim to repair the sins against Jesus. Some such prayers are provided in the Raccolta Catholic prayer book (approved by a Decree of 1854, and published by the Holy See in 1898) which also includes prayers as Acts of Reparation to the Virgin Mary.[16][17][18][19]

 

In his encyclical Miserentissimus Redemptor on reparations, Pope Pius XI called Acts of Reparation to Jesus Christ a duty for Catholics and refered to them as "some sort of compensation to be rendered for the injury" with respect to the sufferings of Jesus.[20]

 

Pope John Paul II referred to Acts of Reparation as the "unceasing effort to stand beside the endless crosses on which the Son of God continues to be crucified".[21]

  

[edit] An example: Malta

 

The statue of Our Lady of Sorrows (or La Pietà) used during the Good Friday procession, Żejtun, MaltaThe Holy Week commemorations reach their peak on Good Friday as the Roman Catholic Church celebrates the passion of Jesus. Solemn celebrations take place in all churches together with processions in different villages around Malta and Gozo. During the celebration, the narrative of the passion is read in some localities. The Adoration of the Cross follows. Good Friday processions take place in Birgu, Bormla, Ghaxaq, Luqa, Mosta, Naxxar, Paola, Qormi, Rabat, Senglea, Valletta, Żebbuġ (Città Rohan) and Żejtun. Processions in Gozo will be in Nadur, Victoria (St. George and Cathedral), Xaghra and Żebbuġ, Gozo.

 

The following site is about Good Friday Celebration in Valletta, The Capital City of Malta. [22]

  

[edit] An example: The Philippines

In the predominantly Roman Catholic Philippines, the day is commemorated with street processions, the Way of the Cross, and a Passion play called the Senakulo. The Church keeps the day solemn by not tolling the church bells, and no Mass will be celebrated. In some communities (most famously in San Fernando, Pampanga), the processions include devotees who self-flagellate and sometimes even have themselves nailed to crosses as expressions of penance despite health issues and disapproval from the church.[23] After three o'clock in the afternoon of Good Friday (the time at which Jesus is traditionally believed to have died), noise is discouraged, some radio stations and television stations sign off, businesses automatically close, and the faithful are urged to keep a very solemn and prayerful disposition through to Easter Sunday.

 

Major television networks are paid to broadcast events at Roman Catholic parishes. These events include the reading of the Seven Last Words, the recitation of the Stations of the Cross, and the service of the Commemoration of the Lord's Passion.

  

[edit] Churches of Byzantine tradition

 

Icon of the Crucifixion, 16th century, by Theophanes the Cretan (Stavronikita Monastery, Mount Athos).Because of the penitence and sorrow associated with the Crucifixion, the Divine Liturgy is never celebrated on Good Friday, which Byzantine Christians (Eastern Orthodox and Greek-Catholics) call "Holy and Great Friday", except when this day coincides with the feast of the Annunciation (which falls on the fixed date of March 25).

 

The faithful revisit the events of the day through public reading of the Psalms and Gospels, and singing hymns about Christ's death. Rich visual imagery and symbolism as well as stirring hymnody are remarkable elements of these observances. In the Orthodox understanding, the events of Holy Week are not simply an annual commemoration of past events, but the faithful actually participate in the death and resurrection of Jesus.

 

Each hour of this day is the new suffering and the new effort of the expiatory suffering of the Savior. And the echo of this suffering is already heard in every word of our worship service - unique and incomparable both in the power of tenderness and feeling and in the depth of the boundless compassion for the suffering of the Savior. The Holy Church opens before the eyes of believers a full picture of the redeeming suffering of the Lord beginning with the bloody sweat in the Garden of Gethsemane up to the crucifixion on Golgotha. Taking us back through the past centuries in thought, the Holy Church brings us to the foot of the cross of Christ erected on Golgotha, and makes us present among the quivering spectators of all the torture of the Savior.[24]

 

Holy and Great Friday is observed as a strict fast, and adult Byzantine Christians are expected to abstain from all food and drink the entire day to the extent that their health permits. "On this Holy day neither a meal is offered nor do we eat on this day of the crucifixion. If someone is unable or has become very old [or is] unable to fast, he may be given bread and water after sunset. In this way we come to the holy commandment of the Holy Apostles not to eat on Great Friday."[24]

  

[edit] Matins of Holy and Great Friday

The Byzantine Christian observance of Holy and Great Friday, which is formally known as The Order of Holy and Saving Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, begins on Thursday night with the Matins of the Twelve Passion Gospels. Scattered throughout this Matins service are twelve readings from all four of the Gospels which recount the events of the Passion from the Last Supper through the Crucifixion the burial of Jesus. The first of these twelve readings John 13:31-18:1 is the longest Gospel reading of the year. Just before the sixth Gospel reading, which recounts Jesus being nailed to the cross, a large cross is carried out of the sanctuary by the priest, accompanied by incense and candles, and is placed in the center of the nave (where the congregation gathers), with a two-dimensional painted icon of the body of Christ (soma or corpus) affixed to it. As the cross is being carried, the priest or a chanter chants a special antiphon:

 

Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross (three times).

He who is King of the angels is arrayed in a crown of thorns.

He who wraps the heaven in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.

He who in Jordan set Adam free receives blows upon His face.

The Bridegroom of the Church is transfixed with nails.

The Son of the Virgin is pierced with a spear.

We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ (three times).

Show us also Thy glorious Resurrection.[25]

 

During the service, all come forward to kiss the feet of Christ on the cross. After the Canon, a brief, moving hymn, The Wise Thief is chanted by singers who stand at the foot of the cross in the center of the nave. The service does not end with the First Hour, as usual, but with a special dismissal by the priest.

  

[edit] Royal Hours

The next day, in the forenoon on Friday, all gather again to pray the Royal Hours, a special expanded celebration of the Little Hours (including the First Hour, Third Hour, Sixth Hour, Ninth Hour and Typica) with the addition of scripture readings (Old Testament, Epistle and Gospel) and hymns about the Crucifixion at each of the Hours (some of the material from the previous night is repeated). This service is somewhat more festive in character, and derives its name of "Royal" from both the fact that the Hours are served with more solemnity than normal, commemorating Christ the King who humbled himself for the salvation of mankind, and also from the fact that this service was in the past attended by the Emperor and his court.

  

[edit] Vespers of Holy and Great Friday

 

The epitaphios ("winding sheet"), depicting the preparation of the body of Jesus for burial.In the afternoon, around the 3 p.m. all gather for the Vespers of the Taking-Down from the Cross, commemorating the Deposition from the Cross. The Gospel reading is a concatenation taken from all four of the Gospels. During the service, the body of Christ (the soma) is removed from the cross, as the words in the Gospel reading mention Joseph of Arimathea, wrapped in a linen shroud, and taken to the altar in the sanctuary. Near the end of the service an epitaphios or "winding sheet" (a cloth embroidered with the image of Christ prepared for burial) is carried in procession to a low table in the nave which represents the Tomb of Christ; it is often decorated with an abundance of flowers. The epitaphios itself represents the body of Jesus wrapped in a burial shroud, and is a roughly full-size cloth icon of the body of Christ. Then the priest may deliver a homily and everyone comes forward to venerate the epitaphios. In the Slavic practice, at the end of Vespers, Compline is immediately served, featuring a special Canon of the Crucifixion of our Lord and the Lamentation of the Most Holy Theotokos by Symeon the Logothete.

  

[edit] Matins of Holy and Great Saturday

 

The Epitaphios being carried in procession.On Friday night, the Matins of Holy and Great Saturday, a unique service known as the The Lamentation at the Tomb (O Epitaphios Threnos) is celebrated. This service is also sometimes called Jerusalem Matins. Much of the service takes place around the tomb of Christ in the center of the nave. A unique feature of the service is the chanting of the Lamentations or Praises (Engkomia), which consist of verses chanted by the clergy interspersed between the verses of Psalm 119 (which is, by far, the longest psalm in the Bible). At the end of the Great Doxology, while the Trisagion is sung, the epitaphios is taken in procession around the outside the church, and is then returned to the tomb. Some churches observe the practice of holding the epitaphios at the door, above waist level, so the faithful most bow down under it as they come back into the church, symbolizing their entering into the death and resurrection of Christ.

 

The Troparion (hymn of the day) of Good Friday is:

 

The noble Joseph, when he had taken down Thy most pure Body from the tree, wrapped it in fine linen, and anointed it with spices, and placed it in a new tomb.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, both now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

The angel came to the myrrh-bearing women at the tomb and said:

Myrrh is fitting for the dead, but Christ has shown Himself a stranger to corruption.

  

[edit] Anglican Communion

The 1662 Book of Common Prayer did not specify a particular rite to be observed on Good Friday but local custom came to mandate an assortment of services, including the Seven Last Words from the Cross and a three-hour service consisting of Matins, Ante-communion (using the Reserved Sacrament in high church parishes) and Evensong. In recent times revised editions of the Prayer Book and Alternative Service Book have re-introduced pre-Reformation forms of observance of Good Friday corresponding to those in today's Roman Catholic Church, with special nods to the rites that had been observed in the Church of England prior to the Henrican, Edwardian and Elizabethan reforms, including Creeping to the Cross.

  

[edit] Other Protestant Traditions

Many Protestant communities hold special services on this day as well. In the German Lutheran tradition from the 16th to the 20th century, this was the most important holiday, and abstention from all worldly works was expected. Lutheranism had no restrictions on the celebration of Holy Communion on Good Friday; on the contrary, it was a prime day on which to receive Holy Communion, and services were often accentuated by special music such as the St. Matthew Passion by Lutheran Johann Sebastian Bach. Mid-20th century Lutheran liturgical practice moved away from Holy Communion celebrated on Good Friday, and among the major North American Lutheran bodies today, Holy Communion is not celebrated on Good Friday, but rather on Maundy Thursday. Moravians hold a Lovefeast on Good Friday as they receive Holy Communion on Maundy Thursday. The Methodist Church also commemorates Good Friday with a service of worship, often based on the Seven Last Words from the Cross.[26][27]

 

Some Baptist, many Sabbatarian and non-denominational churches do not celebrate Good Friday, instead observing the Crucifixion on Wednesday to coincide with the Jewish sacrifice of the Passover Lamb (which Christians believe is an Old Testament pointer to Jesus Christ). A Wednesday Crucifixion of Jesus Christ allows for Christ to be in the tomb (heart of the earth) for three days and three nights as he told the Pharisees he would be (Matthew 12:40), rather than two nights and a day if he died on Friday.

  

[edit] Customs associated with Good Friday

In many countries with a strong Christian tradition such as Bermuda, Brazil, Canada, Chile, Colombia, Peru, Mexico, the countries of the Caribbean, Germany, Malta, Australia, New Zealand[28][29][30] and the United Kingdom, the day is observed as a public or federal holiday.

 

In many English-speaking countries, most shops are closed for the day and advertising from television and radio is withdrawn to some degree.

 

In Canada, banks and government offices (at all levels) and public sector businesses are closed, along with most private sector businesses (except in Quebec).

 

In Hong Kong, all businesses and government offices are closed for a public holiday.

 

In the United States, Good Friday is not a government holiday. Private businesses and certain other institutions may close or not for Good Friday, according to their preferences. The stock market is closed on Good Friday. However, the vast majority of businesses are open on Good Friday. Some public schools may incidentally be closed on Good Friday because of the proximity of secular "spring break" holidays. The postal service operates, and banks regulated by the federal government do close for Good Friday.

  

Hot cross bunsIreland, a predominantly Catholic country, prohibits all alcohol from being sold on Good Friday. The day is a bank holiday, but not a public holiday. All pubs and many restaurants in Ireland close for the duration of the day. It is similar to Christmas Day in this regard. This tradition has come under criticism of late, with secular businesses claiming a loss in earnings by way of a religious festival. Many people cross the border to Northern Ireland to shop or visit pubs or restaurants.

 

In Germany, comedic theater performances and events which include public dancing are illegal on the day (although this restriction is enforced unevenly); cinemas and television are not affected, although many TV channels show religious material on the day. The enforcement of these rules even on non-Christians has met with increased opposition in the last decade.

 

In South Africa, the government regulates the opening of businesses and entertainment outlets on this day (as with Christmas Day). All government offices, schools and certain businesses are closed on Good Friday by law. The buying and selling of alcohol is prohibited.

 

In India, Good Friday is a Central Government as well as a State holiday, although Stock Markets are usually closed. Some other businesses are also closed in states where Christians are in the majority like Assam, Goa, and Kerala (higher percentage of Christians, even though not the majority) but the majority of businesses are open on Good Friday in rest of the country. Most schools are closed on Good Friday.

 

In Muslim-majority Indonesia, Good Friday is a national holiday. All government offices, schools and certain businesses are closed on Good Friday by law and many newspapers choose not to publish on this day. Public holiday is also observed in Singapore and in the Malaysian states of Sabah and Sarawak.

 

Eastern Orthodox Christians are not supposed to eat at all on this day and the next, while the Roman Catholic Church observes fasting and abstinence for this day as well as Ash Wednesday.

 

In many English speaking countries, hot cross buns are eaten.

 

In Bermuda, kites are flown. They are often handmade with wooden sticks, colorful tissue paper, glue, and string. The shape of the kite and the use of wood is meant to symbolize the cross that Jesus died on. Also, the kite flying in the sky symbolizes his ascension to heaven.

 

Traditionally, Roman Catholics are to abstain from eating meat every Friday of the year as penance. Nowadays, this is only a requirement during Fridays of Lent; during Fridays of the rest of the year, other methods of penance may be followed, for example an extra prayer. As a modern tradition, many Roman Catholics (and members of other Christian denominations as well) will eat fish and vegetables on Good Friday.

 

There is no horse racing on Good Friday in the UK. However, in 2008, betting shops will open for the first time. The BBC has for many years introduced its 7 am News broadcast on Radio 4 on Good Friday with a verse from Isaac Watts' hymn "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross".

 

In Sweden, Good Friday - as well as Easter Monday - is a national holiday. Some shops are open a few hours in the morning. People not particularly religious use Good Friday as a day of meeting relatives. The biggest community, Church of Sweden, does not celebrate Mass and therefore no Eucharist is distributed. Linked below is an English description of the Good Friday service. [31]

 

In Louisiana, the Cajuns have a tradition to not dig in the dirt on Good Friday.[citation needed]

  

[edit] Calculating the Date of Good Friday

Good Friday is the Friday before Easter, which is calculated differently in Eastern Christianity and Western Christianity (see Computus for details). Easter falls on the first Sunday following the Paschal Full Moon, the full moon on or after 21 March, taken to be the date of the vernal equinox. The Western calculation uses the Gregorian calendar, while the Eastern calculation uses the Julian calendar, whose 21 March now corresponds to the Gregorian calendar's 3 April. The calculations for identifying the date of the full moon also differ. See Easter Dating Method (Astronomical Society of South Australia).

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_Friday

   

I thought I knew Yarmouth, but I heard in a discussion about what was the largest parish church in England, that Great Yarmouth Minster was one that laid claim to that accolade.

 

Minster? In Yarmouth?

 

But seems there is much to the town I did not know, and clearly it needs to be further explored. But whilst in the area, riding on trains, I took and hour out to walk from the station to the Minster to have a look, if it was open.

 

Maybe they are more welcoming to visitors now, but two boards outside announcing the fact, so I went in and was stunned at the size of it, too much to take in really, but it was full of light and I was given a very warm welcome. This made a very lasting impression.

 

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The Norman-era Minster Church of St Nicholas in Great Yarmouth remains, due to its floor-surface area, England's largest parish church.[1] It was founded in 1101 by Herbert de Losinga, the first Bishop of Norwich,[2] and consecrated in 1119. Since its construction, it has been Great Yarmouth's parish church. It is cruciform, with a central tower, which may preserve a part of the original structure. Gradual alterations effectively changed the form of the building. Its nave is 26 feet (7.9 m) wide, and the church's total length is 236 feet (72 m).

In December 2011, the Bishop of Norwich officially designated it a Minster Church. It is not only used for religious services but is a hub for various other regional and civic events, including concerts by choirs, orchestras and other musical ensembles, art exhibitions and, during festivals and fayres, the church opens permitting stalls and traders inside.

  

The building, very possibly the town's oldest, is also its most visible, historic landmark. It sits in the central area of Great Yarmouth, close to the house of Anna Sewell.[2] The Transitional clerestoried nave, with columns alternately octagonal and circular, was rebuilt in the reign of King John. A portion of the chancel is of the same date. About fifty years later the aisles were widened, so that the nave is now, rather unusually, the narrowest part of the building. Immediately adjacent are two main graveyard areas: the Old Yard lies directly east behind the church, while the very substantial New Yard stretches for about half a mile to the north.

  

A grand west front with towers and pinnacles was constructed between 1330 and 1338, but a plague interrupted building extension plans. In the 16th century the ornamental brasses were cast into weights and the gravestones cut into grindstones. Within the church there were at one time 18 chapels, some maintained by guilds, others by private families, such as the Paxtons. At the Reformation the chapels were demolished and the building's valuable liturgical vessels sold off, the proceeds spent to widen the channel of the harbour.

 

During the Commonwealth period, the Independents appropriated the chancel, the Presbyterians the north aisle, while Churchmen were allowed the remainder of the building. The interior brick walls, erected at this time to separate the different portions of the building, remained until 1847. In 1864 the tower was restored, and the east end of the chancel rebuilt; between 1869 and 1870 the south aisle was rebuilt; and in 1884 the south transept, the west end of the nave and the north aisle underwent restoration.

 

During the Second World War, the building was bombed and nearly destroyed by fire. It was rebuilt by the architect Stephen Dykes Bower and re-consecrated in 1961. During reconstruction, the church temporarily used St Peter's Church on St Peter's Road. When St Nicholas re-opened, attendance at St Peter's declined until the 1960s, when a growing Greek community had use of it, and in 1981 it became St Spiridon's Greek Orthodox Church.

On 2 October 2011, the Lord Bishop of Norwich Graham James raised St. Nicholas to the status of a Minster Church, so marked on 9 December 2011 during the town's Civic Carol Service. Its formal title is now the Minster Church of St. Nicholas, Great Yarmouth.

On 13 October 2014 a memorial stone was unveiled to commemorate the deaths of thirteen people in 1981 Bristow Helicopters Westland Wessex crash.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Yarmouth_Minster

 

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I do like Great Yarmouth. More than anywhere else in East Anglia, with the possible exception of Kings Lynn, you feel that this is a place which has broken the surly bonds of proximity to London, which is, after all, fewer than 150 miles away, and instead yearns out for the sea, and Europe. Yarmouth takes its name from the mouth of the River Yare: tightly crammed onto a narrow tongue of land, surrounded on three sides by water, it retains its endearingly shabby character and a sense of its own singular history, despite the best efforts of the Luftwaffe and the Borough planners, who over the last half-century must rank as some of the most neglectful and bone-headed planners of any of England's medium-sized towns.

Great Yarmouth has a seedy brashness, a jollity which overwrites the hard times it has suffered, and it has suffered indeed: the town lost a greater percentage of its houses to German bombing during the Second World War than any other town in England. The disappearance of the fishing industry led to an unemployment rate of mining town proportions, and the rugged working class character of the town, without any significant areas of middle class villas or suburban metroland, has often been a poor advocate for itself.

 

Can there be a more hauntingly lovely town centre street in East Anglia than South Quay? On one side are the confident 19th and early 20th century buildings, the town hall, the banks, the merchants' houses, the town pubs, while on the other side is the quay of the steely, silent Yare, the great ships parked opposite the buildings. For Great Yarmouth is still a major port, and the warehouses on the Southtown side remind those who pass beneath the great red brick buildings on the far bank exactly where all this prosperity came from.

 

And a twenty minute walk will take you across the heart of the town to Yarmouth's wide, white, sandy beaches, for today this is above all else a seaside town, of course. And while the beaches are by no means as lovely as those of Lowestoft ten miles to the south, nothing can beat Yarmouth for the sheer number of its amusement arcades, its fairgrounds, its candy floss stands and its cheap tat shops. Kiss me quick and squeeze me slow: this feels like the seaside used to, like it ought to, before we got all sophisticated about such matters. It reminds me of my childhood. In summer, all Norwich seems to come here for a cheap and cheerful day out, and you cannot get a seat on the train for love nor money.

 

When I first knew Great Yarmouth as a child in the 1970s, the roads to the north of the town centre were lined with small hotels, and while these certainly still exist, the days when thousands of people came to Great Yarmouth for a two week holiday are now gone. The former hotels are now residential care homes, or divided up into flats and bedsits, which are still not called apartments, thank goodness. The vast coach park immediately to the north of the town centre is still discernible as the site of Yarmouth Beach station, which brought the holiday-makers here. In those days, Great Yarmouth had three railway stations, but now there is only one, with its single line playing host to an hourly shuttle into Norwich.

 

That the demand for cheap meals and takeaway food has not diminished is testified to by the large population of Greeks, mainly from Cyprus; they started arriving here during the days of the fascist dictatorship and the war in the 1970s. The vast former Anglican parish church of St Peter, redundant in the 1980s, has been happily reborn as the Greek Orthodox church of St Spiridon. Today, especially in the area to the south of the town centre, you are as likely to hear Greek spoken on the streets as English. And what English! This must be one of the last towns in England with a strong, identifiable accent of its own - people do not have Norfolk accents here, they have Great Yarmouth accents, which stand out in the streets of sophisticated Norwich as much as voices from Birmingham or Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

 

People who have never been here know Great Yarmouth from books, especially the opening few chapters of Charles Dickens's David Copperfield, for here it was that the Peggoty family lived in an upturned boat on the beach, and here it was that David was happy. Dickens was writing in the 1840s about a Great Yarmouth of a quarter of a century earlier, and you will find few traces of Dickens's Yarmouth today. Great Yarmouth underwent a massive building boom in the 1860s, and this and the modern era define its character above all else. But wandering around the Middlegate area you may be struck by how, among the dull and often crass buildings of the 1960s and 1970s, there is occasionally some extraordinary survival, a 16th century house wider at the top than the bottom, perhaps, or an early medieval tollhouse, or a grand 18th century frontage with a perfunctory building tacked on behind. This was the heart of the area destroyed by a succession of German bombing raids in 1941 and 1942. Because of Great Yarmouth's singular situation on a spit of land, its population lived crammed into narrow alleys called rows, many early medieval in origin, the bulk built in the 15th and 16th centuries. This unique medieval townscape of perhaps 140 rows survived up until those fateful nights. It was almost completely destroyed, with a consequent heavy loss of life. Hauntingly, several bombed buildings have been left exactly as they were after the destruction, in a railed off area behind the replacement Unitarian church.

 

It is easy to forget quite how prosperous Great Yarmouth was during the medieval period. As Bill Wilson reminds us in the revised Pevsner, at the time of the 1334 merchant's tax register, Yarmouth raised more in the subsidy than either Norwich or Lynn, which a hundred years before had been exceptionally prosperous places. Only York, Bristol and London were richer than Yarmouth on the eve of the Black Death; the town had provided three times more sailors for the attack on Calais than London, and in 1348 there were 220 boats on the Yare river mouth. But the following year the Black Death wiped out perhaps two-thirds of the townsfolk, and it would take Yarmouth hundreds of years to recover its former prosperity.

 

It was at this time that the town walls were completed, and it is still possible to trace the course of the walls today, especially to the south of the town. On three sides, the walls defended Yarmouth from the sea, on which it resolutely turned its back; on the river side, there was no wall. Within the walls, at its widest and most northerly point, the town had its market place, still a busy one, and further north than that, looking down the length of the market place, over the rows, the warehouse, along the river and out to the sea, they built a great church, dedicated to the patron saint of sailors, St Nicholas.

 

A hundred miles up the east coast is the great port city of Hull, which dwarfs the town of Great Yarmouth, but with which Great Yarmouth otherwise shares very much in common. There, the great late 15th Century church of Holy Trinity is claimed as the country's biggest, which may well be true in terms of its sheer bulk. But here in Yarmouth the medieval merchant wealth had done better than that, and here it was that, in terms of floor area, the burghers of Yarmouth built the largest church in England.

 

Whereas the Hull church towers over and dominates the medieval street plan, here in Great Yarmouth St Nicholas seems to sprawl, its width and length dwarfing the central tower. Holy Trinity is fully in proportion, a typical late medieval church writ large, but St Nicholas is not. This great building has an idiosyncrasy, and to visit it is to see a church in a new way. There are several reasons for this, not least that this building was largely complete a full 150 years before Holy Trinity. There is no clerestory, and hardly any of the language of Perpendicular which would inform and shape so many of England's great urban churches. The setting of the building below the level of the market place means that the overall impression is of the green of the vast copper roofs. To see it in the low sun of a cold winter's afternoon, with the stone and flintwork glowing and the frost beginning to gleam on the parapets, is to see one of East Anglia's most beautiful urban sights, I think.

 

Walking around the outside of the building is a not inconsiderable task, and you soon become acquainted with the rhythm of the flintwork, windows and stone dressing, which make it feel that it is all of a piece, which is an illusion, although there are reasons for it. The west front is vast, but hidden by trees and in any case visible only from a minor road.To the east of the chancel is a haunting 1840s gravestone which tells us that beneath this Stone rests two Babes that brought Happiness to their Parents although they are Dead. I wondered if Dickens had ever spotted it. And as you come back round to the south porch you'll find one of England's most unusual 19th century gravestones. It remembers George Beloe, a nine year old boy who was unfortunately drowned when the suspension bridge over the Bure, just outside of Yarmouth, collapsed in 1845. A large crowd had gathered on the bridge to watch a clown float down the river in a barrel pulled by geese, and the bridge collapsed when they surged from one side to the other as he went under. The full death toll was never known, because many of the victims must have been washed out to sea by the fast-flowing current. Seventy-nine bodies were recovered, most of them children. What makes George Beloe's headstone extraordinary is that it depicts, in stone relief, the collapse of the bridge. Now eroded by weather after more than a century and a half, you can still make out the two ends of the bridge, and the eye of God looking down as the deck collapses into the Bure.

 

Having made your circumnavigation, you can now step through the huge porch, which faces the market place, into the interior of this extraordinary building. You may know already what to expect, but if you do not then you will be struck by how outstandingly light and clean the interior is. As your eyes adjust to the great distances, you may then notice the curious pattern of the arcades which open and close vistas as you begin to wander, as if this was a maze of vast, low rooms. And then you would notice the jaunty, bleached Festival of Britain feel of the furnishings, the acreage of modern glass, most of it very good, and the uncluttered simplicity, and then it will strike you - there is nothing old here.

 

On the night of 24th June 1942, St Nicholas was completely destroyed by German bombing. All that was left standing were the outer walls and the tower, in danger of collapse. The stonework was utterly calcined by the fierce heat. In a town which had suffered so much over the previous twelve months, it was a greivous loss, and it would be almost twenty years before St Nicholas was open for business again. Essentially, it had to be rebuilt, using the surviving walls and tower. The chosen design was that of a relatively minor architect, but a man who would be responsible for the two great East Anglian church architectural controversies of the 20th Century, Stephen Dykes Bower.

 

It is inevitable that a comparison should be made with Coventry Cathedral, which also replaced a bombed predecessor. The two buildings are about the same size, the work was carried out over the same period of years in the late 1950s, and the two buildings opened just a year apart. But while Basil Spence's Coventry Cathedral is a fabulous, iconic structure in the spirit of the age and in the full flush of post-war enthusiasm, St Nicholas at first appears little more than an exercise in pedantic and ponderous medievalism. As Bill Wilson points out, the £315,000 awarded by the War Damage Commission here was but a quarter of the money allotted to Coventry, but he also recalls Pevsner's scathing attack on the design: What an opportunity was lost! What thrilling things might have been done inside! A modern interior, airy, noble, of fine materials could have arisen to affirm the vitality of C20 church architecture inside the C13 walls. How defeatist does the imitation-Gothic interior appear, once this has been realized!

 

And Pevsner was not alone. The main criticism seemed to be that, while the opportunity had not been taken to produce something brave and modernist, the rebuilding was also not true to the principles and details of the Gothic which had been there before. Instead, Dykes Bower made up his own Gothic, particularly in the arcades and tracery. It is a simple Gothic, stripped of detail and without the clutter beloved of the 19th Century revival. Coventry Cathedral's design was startling and newsworthy, and the great artists of the day were commissioned to provide its fixtures and fittings. It has come to represent a city which otherwise projects a rather vague image to the world. But Great Yarmouth is not Coventry, and there is a big difference between the urban church of a relatively small and insular town and the Cathedral of a great diocese. It is perhaps unfair that Coventry's Cathedral is still viewed today as a phoenix risen from the ashes in a way that Great Yarmouth's church can never be, despite the near-identical circumstances. But that's not all. Bill Wilson, writing in 1991, concludes that the problem with the concept is the lack of assertive detail and the fact that so large a space needs to be filled with plenty of furnishings. Unhappily, there are hardly any...

 

And yet, and yet. When I step into St Nicholas now, I find myself thrilled by the cool light, the almost monastic simplicity. Apart from the hideous organ, the open spaces are barely punctuated, and there is something timeless and eternal about the silence. Dykes Bower's arcades are hardly there, vanishing into the whiteness above and the simplicity of the bare wood roofs. Through the crossing the jewel-like chancel glows, almost beckoning. From the other direction the west window does exactly the same. What Pevsner could not have foreseen is that this building is entirely suited to modern Anglican spirituality which has extended in recent years beyond mere congregational worship. And he also could not have foreseen how we would come to view the simplicity of Dykes Bower's design, the white walls, the lack of detail, the stripped, bleached wood and the cool, hard floors as being exactly symptomatic of the 1960s, the decade which gave this new building its birth. For this, I like it very much, not least because it was reopened on 8th May 1961, the day I was born.

 

Perhaps best of all I like the range of glass around the east and west windows by Brian Thomas. They are all of a piece, installed for the reopening. There can be few modern schemes outside of the cathedrals on so vast a scale, and yet they are elaborate, detailed and intimate. This great, light building is the perfect setting for them. The east window depicts the Crucifixion, surrounded by scenes from the Passion. In the north aisles are the joyful mysteries of the Christ story, from the Annunciation to the Presentation, while in the south aisles is the salvation story from Adam and Eve to Christ's mission. At the west end are the sacraments.

 

There are effectively four aisles, two either side of the church, which extend up to beyond the crossing. The aisles each side become conjoined as they flank the nave itself, making the nave appear narrow and tall in comparison, despite what we know to be true of it. The triple lancet of the west window aids this illusion. Below it, the Norman font is from a redundant Wiltshire church, and looks most un-East Anglian. There are small artworks and minor survivals dotted about, but they do not intrude. The early 18th century pulpit came from St George, a few hundred metres to the south, now closed. The pews in the central part of the nave are also from St George, and although they are simple they strike a jarring note. Modern chairs would be better. Dykes Bower screened off the south chancel chapel to create a space for private prayer, and this doesn't work as well as it might, creating an obstruction within the otherwise openness of the east end. The garishly painted organ is also his.

 

But this is a place to wander - despite the vast scale I found I had circumnavigated the interior three times without really noticing. It struck me then quite how much Dykes Bower must have intended this - he was designing a great town church interior, and looking across the water to Holland and Belgium as much as to anywhere else in England. He wanted a church that opened onto the market place, into which shoppers could come for a sit down and even a prayer, a building whose open spaces would be wandered through. Having told you all of this, I expect you are already making plans to come to Great Yarmouth and visit this church for yourself as soon as you possibly can. You may be aghast to learn, then, that this wonderful structure is hardly ever open to the public. At present, you can only visit on a Saturday morning: otherwise, it is merely the private, vastly-subsidised venue of a small group of Sunday worshippers. Nothing could be more short-sighted, and little could be more shameful.

 

For, while the mission of the Church of England is increasingly seen as to the whole people of God and not just to its registered members, and churches all over England are making themselves open to pilgrims and strangers wanting to feel a sense of the numinous and even perhaps to be open to a spirituality which may or may not be Christian but which is at least a yearning for God, the people of Great Yarmouth are locked out of their own church from day to day. They can at least visit the Catholic church of St Mary, which has a sign saying, curiously, that the church is open as often as possible, but that is a small Victorian building, and cannot compare with St Nicholas which is, after all, the heart and soul of Great Yarmouth's history, a touchstone down its long generations.

 

But if you can get inside, and if you stand beneath the crossing looking westwards, the view is typical: clean, clear, full of light and gravitas with a sense of prayerfulness and even of mystery. There is enough to convince. This building does not feel defeatist; if anything, it was a rather brave approach to the problem. But few people saw it like that at the time, and few people did in the years after. It must be said that Dykes Bower did not go out of his way to win friends in the modernist world - as his wikipedia entry says of him, he was a devoted and determined champion of the Gothic Revival style through its most unpopular years. And yet, he had the last laugh. When he finished here, he spent the next two decades overseeing the transformation of the church of St James at Bury St Edmunds into a fitting cathedral for the Diocese of St Edmundsbury and Ipswich. His is the chancel there, his the transepts, the side chapels and the north ambulatory, all in his own faux-gothic style. And when he died in 1994 he left a cool two million pounds to the Diocese for the construction of a huge Gothic central tower over the crossing of the cathedral. The Diocese spent another ten years or so raising the extra needed, which was fairly controversial in those years when the CofE was haemorraging cash left, right and centre. Despite the voices against it, the tower was built, entirely to Dykes Bower's fancy, and the gleaming white edifice now towers over Bury as if it had been there for half a millennium or more.

 

Simon Knott, October 2010

 

www.norfolkchurches.co.uk/gynicholas/gynicholas.htm

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

Albert Maurice (the multi-coloured bouquet at his resting place toward the right)

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

 

Philippe Winnen

À mon cher papa

13-11-1904 6-7-1943

To my dear papa

13 November 1904 - 6 July 1943

- Lulu

 

The 'Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot'

 

Memorial and graves of resistance heroes and martyrs - brave Jews, brave Christians, dissidents, anti-fascists, socialists, rebels, samizdat journalists and organisers - those who dared to question and fight oppression, and the evil Powers That Be.

 

Here you see the faces of my brothers, my own dear family, my partners in fighting sheer political evil - resting in their graves here, in perhaps the most poignant place in all of Brussels, Belgium. Here lie those in Belgium who were shot fighting the Nazis of the 1940s - as I myself have nearly been killed fighting the more recent fascists, some of the 'new Nazis' of the 21st century.

 

Shortly after I arrived in Brussels as a political refugee from the US, under threat of murder by far-right political figures, this is one of the first places I visited. I came here to weep some tears amid the companionship of my anti-fascist comrades, who also looked death in the eye as they tried to speak and act for what is right.

 

The camera used here, and the chance to make these photos, are gifts of the brave dissident US Jewish physician, Dr Moshe 'Moss' David Posner, who risked and gambled his own life, to support me and help keep me alive in the face of threats by neo-Nazi assassins.

 

These are photos from the daily life of writer and political refugee from the US, Dr Les (Leslie) Sachs - photos documenting my new beloved home city of Brussels, Belgium, my life among the people and Kingdom who have given me safety in the face of the threats to destroy me. Brussels has a noble history of providing a safe haven to other dissident refugee writers, such as Victor Hugo, Karl Marx, Charles Baudelaire, and Alexandre Dumas, and I shall forever be grateful that Brussels and Belgium have helped to protect my own life as well.

 

(To read about the efforts to silence me and my journalism, the attacks on me, the smears and the threats, see the website by European journalists "About Les Sachs" linked in my Flickr profile, and press articles such as "Two EU Writers Under Threat of Murder: Roberto Saviano and Dr Les Sachs".)

 

This extremely moving memorial and gravesite, is known locally as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusillerden (Brussels is bi-lingual French- and Dutch-speaking, so place names are given in both languages here.) - In English, the name is perhaps best rendered as the "Park of Honour of Those Who Were Shot".

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden includes many martyrs of the Belgian resistance of World War II, being both their gravesite and also the place where many of them were shot to death by a Nazi firing squad. - And it is also a memorial and the place of death, of other heroic figures who were shot to death in the previous German occupation of Belgium during World War I. One heroine from the First World War who was shot by the Germans and is now commemorated here, is the famous British nurse Edith Cavell.

 

The reason that this was a convenient place of execution by firing squad, is that it was originally part of a Belgian military training area and rifle range that existed here once upon a time, and you still see here the tall hillside that served as an earthen 'backstop' to safely absorb high-powered rifle bullets. The hillside was thus ready-made for the German commandants who occupied Brussels in both wars, to carry out their firing-squad executions.

 

Nowadays, the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden appears quite 'central' in urban Brussels, as it lies in the Schaerbeek - Schaarbeek commune, directly in the path from the EU institution area toward the roads that lead to the airport, and very near to the 90-metre high VRT-RTBF communications tower that has long been a major Brussels landmark.

 

The Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden is walking distance from the eastern Brussels 'prémétro', which is a grouping of tram lines that run underground for several stops on both the eastern and western sides of the Brussels city centre, supplementing the regular métro underground system with a similarly high frequency of service and also underground. If you continue along the prémétro lines south from the Diamant stop which is near the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you shortly arrive at the elaborate 19th-century military barracks buildings which once housed the soldiers who used the rifle range and parade grounds, which later become the place of martyrdom for members of the anti-Nazi resistance.

 

This is a place of great emotion for me personally, because the resistance martyrs who lie in these graves - a number of them socialists, journalists and with Jewish-heritage, critics of corruption just like myself - are my comrades in my own ordeal. I barely escaped alive out of the USA, nearly murdered by neo-Nazi-linked thugs, who themselves spoke favourably of Hitler as they moved toward killing me, as well as trying to ban my ability to write and speak.

 

It is sad that this place, Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is very little visited nowadays. Most of the time when I come here to contemplate and shed a few tears amid my comrades, and also to gain strength from their brave spirits, I am alone. Many of the family members and children of those who died or are buried here, have now themselves often passed away.

 

But on occasion there are people visiting, and on one day I was privileged to meet the daughter of one of the resistance martyrs who is buried here. She spoke to me of being a little girl, and seeing the Nazis arrest her father inside their home. She spoke about how they tied his hands behind his back, and yet how bravely he looked at her one last time. - She never saw her father alive again, and she is now in her seventies. - But when she spoke of her father, her voice grew energised and strong. She said she remembered the day of her father's arrest like if it was yesterday. And as she spoke, I could feel it and almost see it, as if I had been there myself.

 

The heroes in these graves are quite alive for me still. I am a religious man, a person of faith, and I believe in the life hereafter. - Many people have been afraid to help me, abandoning me to be murdered by the powerful forces of the American government - people too frightened to dare oppose the deadly US power of global assassination, the vicious US global media slandering of a dissident's reputation - Yet when I walk here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, I feel myself amid a powerful throng of comrades, among brave people who understand me, people who know what it is like to be menaced with murder and to look death straight in the eye. - I feel the spirits in these graves support me and sustain me, that they welcome me as one among themselves.

 

It is my privilege now to honour these brave companions of mine, giving their memory some further renown and support. And I have wanted very much to do so, as the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden still is in need of expanded documentation on the Web, before some of what can be seen here fades away much further.

 

One of the most powerful aspects of visiting this tree-lined and grassy cemetery and memorial, is that you see on a number of the grave markers, not only names and comments from loved ones, but in some cases actual pictures of these brave people, pictures rendered into sepia-type photos on porcelain. Though efforts were made to make these photographs permanent, the elements and the years and decades have taken their toll. Many of the pictures are now faded, or cracked, or broken, or fallen on the ground from their mountings. In one case I held a cracked porcelain image together with one hand, while taking the photo with the other hand. The years are passing, and I have wanted to document the faces of these brave heroes before they disappear, before time takes a greater toll on this place of sacred honour.

 

You look into the eyes of these brave people, and you see and feel the spirit of true bravery, of genuine resistance of oppression, resistance to the point of death, their hope that sacrificing one's own life in the fight, will yet do some good for others in the world. Look into their eyes, and you see their faces, faces of real people, quite like anyone in some ways, but in other ways very special, with a light in them that carries far beyond their own death - people who yet had the fire of faith in that Greater than mere earthly existence.

 

In this hillside that you see in the photos - the hillside in front of which many of these heroes stood in the moment as they were shot to death - in that hillside is a large memorial marker to the heroes of World War I who died here. On that marker it says:

 

Ici tomberent

sous les balles allemandes

35 héros victimes de leur

attachement à la patrie

 

Hier vielen

onder de duitse kogels

35 helden ten offer

aan hun liefde voor het vaderland

 

Here fell 35 heroes

who offered their lives

for their country

shot by the Germans

 

You'll notice that the 4th name down on the marker is that of Edith Louisa Cavell (1865-1915), with just her initial and last name and the date of her death here, on 12 October 1915:

 

Cavell E. 12-10-1915

 

The banners that you see here, in the colours of red, yellow, and black, are in the three colours of the national flag of Belgium

 

There are 17 rows of graves here at the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, 12 on the upper level closer to the hillside, and then five on the lower level below. Between the upper and lower levels is an obelisk serving as a kind of centre for the memorial as a whole. On the obelisk it says, on one side in Dutch, on the other side in French:

 

Opgericht door de Verbroedering van de Vriendenkringen der Nazikampenen Gevangenissen

XXVe Verjaring

April 1970

 

Erigé par le Fraternelle des Amicales de Camps et Prisons Nazis

XXVe Anniversaire

April 1970

 

In English this would be:

Constructed by the Association of Friends of Those in the Nazi Camps and Prisons

25th Anniversary

April 1970

 

Around this obelisk lay some faded but still visibly grand wreaths, placed here by the highest figures of Belgian public life. One great wreath at the centre, placed here by the King of the Belgians, Albert II, and his wife Paola, whose royal household has very quietly but effectively supplied some of the protection for me in Belgium, that has so far prevented me from being murdered here by foreign powers. - You see the ribbon say simply 'Albert - Paola'.

 

And another large wreath has a ribbon saying 'la Gouvernement - de Regering', from the government of Belgium.

 

Though many of the resistance martyrs buried here, were shot by firing squad right on this spot, a number of these martyrs died in other places, most especially in the Belgian concentration camp at Breendonk (Breendonck), which due to its stone structure is one of the best-preserved Nazi concentration camps. Breendonk can be visited today, about 40 kilometres north of Brussels in the direction of Antwerp, very near the Willebroek train station.

 

Among the graves here, a number are of heroes of the anti-Nazi resistance whose names are unknown: 'Inconnu - Onbekend' say the grave markers in French and in Dutch. In one row, there are six unknowns side-by-side; and then the entire final last row of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, is all the resting place of unknown heroes, 21 altogether.

 

In any struggle against oppressive government, there are often unknown heroes. - And as I myself am a victim of brutal deceptive media smear campaigns, as well as the US regime ordering search engines to suppress my own websites, I can testify as to how hard the evil powers work, to try to see that those who fight the system, remain unknown, or else smeared and slandered with propaganda and lies.

 

There are perhaps yet other heroes of the World War II resistance, whose anonymous graves somewhere, may yet one day be found. One of the photos here is of a maintenance area by the side, where fresh grave markers are ready, some with crosses, some with a star of David, awaiting use for some other hero whose remains are yet to be discovered.

 

In addition to the photographs on the grave markers, which speak for themselves, a number of the graves are also marked with heartfelt statements by those who loved and honoured them. Most are in French, and with photos where there are such engraved statements, there are transcriptions of what you find, along with a translation.

 

Many of these resistance martyrs to the Nazis who lie here, are of course Jewish. The majority are Christians of Belgium, but a significant proportion of the heroes who lie here, are Jewish resistance martyrs of the Holocaust. And even more than one from the same family - the Livchitz brothers who lie here. Moreover, some of the Christians who are buried here, are of Jewish heritage as well - as I am myself, a unitarian Christian.

 

My own heritage on my mother's side is Jewish, and it was my commitment to honour the memory of relatives and other Jews who died in the Holocaust, that led to my being forced to become a political refugee from the United States. - Back when living in the US, I received a letter threatening the book-burning of the books of this Jewish-heritage writer, and I responded strongly. A few weeks later my freedom to speak and write was banned, and threats to extort and murder me were put in motion. This story has been told in other places (see link to press articles in my profile), but suffice it to say here, that it was my honouring the memory of murdered Jews, which led me to be a Jewish-heritage political refugee today in Brussels.

 

Though I am unitarian Christian by faith, the old Jewish sites of Brussels and Belgium strike deep chords within me, as I very much feel the spirit of the Jews who suffered and died under the kind of racist threats I have also suffered.

 

One of the things I am often-asked, as a Jewish-heritage political refugee, is why the Jewish groups and Jewish leaders, do not say or do more to defend me, against the threats to have me murdered, against the lies and hoaxes spread about me, against the blocking of my own journalism sites from the internet search engines. - For example, in my efforts to stay alive these last few years, I have received much more comfort and assistance and support from brave Muslims, than from the Jewish people who share my own heritage.

 

There are two main reasons for this kind of neglect of someone like myself by Jewish leaders. One is that I am not a political Zionist - I favour peace and justice for all the residents of the ancient holy lands of Palestine. - A second reason, is that there is a sad heritage among Jewish people, to stand by and do nothing while other Jews are attacked by the dominant power of the day. - It was that way in the old pogroms of Eastern Europe, it was that way under the Nazi-era exterminations, and it is that way today regarding the case of the United States. - Since it is the US regime which has been attacking me and forcing me to be a refugee here, Jewish 'leadership' simply does not want to confront the USA. Given that I am a non-Zionist, and a unitarian Christian in faith, well, that settles it as far as Jewish leaders are concerned, and they turn away and say nothing.

 

There are still some brave Jews, however, like one brave Orthodox Jewish physician in America, a friend who has helped me to be able to be here now, supplying these photographs of the Jewish and other martyrs of anti-Nazi resistance.

 

And the Jewish heritage is there in me, and I am glad I honoured the memory of the Holocaust dead, even though it led me into terrible sufferings at the hands of US political figures and the US regime.

 

There is a sense of profound spiritual achievement that I have, as I place on-line this historical record of the martyrs of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden. It is perhaps only by the grace of God that I was able to escape the US alive, from the clutches of the people menacing to illegally jail me and murder me in a US jail cell. - My now being able to honour the memory of my fellow anti-fascist figures in Belgium, who were shot dead by the Nazis of an earlier era, feels to me to be one of the important purposes, for which I was kept alive by divine hands.

 

To visit the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden, you can walk about 600 metres from the Diamant 'prémétro' or underground tram stop which includes tram lines 23, 24, and 25. If you wish to get even closer by bus, you can take buses number 12, 21, or 79 the two stops from Diamant to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg bus shelter sign. Alternatively, if you are in the EU area, you can take these same buses 12, 21 or 79 directly from the Schuman métro station by the EU's main Berlaymont building. Another route is that bus 80 from the Mérode metro station will also take you directly to the Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourg stop. A few tens of metres west of where the bus halts, along the rue Colonel Bourg - Kolonel Bourgstraat, you see the sign directing to the entrance of the Enclos des Fusillés - Ereperk der Gefusilleerden.

 

Gautama Buddha, also known as Siddhārtha Gautama, Shakyamuni, or simply the Buddha, was a sage on whose teachings Buddhism was founded. He is believed to have lived and taught mostly in northeastern India sometime between the sixth and fourth centuries BCE.

 

The word Buddha means "awakened one" or "the enlightened one". "Buddha" is also used as a title for the first awakened being in a Yuga era. In most Buddhist traditions, Siddhartha Gautama is regarded as the Supreme Buddha (Pali sammāsambuddha, Sanskrit samyaksaṃbuddha) of the present age. Gautama taught a Middle Way between sensual indulgence and the severe asceticism found in the śramaṇa movement common in his region. He later taught throughout regions of eastern India such as Magadha and Kosala.

 

Gautama is the primary figure in Buddhism and accounts of his life, discourses, and monastic rules are believed by Buddhists to have been summarized after his death and memorized by his followers. Various collections of teachings attributed to him were passed down by oral tradition and first committed to writing about 400 years later.

 

CONTENTS

HISTORICAL SIDDHARTA GAUTAMA

Scholars are hesitant to make unqualified claims about the historical facts of the Buddha's life. Most accept that he lived, taught and founded a monastic order during the Mahajanapada era during the reign of Bimbisara, the ruler of the Magadha empire, and died during the early years of the reign of Ajasattu, who was the successor of Bimbisara, thus making him a younger contemporary of Mahavira, the Jain tirthankara. Apart from the Vedic Brahmins, the Buddha's lifetime coincided with the flourishing of other influential śramaṇa schools of thoughts like Ājīvika, Cārvāka, Jainism, and Ajñana. It was also the age of influential thinkers like Mahavira, Pūraṇa Kassapa , Makkhali Gosāla, Ajita Kesakambalī, Pakudha Kaccāyana, and Sañjaya Belaṭṭhaputta, whose viewpoints the Buddha most certainly must have been acquainted with and influenced by. Indeed, Sariputta and Moggallāna, two of the foremost disciples of the Buddha, were formerly the foremost disciples of Sañjaya Belaṭṭhaputta, the skeptic. There is also evidence to suggest that the two masters, Alara Kalama and Uddaka Ramaputta, were indeed historical figures and they most probably taught Buddha two different forms of meditative techniques. While the general sequence of "birth, maturity, renunciation, search, awakening and liberation, teaching, death" is widely accepted, there is less consensus on the veracity of many details contained in traditional biographies.

 

The times of Gautama's birth and death are uncertain. Most historians in the early 20th century dated his lifetime as circa 563 BCE to 483 BCE. More recently his death is dated later, between 411 and 400 BCE, while at a symposium on this question held in 1988, the majority of those who presented definite opinions gave dates within 20 years either side of 400 BCE for the Buddha's death. These alternative chronologies, however, have not yet been accepted by all historians.

 

The evidence of the early texts suggests that Siddhārtha Gautama was born into the Shakya clan, a community that was on the periphery, both geographically and culturally, of the northeastern Indian subcontinent in the 5th century BCE. It was either a small republic, in which case his father was an elected chieftain, or an oligarchy, in which case his father was an oligarch. According to the Buddhist tradition, Gautama was born in Lumbini, nowadays in modern-day Nepal, and raised in the Shakya capital of Kapilavastu, which may have been in either present day Tilaurakot, Nepal or Piprahwa, India. He obtained his enlightenment in Bodh Gaya, gave his first sermon in Sarnath, and died in Kushinagar.

 

No written records about Gautama have been found from his lifetime or some centuries thereafter. One Edict of Asoka, who reigned from circa 269 BCE to 232 BCE, commemorates the Emperor's pilgrimage to the Buddha's birthplace in Lumbini. Another one of his edicts mentions several Dhamma texts, establishing the existence of a written Buddhist tradition at least by the time of the Maurya era and which may be the precursors of the Pāli Canon. The oldest surviving Buddhist manuscripts are the Gandhāran Buddhist texts, reported to have been found in or around Haḍḍa near Jalalabad in eastern Afghanistan and now preserved in the British Library. They are written in the Gāndhārī language using the Kharosthi script on twenty-seven birch bark manuscripts and date from the first century BCE to the third century CE.

 

TRADITIONAL BIOGRAPHIES

BIOGRAPHICAL SOURCES

The sources for the life of Siddhārtha Gautama are a variety of different, and sometimes conflicting, traditional biographies. These include the Buddhacarita, Lalitavistara Sūtra, Mahāvastu, and the Nidānakathā. Of these, the Buddhacarita is the earliest full biography, an epic poem written by the poet Aśvaghoṣa, and dating around the beginning of the 2nd century CE. The Lalitavistara Sūtra is the next oldest biography, a Mahāyāna/Sarvāstivāda biography dating to the 3rd century CE. The Mahāvastu from the Mahāsāṃghika Lokottaravāda tradition is another major biography, composed incrementally until perhaps the 4th century CE. The Dharmaguptaka biography of the Buddha is the most exhaustive, and is entitled the Abhiniṣkramaṇa Sūtra, and various Chinese translations of this date between the 3rd and 6th century CE. The Nidānakathā is from the Theravada tradition in Sri Lanka and was composed in the 5th century by Buddhaghoṣa.

 

From canonical sources, the Jataka tales, the Mahapadana Sutta (DN 14), and the Achariyabhuta Sutta (MN 123) which include selective accounts that may be older, but are not full biographies. The Jātakas retell previous lives of Gautama as a bodhisattva, and the first collection of these can be dated among the earliest Buddhist texts. The Mahāpadāna Sutta and Achariyabhuta Sutta both recount miraculous events surrounding Gautama's birth, such as the bodhisattva's descent from the Tuṣita Heaven into his mother's womb.

 

NATURE OF TRADITIONAL DEPICTIONS

In the earliest Buddhists texts, the nikāyas and āgamas, the Buddha is not depicted as possessing omniscience (sabbaññu) nor is he depicted as being an eternal transcendent (lokottara) being. According to Bhikkhu Analayo, ideas of the Buddha's omniscience (along with an increasing tendency to deify him and his biography) are found only later, in the Mahayana sutras and later Pali commentaries or texts such as the Mahāvastu. In the Sandaka Sutta, the Buddha's disciple Ananda outlines an argument against the claims of teachers who say they are all knowing while in the Tevijjavacchagotta Sutta the Buddha himself states that he has never made a claim to being omniscient, instead he claimed to have the "higher knowledges" (abhijñā). The earliest biographical material from the Pali Nikayas focuses on the Buddha's life as a śramaṇa, his search for enlightenment under various teachers such as Alara Kalama and his forty five year career as a teacher.

 

Traditional biographies of Gautama generally include numerous miracles, omens, and supernatural events. The character of the Buddha in these traditional biographies is often that of a fully transcendent (Skt. lokottara) and perfected being who is unencumbered by the mundane world. In the Mahāvastu, over the course of many lives, Gautama is said to have developed supra-mundane abilities including: a painless birth conceived without intercourse; no need for sleep, food, medicine, or bathing, although engaging in such "in conformity with the world"; omniscience, and the ability to "suppress karma". Nevertheless, some of the more ordinary details of his life have been gathered from these traditional sources. In modern times there has been an attempt to form a secular understanding of Siddhārtha Gautama's life by omitting the traditional supernatural elements of his early biographies.

 

Andrew Skilton writes that the Buddha was never historically regarded by Buddhist traditions as being merely human:

It is important to stress that, despite modern Theravada teachings to the contrary (often a sop to skeptical Western pupils), he was never seen as being merely human. For instance, he is often described as having the thirty-two major and eighty minor marks or signs of a mahāpuruṣa, "superman"; the Buddha himself denied that he was either a man or a god; and in the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta he states that he could live for an aeon were he asked to do so.The ancient Indians were generally unconcerned with chronologies, being more focused on philosophy. Buddhist texts reflect this tendency, providing a clearer picture of what Gautama may have taught than of the dates of the events in his life. These texts contain descriptions of the culture and daily life of ancient India which can be corroborated from the Jain scriptures, and make the Buddha's time the earliest period in Indian history for which significant accounts exist. British author Karen Armstrong writes that although there is very little information that can be considered historically sound, we can be reasonably confident that Siddhārtha Gautama did exist as a historical figure. Michael Carrithers goes a bit further by stating that the most general outline of "birth, maturity, renunciation, search, awakening and liberation, teaching, death" must be true.

 

BIOGRAPHY

CONCEPTION AND BIRTH

The Buddhist tradition regards Lumbini, in present-day Nepal to be the birthplace of the Buddha. He grew up in Kapilavastu. The exact site of ancient Kapilavastu is unknown. It may have been either Piprahwa, Uttar Pradesh, present-day India, or Tilaurakot, present-day Nepal. Both places belonged to the Sakya territory, and are located only 15 miles apart from each other.

 

Gautama was born as a Kshatriya, the son of Śuddhodana, "an elected chief of the Shakya clan", whose capital was Kapilavastu, and who were later annexed by the growing Kingdom of Kosala during the Buddha's lifetime. Gautama was the family name. His mother, Maya (Māyādevī), Suddhodana's wife, was a Koliyan princess. Legend has it that, on the night Siddhartha was conceived, Queen Maya dreamt that a white elephant with six white tusks entered her right side, and ten months later Siddhartha was born. As was the Shakya tradition, when his mother Queen Maya became pregnant, she left Kapilvastu for her father's kingdom to give birth. However, her son is said to have been born on the way, at Lumbini, in a garden beneath a sal tree.

 

The day of the Buddha's birth is widely celebrated in Theravada countries as Vesak. Buddha's Birthday is called Buddha Purnima in Nepal and India as he is believed to have been born on a full moon day. Various sources hold that the Buddha's mother died at his birth, a few days or seven days later. The infant was given the name Siddhartha (Pāli: Siddhattha), meaning "he who achieves his aim". During the birth celebrations, the hermit seer Asita journeyed from his mountain abode and announced that the child would either become a great king (chakravartin) or a great sadhu. By traditional account, this occurred after Siddhartha placed his feet in Asita's hair and Asita examined the birthmarks. Suddhodana held a naming ceremony on the fifth day, and invited eight Brahmin scholars to read the future. All gave a dual prediction that the baby would either become a great king or a great holy man. Kondañña, the youngest, and later to be the first arhat other than the Buddha, was reputed to be the only one who unequivocally predicted that Siddhartha would become a Buddha.

 

While later tradition and legend characterized Śuddhodana as a hereditary monarch, the descendant of the Suryavansha (Solar dynasty) of Ikṣvāku (Pāli: Okkāka), many scholars think that Śuddhodana was the elected chief of a tribal confederacy.

 

Early texts suggest that Gautama was not familiar with the dominant religious teachings of his time until he left on his religious quest, which is said to have been motivated by existential concern for the human condition. The state of the Shakya clan was not a monarchy, and seems to have been structured either as an oligarchy, or as a form of republic. The more egalitarian gana-sangha form of government, as a political alternative to the strongly hierarchical kingdoms, may have influenced the development of the śramanic Jain and Buddhist sanghas, where monarchies tended toward Vedic Brahmanism.

 

EARLY LIFE AND MARRIAGE

Siddhartha was brought up by his mother's younger sister, Maha Pajapati. By tradition, he is said to have been destined by birth to the life of a prince, and had three palaces (for seasonal occupation) built for him. Although more recent scholarship doubts this status, his father, said to be King Śuddhodana, wishing for his son to be a great king, is said to have shielded him from religious teachings and from knowledge of human suffering.

 

When he reached the age of 16, his father reputedly arranged his marriage to a cousin of the same age named Yaśodharā (Pāli: Yasodharā). According to the traditional account, she gave birth to a son, named Rāhula. Siddhartha is said to have spent 29 years as a prince in Kapilavastu. Although his father ensured that Siddhartha was provided with everything he could want or need, Buddhist scriptures say that the future Buddha felt that material wealth was not life's ultimate goal.

 

RENUNCIATION AND ASCETIC LIFE

At the age of 29, the popular biography continues, Siddhartha left his palace to meet his subjects. Despite his father's efforts to hide from him the sick, aged and suffering, Siddhartha was said to have seen an old man. When his charioteer Channa explained to him that all people grew old, the prince went on further trips beyond the palace. On these he encountered a diseased man, a decaying corpse, and an ascetic. These depressed him, and he initially strove to overcome aging, sickness, and death by living the life of an ascetic.

 

Accompanied by Channa and riding his horse Kanthaka, Gautama quit his palace for the life of a mendicant. It's said that, "the horse's hooves were muffled by the gods" to prevent guards from knowing of his departure.

 

Gautama initially went to Rajagaha and began his ascetic life by begging for alms in the street. After King Bimbisara's men recognised Siddhartha and the king learned of his quest, Bimbisara offered Siddhartha the throne. Siddhartha rejected the offer, but promised to visit his kingdom of Magadha first, upon attaining enlightenment.

 

He left Rajagaha and practised under two hermit teachers of yogic meditation. After mastering the teachings of Alara Kalama (Skr. Ārāḍa Kālāma), he was asked by Kalama to succeed him. However, Gautama felt unsatisfied by the practice, and moved on to become a student of yoga with Udaka Ramaputta (Skr. Udraka Rāmaputra). With him he achieved high levels of meditative consciousness, and was again asked to succeed his teacher. But, once more, he was not satisfied, and again moved on.

 

Siddhartha and a group of five companions led by Kaundinya are then said to have set out to take their austerities even further. They tried to find enlightenment through deprivation of worldly goods, including food, practising self-mortification. After nearly starving himself to death by restricting his food intake to around a leaf or nut per day, he collapsed in a river while bathing and almost drowned. Siddhartha was rescued by a village girl named Sujata and she gave him some payasam (a pudding made from milk and jaggery) after which Siddhartha got back some energy. Siddhartha began to reconsider his path. Then, he remembered a moment in childhood in which he had been watching his father start the season's ploughing. He attained a concentrated and focused state that was blissful and refreshing, the jhāna.

 

AWAKENING

According to the early Buddhist texts, after realizing that meditative dhyana was the right path to awakening, but that extreme asceticism didn't work, Gautama discovered what Buddhists call the Middle Way - a path of moderation away from the extremes of self-indulgence and self-mortification, or the Noble Eightfold Path, as was identified and described by the Buddha in his first discourse, the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta. In a famous incident, after becoming starved and weakened, he is said to have accepted milk and rice pudding from a village girl named Sujata. Such was his emaciated appearance that she wrongly believed him to be a spirit that had granted her a wish.

 

Following this incident, Gautama was famously seated under a pipal tree - now known as the Bodhi tree - in Bodh Gaya, India, when he vowed never to arise until he had found the truth. Kaundinya and four other companions, believing that he had abandoned his search and become undisciplined, left. After a reputed 49 days of meditation, at the age of 35, he is said to have attained Enlightenment. According to some traditions, this occurred in approximately the fifth lunar month, while, according to others, it was in the twelfth month. From that time, Gautama was known to his followers as the Buddha or "Awakened One" ("Buddha" is also sometimes translated as "The Enlightened One").

 

According to Buddhism, at the time of his awakening he realized complete insight into the cause of suffering, and the steps necessary to eliminate it. These discoveries became known as the "Four Noble Truths", which are at the heart of Buddhist teaching. Through mastery of these truths, a state of supreme liberation, or Nirvana, is believed to be possible for any being. The Buddha described Nirvāna as the perfect peace of a mind that's free from ignorance, greed, hatred and other afflictive states, or "defilements" (kilesas). Nirvana is also regarded as the "end of the world", in that no personal identity or boundaries of the mind remain. In such a state, a being is said to possess the Ten Characteristics, belonging to every Buddha.

 

According to a story in the Āyācana Sutta (Samyutta Nikaya VI.1) - a scripture found in the Pāli and other canons - immediately after his awakening, the Buddha debated whether or not he should teach the Dharma to others. He was concerned that humans were so overpowered by ignorance, greed and hatred that they could never recognise the path, which is subtle, deep and hard to grasp. However, in the story, Brahmā Sahampati convinced him, arguing that at least some will understand it. The Buddha relented, and agreed to teach.

 

FORMATION OF THE SANGHA

After his awakening, the Buddha met Taphussa and Bhallika — two merchant brothers from the city of Balkh in what is currently Afghanistan - who became his first lay disciples. It is said that each was given hairs from his head, which are now claimed to be enshrined as relics in the Shwe Dagon Temple in Rangoon, Burma. The Buddha intended to visit Asita, and his former teachers, Alara Kalama and Udaka Ramaputta, to explain his findings, but they had already died.

 

He then travelled to the Deer Park near Varanasi (Benares) in northern India, where he set in motion what Buddhists call the Wheel of Dharma by delivering his first sermon to the five companions with whom he had sought enlightenment. Together with him, they formed the first saṅgha: the company of Buddhist monks.

 

All five become arahants, and within the first two months, with the conversion of Yasa and fifty four of his friends, the number of such arahants is said to have grown to 60. The conversion of three brothers named Kassapa followed, with their reputed 200, 300 and 500 disciples, respectively. This swelled the sangha to more than 1,000.

 

TRAVELS AND TEACHING

For the remaining 45 years of his life, the Buddha is said to have traveled in the Gangetic Plain, in what is now Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and southern Nepal, teaching a diverse range of people: from nobles to servants, murderers such as Angulimala, and cannibals such as Alavaka. Although the Buddha's language remains unknown, it's likely that he taught in one or more of a variety of closely related Middle Indo-Aryan dialects, of which Pali may be a standardization.

 

The sangha traveled through the subcontinent, expounding the dharma. This continued throughout the year, except during the four months of the Vāsanā rainy season when ascetics of all religions rarely traveled. One reason was that it was more difficult to do so without causing harm to animal life. At this time of year, the sangha would retreat to monasteries, public parks or forests, where people would come to them.

 

The first vassana was spent at Varanasi when the sangha was formed. After this, the Buddha kept a promise to travel to Rajagaha, capital of Magadha, to visit King Bimbisara. During this visit, Sariputta and Maudgalyayana were converted by Assaji, one of the first five disciples, after which they were to become the Buddha's two foremost followers. The Buddha spent the next three seasons at Veluvana Bamboo Grove monastery in Rajagaha, capital of Magadha.

 

Upon hearing of his son's awakening, Suddhodana sent, over a period, ten delegations to ask him to return to Kapilavastu. On the first nine occasions, the delegates failed to deliver the message, and instead joined the sangha to become arahants. The tenth delegation, led by Kaludayi, a childhood friend of Gautama's (who also became an arahant), however, delivered the message.

 

Now two years after his awakening, the Buddha agreed to return, and made a two-month journey by foot to Kapilavastu, teaching the dharma as he went. At his return, the royal palace prepared a midday meal, but the sangha was making an alms round in Kapilavastu. Hearing this, Suddhodana approached his son, the Buddha, saying:

 

"Ours is the warrior lineage of Mahamassata, and not a single warrior has gone seeking alms."

 

The Buddha is said to have replied:

 

"That is not the custom of your royal lineage. But it is the custom of my Buddha lineage. Several thousands of Buddhas have gone by seeking alms."

 

Buddhist texts say that Suddhodana invited the sangha into the palace for the meal, followed by a dharma talk. After this he is said to have become a sotapanna. During the visit, many members of the royal family joined the sangha. The Buddha's cousins Ananda and Anuruddha became two of his five chief disciples. At the age of seven, his son Rahula also joined, and became one of his ten chief disciples. His half-brother Nanda also joined and became an arahant.

 

Of the Buddha's disciples, Sariputta, Maudgalyayana, Mahakasyapa, Ananda and Anuruddha are believed to have been the five closest to him. His ten foremost disciples were reputedly completed by the quintet of Upali, Subhoti, Rahula, Mahakaccana and Punna.

 

In the fifth vassana, the Buddha was staying at Mahavana near Vesali when he heard news of the impending death of his father. He is said to have gone to Suddhodana and taught the dharma, after which his father became an arahant.The king's death and cremation was to inspire the creation of an order of nuns. Buddhist texts record that the Buddha was reluctant to ordain women. His foster mother Maha Pajapati, for example, approached him, asking to join the sangha, but he refused. Maha Pajapati, however, was so intent on the path of awakening that she led a group of royal Sakyan and Koliyan ladies, which followed the sangha on a long journey to Rajagaha. In time, after Ananda championed their cause, the Buddha is said to have reconsidered and, five years after the formation of the sangha, agreed to the ordination of women as nuns. He reasoned that males and females had an equal capacity for awakening. But he gave women additional rules (Vinaya) to follow.

 

MAHAPARINIRVANA

According to the Mahaparinibbana Sutta of the Pali canon, at the age of 80, the Buddha announced that he would soon reach Parinirvana, or the final deathless state, and abandon his earthly body. After this, the Buddha ate his last meal, which he had received as an offering from a blacksmith named Cunda. Falling violently ill, Buddha instructed his attendant Ānanda to convince Cunda that the meal eaten at his place had nothing to do with his passing and that his meal would be a source of the greatest merit as it provided the last meal for a Buddha. Mettanando and Von Hinüber argue that the Buddha died of mesenteric infarction, a symptom of old age, rather than food poisoning. The precise contents of the Buddha's final meal are not clear, due to variant scriptural traditions and ambiguity over the translation of certain significant terms; the Theravada tradition generally believes that the Buddha was offered some kind of pork, while the Mahayana tradition believes that the Buddha consumed some sort of truffle or other mushroom. These may reflect the different traditional views on Buddhist vegetarianism and the precepts for monks and nuns.

 

Waley suggests that Theravadin's would take suukaramaddava (the contents of the Buddha's last meal), which can translate as pig-soft, to mean soft flesh of a pig. However, he also states that pig-soft could mean "pig's soft-food", that is, after Neumann, a soft food favoured by pigs, assumed to be a truffle. He argues (also after Neumann) that as Pali Buddhism was developed in an area remote to the Buddha's death, the existence of other plants with suukara- (pig) as part of their names and that "(p)lant names tend to be local and dialectical" could easily indicate that suukaramaddava was a type of plant whose local name was unknown to those in the Pali regions. Specifically, local writers knew more about their flora than Theravadin commentator Buddhaghosa who lived hundreds of years and kilometres remote in time and space from the events described. Unaware of an alternate meaning and with no Theravadin prohibition against eating animal flesh, Theravadins would not have questioned the Buddha eating meat and interpreted the term accordingly.

 

Ananda protested the Buddha's decision to enter Parinirvana in the abandoned jungles of Kuśināra (present-day Kushinagar, India) of the Malla kingdom. The Buddha, however, is said to have reminded Ananda how Kushinara was a land once ruled by a righteous wheel-turning king that resounded with joy:

 

44. Kusavati, Ananda, resounded unceasingly day and night with ten sounds - the trumpeting of elephants, the neighing of horses, the rattling of chariots, the beating of drums and tabours, music and song, cheers, the clapping of hands, and cries of "Eat, drink, and be merry!"

 

The Buddha then asked all the attendant Bhikkhus to clarify any doubts or questions they had. They had none. According to Buddhist scriptures, he then finally entered Parinirvana. The Buddha's final words are reported to have been: "All composite things (Saṅkhāra) are perishable. Strive for your own liberation with diligence" (Pali: 'vayadhammā saṅkhārā appamādena sampādethā'). His body was cremated and the relics were placed in monuments or stupas, some of which are believed to have survived until the present. For example, The Temple of the Tooth or "Dalada Maligawa" in Sri Lanka is the place where what some believe to be the relic of the right tooth of Buddha is kept at present.

 

According to the Pāli historical chronicles of Sri Lanka, the Dīpavaṃsa and Mahāvaṃsa, the coronation of Emperor Aśoka (Pāli: Asoka) is 218 years after the death of the Buddha. According to two textual records in Chinese (十八部論 and 部執異論), the coronation of Emperor Aśoka is 116 years after the death of the Buddha. Therefore, the time of Buddha's passing is either 486 BCE according to Theravāda record or 383 BCE according to Mahayana record. However, the actual date traditionally accepted as the date of the Buddha's death in Theravāda countries is 544 or 545 BCE, because the reign of Emperor Aśoka was traditionally reckoned to be about 60 years earlier than current estimates. In Burmese Buddhist tradition, the date of the Buddha's death is 13 May 544 BCE. whereas in Thai tradition it is 11 March 545 BCE.

 

At his death, the Buddha is famously believed to have told his disciples to follow no leader. Mahakasyapa was chosen by the sangha to be the chairman of the First Buddhist Council, with the two chief disciples Maudgalyayana and Sariputta having died before the Buddha.

 

While in the Buddha's days he was addressed by the very respected titles Buddha, Shākyamuni, Shākyasimha, Bhante and Bho, he was known after his parinirvana as Arihant, Bhagavā/Bhagavat/Bhagwān, Mahāvira, Jina/Jinendra, Sāstr, Sugata, and most popularly in scriptures as Tathāgata.

 

BUDDHA AND VEDAS

Buddha's teachings deny the authority of the Vedas and consequently [at least atheistic] Buddhism is generally viewed as a nāstika school (heterodox, literally "It is not so") from the perspective of orthodox Hinduism.

 

RELICS

After his death, Buddha's cremation relics were divided amongst 8 royal families and his disciples; centuries later they would be enshrined by King Ashoka into 84,000 stupas. Many supernatural legends surround the history of alleged relics as they accompanied the spread of Buddhism and gave legitimacy to rulers.

 

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

An extensive and colorful physical description of the Buddha has been laid down in scriptures. A kshatriya by birth, he had military training in his upbringing, and by Shakyan tradition was required to pass tests to demonstrate his worthiness as a warrior in order to marry. He had a strong enough body to be noticed by one of the kings and was asked to join his army as a general. He is also believed by Buddhists to have "the 32 Signs of the Great Man".

 

The Brahmin Sonadanda described him as "handsome, good-looking, and pleasing to the eye, with a most beautiful complexion. He has a godlike form and countenance, he is by no means unattractive." (D, I:115)

 

"It is wonderful, truly marvellous, how serene is the good Gotama's appearance, how clear and radiant his complexion, just as the golden jujube in autumn is clear and radiant, just as a palm-tree fruit just loosened from the stalk is clear and radiant, just as an adornment of red gold wrought in a crucible by a skilled goldsmith, deftly beaten and laid on a yellow-cloth shines, blazes and glitters, even so, the good Gotama's senses are calmed, his complexion is clear and radiant." (A, I:181)

 

A disciple named Vakkali, who later became an arahant, was so obsessed by the Buddha's physical presence that the Buddha is said to have felt impelled to tell him to desist, and to have reminded him that he should know the Buddha through the Dhamma and not through physical appearances.

 

Although there are no extant representations of the Buddha in human form until around the 1st century CE (see Buddhist art), descriptions of the physical characteristics of fully enlightened buddhas are attributed to the Buddha in the Digha Nikaya's Lakkhaṇa Sutta (D, I:142). In addition, the Buddha's physical appearance is described by Yasodhara to their son Rahula upon the Buddha's first post-Enlightenment return to his former princely palace in the non-canonical Pali devotional hymn, Narasīha Gāthā ("The Lion of Men").

 

Among the 32 main characteristics it is mentioned that Buddha has blue eyes.

 

NINE VIRTUES

Recollection of nine virtues attributed to the Buddha is a common Buddhist meditation and devotional practice called Buddhānusmṛti. The nine virtues are also among the 40 Buddhist meditation subjects. The nine virtues of the Buddha appear throughout the Tipitaka, and include:

 

- Buddho – Awakened

- Sammasambuddho – Perfectly self-awakened

- Vijja-carana-sampano – Endowed with higher knowledge and ideal conduct.

- Sugato – Well-gone or Well-spoken.

- Lokavidu – Wise in the knowledge of the many worlds.

- Anuttaro Purisa-damma-sarathi – Unexcelled trainer of untrained people.

- Satthadeva-Manussanam – Teacher of gods and humans.

- Bhagavathi – The Blessed one

- Araham – Worthy of homage. An Arahant is "one with taints destroyed, who has lived the holy life, done what had to be done, laid down the burden, reached the true goal, destroyed the fetters of being, and is completely liberated through final knowledge."

 

TEACHINGS

TRACING THE OLDEST TEACHINGS

Information of the oldest teachings may be obtained by analysis of the oldest texts. One method to obtain information on the oldest core of Buddhism is to compare the oldest extant versions of the Theravadin Pali Canon and other texts. The reliability of these sources, and the possibility to draw out a core of oldest teachings, is a matter of dispute. According to Vetter, inconsistencies remain, and other methods must be applied to resolve those inconsistencies.

 

According to Schmithausen, three positions held by scholars of Buddhism can be distinguished:

 

"Stress on the fundamental homogeneity and substantial authenticity of at least a considerable part of the Nikayic materials;"

"Scepticism with regard to the possibility of retrieving the doctrine of earliest Buddhism;"

"Cautious optimism in this respect."

 

DHYANA AND INSIGHT

A core problem in the study of early Buddhism is the relation between dhyana and insight. Schmithausen, in his often-cited article On some Aspects of Descriptions or Theories of 'Liberating Insight' and 'Enlightenment' in Early Buddhism notes that the mention of the four noble truths as constituting "liberating insight", which is attained after mastering the Rupa Jhanas, is a later addition to texts such as Majjhima Nikaya 36

 

CORE TEACHINGS

According to Tilmann Vetter, the core of earliest Buddhism is the practice of dhyāna. Bronkhorst agrees that dhyana was a Buddhist invention, whereas Norman notes that "the Buddha's way to release [...] was by means of meditative practices." Discriminating insight into transiency as a separate path to liberation was a later development.

 

According to the Mahāsaccakasutta, from the fourth jhana the Buddha gained bodhi. Yet, it is not clear what he was awakened to. "Liberating insight" is a later addition to this text, and reflects a later development and understanding in early Buddhism. The mentioning of the four truths as constituting "liberating insight" introduces a logical problem, since the four truths depict a linear path of practice, the knowledge of which is in itself not depicted as being liberating:

 

[T]hey do not teach that one is released by knowing the four noble truths, but by practicing the fourth noble truth, the eightfold path, which culminates in right samadhi.

 

Although "Nibbāna" (Sanskrit: Nirvāna) is the common term for the desired goal of this practice, many other terms can be found throughout the Nikayas, which are not specified.

 

According to Vetter, the description of the Buddhist path may initially have been as simple as the term "the middle way". In time, this short description was elaborated, resulting in the description of the eightfold path.

 

According to both Bronkhorst and Anderson, the four truths became a substitution for prajna, or "liberating insight", in the suttas in those texts where "liberating insight" was preceded by the four jhanas. According to Bronkhorst, the four truths may not have been formulated in earliest Buddhism, and did not serve in earliest Buddhism as a description of "liberating insight". Gotama's teachings may have been personal, "adjusted to the need of each person."

 

The three marks of existence may reflect Upanishadic or other influences. K.R. Norman supposes that these terms were already in use at the Buddha's time, and were familiar to his listeners.

 

The Brahma-vihara was in origin probably a brahmanic term; but its usage may have been common to the Sramana traditions.

  

LATER DEVELOPMENTS

In time, "liberating insight" became an essential feature of the Buddhist tradition. The following teachings, which are commonly seen as essential to Buddhism, are later formulations which form part of the explanatory framework of this "liberating insight":

 

- The Four Noble Truths: that suffering is an ingrained part of existence; that the origin of suffering is craving for sensuality, acquisition of identity, and fear of annihilation; that suffering can be ended; and that following the Noble Eightfold Path is the means to accomplish this;

- The Noble Eightfold Path: right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration;

- Dependent origination: the mind creates suffering as a natural product of a complex process.

 

OTHER RELIGIONS

Some Hindus regard Gautama as the 9th avatar of Vishnu. The Buddha is also regarded as a prophet by the Ahmadiyya Muslims and a Manifestation of God in the Bahá'í Faith. Some early Chinese Taoist-Buddhists thought the Buddha to be a reincarnation of Lao Tzu.

 

The Christian Saint Josaphat is based on the Buddha. The name comes from the Sanskrit Bodhisattva via Arabic Būdhasaf and Georgian Iodasaph. The only story in which St. Josaphat appears, Barlaam and Josaphat, is based on the life of the Buddha. Josaphat was included in earlier editions of the Roman Martyrology (feast day 27 November) — though not in the Roman Missal — and in the Eastern Orthodox Church liturgical calendar (26 August).

 

Disciples of the Cao Đài religion worship the Buddha as a major religious teacher. His image can be found in both their Holy See and on the home altar. He is revealed during communication with Divine Beings as son of their Supreme Being (God the Father) together with other major religious teachers and founders like Jesus, Laozi, and Confucius.

 

In the ancient Gnostic sect of Manichaeism the Buddha is listed among the prophets who preached the word of God before Mani.

 

WIKIPEDIA

The Postcard

 

A postally unused postcard that was published by the New York Public Library, 476, 5th. Avenue, NYC. The card has a divided back.

 

John Singleton Copley

 

John Singleton Copley RA, who was born on the 3rd. July 1738, was an Anglo-American painter, active in both colonial America and in England. He was probably born in Boston, Massachusetts, to Richard and Mary Singleton Copley, both Anglo-Irish.

 

After becoming well-established as a portrait painter of the wealthy in colonial New England, he moved to London in 1774, never returning to America. In London, he met considerable success as a portraitist for the next two decades, and also painted a number of large history paintings, which were innovative in their readiness to depict modern subjects and modern dress. His later years were less successful, and John died heavily in debt.

 

John Singleton Copley - The Early Years

 

Copley's mother owned a tobacco shop on Long Wharf in Boston, Mass. According to the artist's granddaughter Martha Babcock Amory, they had come to Boston in 1736:

 

"They were engaged in trade, like almost

all the inhabitants of the North American

colonies at that time".

 

John's father was from Limerick; his mother, of the Singletons of County Clare, a family of Lancashire origin. Richard Copley, described as a tobacconist, arrived in Boston in ill health and moved, about the time of John's birth, to the West Indies, where he died.

 

William H. Whitmore gives Richard's death as of 1748, the year of Mrs. Copley's re-marriage.

 

Except for a family tradition that speaks of his precocity in drawing, nothing is known of Copley's schooling or of the other activities of his boyhood. His letters, the earliest of which is dated 30th. September 1762, reveal a fairly well-educated man.

 

John may have been taught various subjects by his future stepfather, who, besides painting portraits and cutting engravings, eked out a living in Boston by teaching dancing. Beginning on the 12th. September 1743, he also conducted an 'Evening Writing and Arithmetic School', duly advertised.

 

The widow Copley married Peter Pelham on the 22nd. May 1748, and at about that time she transferred her tobacco business to his house in Lindall Street (a quieter, more respectable part of town), at which the evening school also continued its sessions.

 

In such a household young Copley probably learned to use a paintbrush and engraver's tools. Whitmore says:

 

"Copley at the age of fifteen was able

to engrave in mezzotint; his stepfather

Pelham, with whom he lived for three

years, was an excellent engraver and

skilful also with the brush."

 

The family lived next to the house occupied by japanner Thomas Johnston and his family, and Copley became friends with Thomas's son William, later to become a painter himself.

 

The artistic opportunities of the home and town in which Copley grew up should be emphasised, because he made much of the bleakness of his early surroundings. His son, Lord Lyndhurst, wrote that:

 

"He was entirely self taught, and never

saw a decent picture, with the exception

of his own, until he was nearly thirty

years of age."

 

Copley himself complained, in a letter to Benjamin West, written on the 12th. November 1766:

 

"In this Country as you rightly observe

there is no examples of Art, except what

is to be met with in a few prints indifferently

exicuted, from which it is not possable to

learn much."

 

Variants of this thesis are found almost everywhere in his earlier letters. They suggest that, while Copley was industrious and able artist, he was physically unadventurous, and temperamentally inclined toward brooding and self-pity.

 

He could have seen at least a few good paintings and many good prints in the Boston of his youth. The excellence of his own portraits was not accidental or miraculous; it had an academic foundation.

 

A book of Copley's studies of the figure, now in the British Museum, proves that before he was twenty, whether with or without help from a teacher, he was making anatomical drawings with much care and precision.

 

It is likely that through the fortunate associations of a home and workshop in a town which had many craftsmen, he had already learned his trade at an age when the average art student of a later era was only just beginning to draw.

 

John Singleton Copley's Rising Reputation

 

Copley was about fourteen and his stepfather had recently died, when he made the earliest of his portraits now preserved, a likeness of his half-brother Charles Pelham. The portrait is good in colour and characterisation. It is a remarkable work to have come from so young a hand.

 

The artist was only fifteen when he painted the portrait of the Rev. William Welsteed, minister of the Brick Church in Long Lane, a work which, following Peter Pelham's practice, Copley personally engraved to get the benefit from the sale of prints. No other engraving has been attributed to Copley.

 

A self-portrait, undated, depicting a boy of about seventeen wearing a broken straw hat, and a painting of Mars, Venus and Vulcan, signed and dated 1754, disclose crudities of execution which do not obscure the decorative intent and documentary value of the works.

 

Such painting would obviously advertise itself anywhere. Without going after business, for his letters do not indicate that he was ever aggressive or pushy, Copley started as a professional portrait-painter long before he was of age.

 

In October 1757, Capt. Thomas Ainslie, collector of the Port of Quebec, acknowledged from Halifax the receipt of his portrait, which "gives me great Satisfaction", and advised the artist to visit Nova Scotia:

 

"There are several people there

who would be glad to employ you."

 

This request to paint in Canada was later repeated from Quebec, with Copley replying:

 

"I should receive a singular pleasure in

excepting, if my Business was anyways

slack, but it is so far otherwise that I have

a large Room full of Pictures unfinished,

which would ingage me these twelve

months if I did not begin any others."

 

Besides painting portraits in oil, doubtless after a formula learned from Peter Pelham, Copley was a pioneer American pastellist. He wrote, on the 30th. September 1762, to the Swiss painter Jean-Étienne Liotard, asking him for "A sett of the best Swiss Crayons for drawing of Portraits."

 

The young American anticipated Liotard's surprise "that so remote a corner of the Globe as New England should have any demand for the necessary eutensils for practiceing the fine Arts" by assuring him that:

 

"America which has been the seat of

war and desolation, I would fain hope

will one Day become the School of

fine Arts."

 

The requested pastels were duly received, and used by Copley in making many portraits in a medium suited to his talent. By this time he had begun to demonstrate his genius for rendering surface textures and capturing emotional immediacy.

 

Copley's fame was established in England by the exhibition, in 1766, of 'A Boy with a Flying Squirrel', which depicted his half-brother, Henry Pelham, seated at a table and playing with a pet squirrel. This picture, made the young Boston painter a Fellow of the Society of Artists of Great Britain.

 

Copley's letter of the 3rd. September 1765, to Capt. R. G. Bruce, reveals that it was taken to England as a personal favor in the luggage of Roger Hale, surveyor of the port of London. The painting, unaccompanied by name or letter of instructions, was delivered to Benjamin West, who is said to have exclaimed with a warmth and enthusiasm of which those who knew him best could scarcely believe him capable:

 

"What delicious colouring

worthy of Titian himself!"

 

The American squirrel disclosed the colonial origin of the picture. A letter from Copley was subsequently delivered to Benjamin West. West got the canvas into the Exhibition of the year and wrote, on the 4th. August 1766, a letter to Copley in which he referred to Sir Joshua Reynolds's interest in the work and advised the artist to:

 

"Make a viset to Europe for this

porpase (of self-improvement)

for three or four years."

 

West's subsequent letters were responsible for making Copley discontented with his situation and prospects in a colonial town. Copley in his letters to West in 1766 gleefully accepted the invitation to send other pictures to the Exhibition, and mournfully referred to himself as:

 

"Peculiarly unlucky in Liveing in a place

into which there has not been one portrait

brought that is worthy to be call'd a Picture

within my memory."

 

In a later letter to West, of the 17th. June 1768, he displayed a cautious person's reasons for not rashly giving up the good living which his art gave him. He wrote:

 

"I should be glad to go to Europe, but

cannot think of it without a very good

prospect of doing as well there as I can

here. You are sensable that 300 Guineas

a Year, which is my present income, is a

pretty living in America. ... And what ever

my ambition may be to excel in our noble

Art, I cannot think of doing it at the expence

of not only my own happyness, but that of

a tender Mother and a Young Brother whose

dependence is intirely upon me".

 

West replied on the 20th. September 1768, saying that he had talked over Copley's prospects with other London artists:

 

"I find that by their Candid approbation

you have nothing to Hazard in Comeing

to this Place."

 

The income which Copley earned by painting in the 1760's was extraordinary for his town and time. It had promoted the son of a needy tobacconist into the local aristocracy. The foremost personages of New England came to his painting-room as sitters.

 

John married, on the 16th. November 1769, Susanna Farnham Clarke, daughter of Richard and Elizabeth (Winslow) Clarke, the former being the very wealthy agent of the Honourable East India Company in Boston; the latter, a New England woman of Mayflower ancestry.

 

The union was a happy one, and socially notable. Mrs. Copley was a beautiful woman of poise and serenity whose features are familiar through several of her husband's paintings.

 

Copley had already bought land on the west side of Beacon Hill extending down to the Charles River. The newly married Copleys, who were to have six children, moved into:

 

"A solitary house in Boston, on Beacon

Hill, chosen with his keen perception of

picturesque beauty".

 

It was approximately on the site of the present Boston Women's City Club. Here were painted the portraits of dignitaries of state and church, graceful women and charming children, in the mode of faithful and painstaking verisimilitude which Copley had made his own.

 

The family's style of living at this period was that of people of wealth. John Trumbull told Dunlap that in 1771, being then a student at Harvard College, he called on Copley:

 

"He was dressed on the occasion in a suit

of crimson velvet with gold buttons, and the

elegance displayed by Copley in his style of

living, added to his high repute as an artist,

made a permanent impression in favor of the

life of a painter."

 

In town and church affairs Copley took almost no part. He referred to himself as:

 

"Desireous of avoideing every imputation

of party spirit. Political contests being

neighther pleasing to an artist or

advantageous to the Art itself."

 

His name appeared on the 29th. January 1771, on a petition of freeholders and inhabitants to have the powder house removed from the town whose existence it imperiled.

 

Records of the Church in Brattle Square disclose that in 1772 Copley was asked to submit plans for a re-built meeting-house, and that he proposed an ambitious plan and elevation "Which was much admired for its Elegance and Grandure," but which on account likely cost was not accepted.

 

Copley's sympathy with the politicians who were working toward American independence appears to have been genuine, but not so vigorous as to lead him to participate in any of their plans.

 

Copley at one time painted portraits in New York City. The circumstances of this visit, which was supplemented by a few days in Philadelphia, were first disclosed through Prof. Guernsey Jones's discovery of many previously unpublished Copley and Pelham documents in the Public Record Office, London.

 

From these letters and papers, published by the Massachusetts Historical Society in 1914, it appears that in 1768 Copley painted in Boston a portrait of Myles Cooper, president of King's College, who then urged his visiting New York.

 

Accepting the invitation later, Copley, between June 1771 and January 1772, painted thirty-seven portraits in New York, setting up his easel:

 

"In Broadway, on the west side, in a house

which was burned in the great conflagration

on the night the British army entered the city

as enemies."

 

Copley's letters to Henry Pelham, whom he left in charge of his affairs in Boston, describe minutely the journey across New England and his first impressions of New York:

 

"It has more Grand Buildings than Boston,

the streets much cleaner and some much

broader."

 

He also described the successful search for suitable lodgings and a painting-room; thereafter they give detailed accounts of sitters and social happenings. The correspondence also contains Copley's careful instructions to Pelham concerning the features of a new house then being built on his Beacon Hill "farm," giving elevations and specifications of the addition of "peazas" which the artist saw for the first time in New York.

 

Copley at the time was engaged in a lawsuit respecting title to some of his lands. His letters reveal a man who allowed such disputes to worry him considerably.

 

In September 1771, Mr. and Mrs. Copley visited Philadelphia, where, at the home of Chief Justice William Allen:

 

"We saw a fine Coppy of the Titian Venus

and Holy Family at whole length as large

as life from Coregio".

 

On their return journey they viewed at New Brunswick, New Jersey several pictures attributed to van Dyck:

 

"The date is 1628 on one of them, it is

without dout I think Vandyck did them

before he came to England."

 

Back in New York Copley wrote requesting that a certain black dress of Mrs. Copley's be sent over at once:

 

"As we are much in company, we think

it necessary Sukey [his wife] should

have it, as her other Cloaths are mostly

improper for her to wear".

 

On the 15th. December Copley informed Pelham that:

 

"This Week finishes all my Business,

no less than 37 Busts; so the weather

permitting by Christmas we hope to

be on the road."

 

Thus ended Copley's only American tour away from Boston.

 

Copley's correspondents in England continued to urge him to undertake European studies. He saved an undated and unsigned letter from someone who wrote:

 

"Our people here are enrapture'd with him,

he is compared to Vandyck, Reubens and

all the great painters of Old."

 

His brother-in-law Jonathan Clarke, already in London, advised his "comeing this way." West wrote, on the 6th. January 1773:

 

"My Advice is, Mrs. Copley to remain in Boston

till you have made this Tour [to Italy], After which,

if you fix your place of reasidanc in London, Mrs.

Copley to come over."

 

Political and economic conditions in Boston were increasingly turbulent. Copley's father-in-law, Mr. Clarke, was the merchant to whom was consigned the tea that provoked the Boston Tea Party. Copley's family connections were all Loyalists.

 

John defended his wife's relatives at a meeting described in a letter of the 1st. December 1773.

 

He wrote on the 26th. April 1774, of an unpleasant experience when a mob visited his house demanding the person of Col. George Watson, a Loyalist counselor who had gone elsewhere.

 

"The patriots threatened to have my blood

if I entertained any such Villain for the future.

What a spirit! What if Mr. Watson had stayed

(as I pressed him to) to spend the night.

I must either have given up a friend to the

insult of a Mob or had my house pulled down

and perhaps my family murthered."

 

john Singleton Copley's Move to London and the European Tour

 

With many letters of introduction, all of which are published in the Copley-Pelham correspondence, Copley sailed from Boston in June 1774, leaving his mother, wife, and children in Henry Pelham's charge. He wrote on the 11th. July 1774 from London "After a most easy and safe passage."

 

An early call was upon West:

 

"I find in him those amiable qualitys that

makes his friendship boath desireable as

an artist and as a Gentleman."

 

In England, Benjamin West and Copley created a new kind of history painting, one with modern, topical subjects, chiefly death scenes of heroes, in a historic manner, but with scrupulous attention to contemporary detail.

 

John was duly introduced to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and was taken to:

 

"The Royal Accademy where the

Students had a naked model from

which they were Drawing".

 

In London Copley took no sitters at this time although urged to do so. Shortly before leaving for Italy he:

 

"Dined with Gov'r Hutchinson, and I think

there was 12 of us altogether, and all

Bostonians, and we had Choice Salt Fish

for Dinner."

 

On the 2nd. September 1774, Copley chronicled his arrival in Paris (the beginning of a nine-month European tour), where he saw and painstakingly described many paintings and sculptures. His journey toward Rome was made in the company of an artist named Carter, described as:

 

"A captious, cross-grained and self conceited

person who kept a regular journal of his tour

in which he set down the smallest trifle that

could bear a construction unfavorable to the

American's character."

 

Carter was undoubtedly an uncongenial companion. Copley, however, may at times have been both depressing and bumptious. He found fault, according to Carter, with the French firewood because it gave out less heat than American wood, and he bragged of the art which America would produce when "they shall have an independent government."

 

Copley's personal appearance was thus described by his uncharitable comrade:

 

"Very thin, a little pock-marked [presumably

a souvenir of the Boston smallpox epidemic

described by Copley in a letter of the 24th.

January 1764], prominent eyebrows, small

eyes, which after fatigue seemed a day's

march in his head."

 

Copley afterward wrote of Carter:

 

"He was a sort of snail which crawled over

a man in his sleep and left its slime, and

no more."

 

Mrs. Amory relates that:

 

"Both parties were undoubtedly glad

to separate on their arrival at their

destination."

 

On the 8th. October 1774, Copley was in Genoa, where he wrote to his wife describing, among other things, the inexpensiveness of the silks:

 

"The velvet and satin for which I gave

seven guineas would have cost fourteen

in London."

 

He reached Rome on the 26th. October:

 

"I am very fortunate in my time of being

here, as I shall see the magnificance of

the rejoicing on the election of the Pope;

it is also the year of jubilee, or Holy Year."

 

Copley's plan of study and mode of living at Rome are described in several letters. He found time for excursions, and visited Naples in January 1775, writing to his wife:

 

"The city is very large and delightfully situated,

but you have no idea of the dirt … and the people

are as dirty as the streets - indeed, they are

offensive to such a degree as to make me ill".

 

The excavations at Pompeii greatly interested him, and in company with Ralph Izard of South Carolina (whose family portrait he later painted) he extended his journey to Paestum. At Rome early in 1775 he copied Correggio's St. Jerome on commission from Lord Grosvenor, and other works for Mr. and Mrs. Izard.

 

About the 20th. May he started on a tour northward through Florence, Parma, Mantua, Venice, Trieste, Stuttgart, Mainz, Cologne, and the Low Countries. From Parma he wrote to Henry Pelham urging that the whole family should leave America at once since:

 

"If the Frost should be severe and the Harbour

frozen, the Town of Boston will be exposed to

an attack; and if it should be taken all that have

remained in the town will be considered as

enimys to the Country and ill treated or exposed

to great distress."

 

This anxiety proved to be groundless, for Mrs. Copley and the children had already sailed on the 27th. May 1775, from Marblehead in a ship crowded with refugees. She arrived in London some weeks before Copley returned from the Continent, making her home with her brother-in-law, Henry Bromfield.

 

Her father, Richard Clarke, and her brothers came soon after. Copley happily rejoined his family and set up his easel, at first in Leicester Fields, and later at 25 George St., Hanover Square, in a house built by a wealthy Italian and admirably adapted to an artist's requirements. Here Mr. and Mrs. Copley and their son Lord Lyndhurst lived and died.

 

As an English painter Copley began in 1775 a career promising at the outset but which was destined because of personal and political reasons to end in gloom and adversity.

 

His technique was so well established, his habits of industry so well confirmed, and the reputation that had preceded him from America was so extraordinary, that he could hardly fail to make a place for himself among British artists. He himself, however, often said, after his arrival in England, that he could not surpass some of his early works.

 

The deterioration of his talent was gradual, however, so some of the "English Copleys" are still superb paintings.

 

Following a fashion set by West and others, Copley began to paint historical pieces as well as portraits. His first foray into this genre was 'Watson and the Shark', its subject based on an incident related to the artist by Brook Watson, who had been attacked by a shark while swimming in Havana harbour as a 14-year-old boy.

 

It is likely that Watson, who went on to a successful career despite the attack and the loss of his leg below the knee, commissioned the painting as a lesson for other unfortunates, including orphans like himself, to demonstrate that even the severest adversity can be overcome. Engravings of this work achieved an enduring popularity.

 

For a place over the fireplace of the George Street dining room was painted the great family picture now in Boston, which, when first publicly shown by Lord Lyndhurst at the Manchester exhibition, 1862, was:

 

"Pronounced by competent critics to

be equal to any, in the same style, by

Vandyck".

 

However John's fame as a historical painter was made by 'The Death of the Earl of Chatham' showing the collapse in the House of Lords of the former Prime Minister William Pitt, 1st. Earl of Chatham.

 

The painting, however, brought him denunciation from Sir William Chambers, president of the Royal Academy, who objected to its being exhibited privately in advance of the academy's exhibition. In an open letter Chambers accused Copley of purveying his picture like a "raree-show" and of aiming for "either the sale of prints or the raffle of the picture."

 

To this censure, obviously unfair to one newly arrived in London and uninformed as to the professional ethics of exhibiting, Copley one morning wrote a caustic reply, and in the evening wisely threw it into the fire. Engravings from the Chatham picture later sold well in England and America.

 

Copley's adventures in historical painting were the more successful because of his painstaking efforts to obtain good likenesses of personages and correct accessories for their periods.

 

He travelled much in England to make studies of old portraits and actual localities. He painted 'The Red Cross Knight', 'Abraham Offering up Isaac', 'Hagar and Ishmael in the Wilderness', 'The Death of Major Peirson', 'The Arrest of Five Members of the Commons by Charles the First', 'The Siege of Gibraltar', 'The Surrender of Admiral DeWindt to Lord Camperdown', 'The Offer of the Crown to Lady Jane Grey by the Dukes of Northumberland and Suffolk', 'The Resurrection', and others.

 

He continued to paint portraits, among them those of several members of the royal family and numerous British and American celebrities. Between 1776 and 1815 he sent forty-three paintings to exhibitions of the Royal Academy, of which he was elected an associate member in the former year. His election to full membership occurred in 1783.

 

The Defeat of the Floating Batteries at Gibraltar, September 1782 (c. 1783) is one of Britain's largest oil paintings; it depicts the defeat of the floating batteries at Gibraltar during the Great Siege of Gibraltar. The Governor of Gibraltar, General George Augustus Eliott, is on horseback pointing to the rescue of the defeated Spanish sailors by the British.

 

The effort with which Copley labored over his compositions was exemplary, but at times it may have injured his health and disposition:

 

Cunningham wrote:

 

"He has been represented to me by

some as a peevish and peremptory

man, while others describe him as

mild and unassuming."

 

Both descriptions probably fitted Copley, depending on his mood. His granddaughter, Mrs. Amory, recalled that he usually painted continuously from early morning until twilight. In the evening his wife or a daughter read English literature for his benefit. He took but little exercise - probably not enough for health.

 

He would have liked to have returned to America, but his professional routine prevented this. He was politically more liberal than were his relatives. He painted the Stars and Stripes over a ship in the background of Elkanah Watson's portrait on the 5th. December 1782, after listening to George III's speech formally acknowledging American independence.

 

Watson wrote in his journal:

 

"He invited me into the studio, and there,

with a bold hand, a master's touch, and I

believe an American heart, attached to

the ship the Stars and Stripes; this was, I

imagine, the first American flag hoisted

in Old England."

 

Copley's contacts with New England people continued to be many. He painted portraits of John Adams, John Quincy Adams, and other Bostonians who visited England. He was elected a Foreign Honorary Member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in 1791.

 

John's daughter Elizabeth was married in August 1800 to Gardiner Greene of Boston, a wealthy gentleman whose descendants preserved much of the correspondence of the Copley family.

 

Prior to the marriage of his daughter, Copley had sold his Beacon Hill estate to a syndicate of speculators headed by Dr. Benjamin Joy. He felt himself victimised when he learned that the purchasers knew of a project of building the Massachusetts State House at the top of the hill, and he sent his son John Singleton Copley, Jr., then at the beginning of his brilliant legal career, to Boston in 1796 seeking to annul the arrangement.

 

The letters which the future Lord Chancellor wrote during his visit to the United States are interesting reading, but his quest was unsuccessful. He wrote to his father:

 

"I do not believe that any person could

have obtained from them one shilling

more."

 

Despite this report the artist made further efforts to recover his "farm". The subject of his grievance frequently recurs in the family correspondence, but it is not certain that Copley had any reason to feel himself defrauded. A memorandum prepared for him by Gardiner Greene stated that:

 

"Long after the land had passed out of

Copley's possession, it, or a part of it,

was offered at no higher price than was

paid to his son."

 

Allen Chamberlain, who gives a detailed summary of the complicated negotiations surrounding the sale, holds that Copley was fairly compensated at a price three times what he had paid for property from which he had had rents of considerable amount.

 

The Decline of John Singleton Copley

 

In his final fifteen years, although painting persistently, Copley experienced much depression and disappointment. The Napoleonic Wars brought hard times, and the household at 25 George St. was expensive to maintain. The education of a talented son was also costly.

 

It grieved the father that after the young barrister began to earn his way it became necessary to accept his help in supporting the home. Lord Campbell quotes the jurist as saying that "his father, having lived rather expensively, accumulated little for him."

 

Mrs. Amory makes out a case for Mrs. Copley's admirable management, but it appears that a standard of living difficult to maintain in the changed circumstances made much borrowing inevitable. Copley was chagrined by the failure of his Equestrian Portrait of the Prince Regent to bring a financial return. Other canvases involving years of labor went unsold.

 

Troubles with engravers were many, whether the fault was theirs or the painter's. Copley's letters to his son-in-law in Boston usually concerned loans made to him that were frequently extended.

 

The ageing artist's physical and mental health produced anxiety. In 1810 he had a bad fall which kept him from painting for a month. He incessantly bewailed the loss of his Boston property. Mrs. Copley wrote on the 11th. December 1810:

 

"Your father has been led to feel

this affair [his unsuccessful litigation

to recover the "farm"] more sensibly

from the present state of things in

this country where every difficulty of

living is increasing and the advantages

arising from his profession are

decreasing".

 

In October 1811, Copley wrote to Greene in distress, craving an additional loan of £600. And on the 4th. March 1812, he wrote:

 

"I am still pursuing my profession in the

hope that, at a future time, a proper

amount will be realized from my works,

either to myself or family, but at this

moment all pursuits which are not among

the essentials of life are at a stand".

 

In August 1813, Mrs. Copley wrote that, although her husband was still painting, "he cannot apply himself as closely as he used to do."

 

She reported in April 1814:

 

"Your father enjoys his health but grows

rather feeble, dislikes more and more to

walk; but it is still pleasant for him to go

on with his painting."

 

In June 1815, the Copleys entertained John Quincy Adams, with whom they jubilantly discussed the new terms of peace between the United States and the United Kingdom.

 

In the letter describing this visit the painter's infirmities are said to have been increased by his cares and disappointments.

 

A note of the 18th. August 1815 informed the Greenes that Copley while at dinner had had a paralytic stroke. He seemed at first to recover, and later in August his prognosis was favorable to his painting again.

 

However a second stroke occurred, and John died in London at the age of 77 on the 9th. September 1815. His daughter Mary wrote:

 

"He was perfectly resigned and willing

to die, and expressed his firm trust in

God, through the merits of our Redeemer."

 

John was buried in Croydon Minster in Croydon, Surrey.

 

How deep into debt Copley had fallen in his final years was hinted at in Mrs. Copley's letter of the 1st. February 1816 to Gardiner Greene in which she gave details of his assets and borrowings and predicted:

 

"When the whole property is disposed

of and applied toward the discharge of

the debts a large deficiency must, it is

feared, remain."

 

The estate was settled by Copley's son, later Lord Lyndhurst, who maintained the establishment in George Street, supported his mother down to her death in 1836. Lord Lyndhurst kept the ownership of many of his father's unsold paintings until the 5th. March 1864, when they were sold at auction in London. Several of the works from the auction are now in American collections.

 

The Legacy of John Singleton Copley

 

According to art historian Paul Staiti, Copley was the greatest and most influential painter in colonial America, producing about 350 works of art.

 

With his startling likenesses of persons and things, he came to define a realist art tradition in America. His visual legacy extended throughout the nineteenth century in the American taste for the work of artists as diverse as Fitz Henry Lane and William Harnett.

 

In Great Britain, while he continued to paint portraits for the élite, his great achievement was the development of contemporary history painting, which was a combination of reportage, idealism, and theatre.

 

He was also one of the pioneers of the private exhibition, orchestrating shows and marketing prints of his own work to mass audiences that might otherwise attend exhibitions only at the Royal Academy, or who previously had not gone to exhibitions at all.

 

Boston's Copley Square, Copley Square Hotel and Copley Plaza bear his name, as do Copley Township and Copley crater on Mercury.

 

A 5-cent stamp commemorating John Singleton Copley was issued by the U.S. Postal Service in 1965 - the 150th. anniversary of his death - featuring his daughter, Elizabeth Clark Copley, in his painting Portrait of the Copley family (1776).

 

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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

  

Good Friday[nb 1] is a religious holiday observed primarily by Christians commemorating the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and his death at Calvary. The holiday is observed during Holy Week as part of the Paschal Triduum on the Friday preceding Easter Sunday, and may coincide with the Jewish observance of Passover. It is also known as Holy Friday, Great Friday, Black Friday,[1] or Easter Friday,[2] though the latter properly refers to the Friday in Easter week.

Based on the details of the Canonical gospels, the Crucifixion of Jesus was most likely to have been on a Friday (John 19:42).[3] The estimated year of the Crucifixion is AD 33, by two different groups, and originally as AD 34 by Isaac Newton via the differences between the Biblical and Julian calendars and the crescent of the moon.[4] A third method, using a completely different astronomical approach based on a lunar Crucifixion darkness and eclipse model (consistent with Apostle Peter's reference to a "moon of blood" in Acts 2:20), points to Friday, 3 April AD 33.[5]

 

According to the accounts in the Gospels, the Temple Guards, guided by Jesus' disciple Judas Iscariot, arrested Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. Judas received money (30 pieces of silver) (Matthew 26:14-16) for betraying Jesus and told the guards that whomever he kisses is the one they are to arrest. Following his arrest, Jesus was brought to the house of Annas, the father-in-law of the high priest, Caiaphas. There he was interrogated with little result and sent bound to Caiaphas the high priest where the Sanhedrin had assembled (John 18:1-24).

Conflicting testimony against Jesus was brought forth by many witnesses, to which Jesus answered nothing. Finally the high priest adjured Jesus to respond under solemn oath, saying "I adjure you, by the Living God, to tell us, are you the Anointed One, the Son of God?" Jesus testified ambiguously, "You have said it, and in time you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Almighty, coming on the clouds of Heaven." The high priest condemned Jesus for blasphemy, and the Sanhedrin concurred with a sentence of death (Matthew 26:57-66). Peter, waiting in the courtyard, also denied Jesus three times to bystanders while the interrogations were proceeding just as Jesus had predicted.

  

A Good Friday procession in Mumbai by Indian Roman Catholics, depicting the Way of the Cross

In the morning, the whole assembly brought Jesus to the Roman governor Pontius Pilate under charges of subverting the nation, opposing taxes to Caesar, and making himself a king (Luke 23:1-2). Pilate authorized the Jewish leaders to judge Jesus according to their own law and execute sentencing; however, the Jewish leaders replied that they were not allowed by the Romans to carry out a sentence of death (John 18:31).

Pilate questioned Jesus and told the assembly that there was no basis for sentencing. Upon learning that Jesus was from Galilee, Pilate referred the case to the ruler of Galilee, King Herod, who was in Jerusalem for the Passover Feast. Herod questioned Jesus but received no answer; Herod sent Jesus back to Pilate. Pilate told the assembly that neither he nor Herod found guilt in Jesus; Pilate resolved to have Jesus whipped and released (Luke 23:3-16). Under the guidance of the chief priests, the crowd asked for Barabbas, who had been imprisoned for committing murder during an insurrection. Pilate asked what they would have him do with Jesus, and they demanded, "Crucify him" (Mark 15:6-14). Pilate's wife had seen Jesus in a dream earlier that day, and she forewarned Pilate to "have nothing to do with this righteous man" (Matthew 27:19). Pilate had Jesus flogged and then brought him out to the crowd to release him. The chief priests informed Pilate of a new charge, demanding Jesus be sentenced to death "because he claimed to be God's son." This possibility filled Pilate with fear, and he brought Jesus back inside the palace and demanded to know from where he came (John 19:1-9).

  

Antonio Ciseri's depiction of Ecce Homo with Jesus and Pontius Pilate, 19th century

Coming before the crowd one last time, Pilate declared Jesus innocent and washed his own hands in water to show he has no part in this condemnation. Nevertheless, Pilate handed Jesus over to be crucified in order to forestall a riot (Matthew 27:24-26) and ultimately to keep his job. The sentence written was "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews." Jesus carried his cross to the site of execution (assisted by Simon of Cyrene), called the place of the Skull, or "Golgotha" in Hebrew and in Latin "Calvary". There he was crucified along with two criminals (John 19:17-22).

Jesus agonized on the cross for six hours. During his last 3 hours on the cross, from noon to 3 p.m., darkness fell over the whole land.[6] With a loud cry, Jesus gave up his spirit. There was an earthquake, tombs broke open, and the curtain in the Temple was torn from top to bottom. The centurion on guard at the site of crucifixion declared, "Truly this was God's Son!" (Matthew 27:45-54)

Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin and secret follower of Jesus, who had not consented to his condemnation, goes to Pilate to request the body of Jesus (Luke 23:50-52). Another secret follower of Jesus and member of the Sanhedrin named Nicodemus brought about a hundred pound weight mixture of spices and helped wrap the body of Christ (John 19:39-40). Pilate asks confirmation from the centurion whether Jesus is dead (Mark 15:44). A soldier pierced the side of Jesus with a lance causing blood and water to flow out (John 19:34), and the centurion informs Pilate that Jesus is dead (Mark 15:45).

Joseph of Arimathea took Jesus' body, wrapped it in a clean linen shroud, and placed it in his own new tomb that had been carved in the rock (Matthew 27:59-60) in a garden near the site of crucifixion. Nicodemus (John 3:1) also brought 75 pounds of myrrh and aloes, and placed them in the linen with the body, in keeping with Jewish burial customs (John 19:39-40). They rolled a large rock over the entrance of the tomb (Matthew 27:60). Then they returned home and rested, because Shabbat had begun at sunset (Luke 23:54-56). On the third day, Sunday, which is now known as Easter Sunday (or Pascha), Jesus rose from the dead.

[edit]In the Roman Catholic Church

 

[edit]Day of Fasting

  

Crucifix prepared for veneration

The Catholic Church treats Good Friday as a fast day, which in the Latin Rite of the Church is understood as having only one full meal (but smaller than a regular meal) and two collations (a smaller repast, two of which together do not equal one full meal) and on which the faithful abstain from eating meat. In countries where Good Friday is not a day of rest from work, the afternoon liturgical service is usually put off until a few hours after the recommended time of 3 p.m.

[edit]Services on the day

The Latin Rite has no celebration of Mass between the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday evening and the Easter Vigil unless a special exemption is granted for rare solemn or grave occasions by the Vatican or the local bishop. The only sacraments celebrated during this time are Baptism (for those in danger of death), Penance, and Anointing of the Sick.[7] While there is no celebration of the Eucharist, it is distributed to the faithful only in the Service of the Passion of the Lord, but can also be taken at any hour to the sick who are unable to attend this service.[8] During this period crosses, candlesticks, and altar cloths are removed from the altar which remains completely bare.[9] It is also customary to empty the holy water fonts in preparation of the blessing of the water at the Easter Vigil.[10] Traditionally, no bells are rung on Good Friday or Holy Saturday until the Easter Vigil.

The Celebration of the Passion of the Lord takes place in the afternoon, ideally at three o'clock, but for pastoral reasons a later hour may be chosen.[11] The vestments used are red (more commonly) or black (more traditionally).[12] Before 1970, vestments were black except for the Communion part of the rite when violet was used.[13] Before 1955 black was used throughout.[14] If a bishop or abbot celebrates, he wears a plain mitre (mitra simplex).[15]

[edit]Liturgy

  

Communion from the Blessed Sacrament on Good Friday (Our Lady of Lourdes, Philadelphia)

The liturgy consists of three parts: the Liturgy of the Word, the Veneration of the Cross, and Holy Communion.

The Liturgy of the Word, consists of the clergy and assisting ministers entering in complete silence, without any singing. They then silently make a full prostration, "[signifying] both the abasement of 'earthly man,'[16] and also the grief and sorrow of the Church."[17] Then follows the Collect prayer, and the reading or chanting of Isaiah 52:13-53:12, Hebrews 4:14-16, 5:7-9, and the Passion account from the Gospel of John, traditionally divided between three deacons,[18] yet often divided between the celebrant and more than one singer or reader. This part of the liturgy concludes with the orationes sollemnes, a series of prayers for the Church, the Pope, the clergy and laity of the Church, those preparing for baptism, the unity of Christians, the Jewish people, those who do not believe in Christ, those who do not believe in God, those in public office, those in special need.[19] After each prayer intention, the deacon calls the faithful to kneel for a short period of private prayer; the celebrant then sums up the prayer intention with a Collect-style prayer.

The Adoration of the Cross, has a crucifix, not necessarily the one that is normally on or near the altar at other times, solemnly displayed to the congregation and then venerated by them, individually if possible and usually by kissing the wood of the cross, while hymns and the Improperia ("Reproaches") with the Trisagion hymn are chanted.[20]

Holy Communion is done according to a rite based on that of the final part of Mass, beginning with the Our Father, but omitting the ceremony of "Breaking of the Bread" and its related chant, the "Agnus Dei". The Eucharist, consecrated at the Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday is distributed at this service.[21] Before the reform of Pope Pius XII, only the priest received Communion in the framework of what was called the "Mass of the Presanctified", which included the usual Offertory prayers, with the placing of wine in the chalice, but which omitted the Canon of the Mass.[14] The priest and people then depart in silence, and the altar cloth is removed, leaving the altar bare except for the cross and two or four candlesticks.[22]

[edit]Stations of the Cross

  

The Way of the Cross, celebrated at the Colosseum in Rome on Good Friday

  

Rome: canopy erected at the "Temple of Venus and Rome" during the "Way of the Cross" ceremony

In addition to the prescribed liturgical service, the Stations of the Cross are often prayed either in the church or outside, and a prayer service may be held from midday to 3.00 p.m., known as the Three Hours' Agony. In countries such as Malta, Italy, Philippines, Puerto Rico and Spain, processions with statues representing the Passion of Christ are held.

In Rome, since the papacy of Blessed John Paul II, the heights of the Temple of Venus and Roma and their position opposite the main entrance to the Colosseum have been used to good effect as a public address platform. This may be seen in the photograph below where a red canopy has been erected to shelter the Pope as well as an illuminated cross, on the occasion of the Way of the Cross ceremony. The Pope, either personally or through a representative, leads the faithful through meditations on the stations of the cross while a cross is carried from there to the Colosseum.

In Polish churches, a tableau of Christ's Tomb is unveiled in the sanctuary. Many of the faithful spend long hours into the night grieving at the Tomb, where it is customary to kiss the wounds on the Lord's body. A life-size figure of Christ lying in his tomb is widely visited by the faithful, especially on Holy Saturday. The tableaux may include flowers, candles, figures of angels standing watch, and the three crosses atop Mt Calvary, and much more. Each parish strives to come up with the most artistically and religiously evocative arrangement in which the Blessed Sacrament, draped in a filmy veil, is prominently displayed.

[edit]Acts of Reparation to Jesus Christ

  

El Greco's Jesus Carrying the Cross, 1580

The Roman Catholic tradition includes specific prayers and devotions as acts of reparation for the sufferings and insults that Jesus suffered during his Passion on Good Friday. These Acts of Reparation to Jesus Christ do not involve a petition for a living or deceased beneficiary, but aim to repair the sins against Jesus. Some such prayers are provided in the Raccolta Catholic prayer book (approved by a Decree of 1854, and published by the Holy See in 1898) which also includes prayers as Acts of Reparation to the Virgin Mary.[23][24][25][26]

In his encyclical Miserentissimus Redemptor on reparations, Pope Pius XI called Acts of Reparation to Jesus Christ a duty for Catholics and referred to them as "some sort of compensation to be rendered for the injury" with respect to the sufferings of Jesus.[27]

Pope John Paul II referred to Acts of Reparation as the "unceasing effort to stand beside the endless crosses on which the Son of God continues to be crucified".[28]

[edit]Malta

The Holy Week commemorations reach their peak on Good Friday as the Roman Catholic Church celebrates the passion of Jesus. Solemn celebrations take place in all churches together with processions in different villages around Malta and Gozo. During the celebration, the narrative of the passion is read in some localities. The Adoration of the Cross follows. Good Friday processions take place in Birgu, Bormla, Għaxaq, Luqa, Mosta, Naxxar, Paola, Qormi, Rabat, Senglea, Valletta, Żebbuġ (Città Rohan) and Żejtun. Processions in Gozo will be in Nadur, Victoria (St. George and Cathedral), Xagħra and Żebbuġ, Gozo.

[edit]The Philippines

In predominantly Roman Catholic Philippines, the day is commemorated with street processions, the Way of the Cross, the chanting of the Pasyon, and performances of the Senakulo, a Passion play. Church bells are not rung and Masses are not celebrated. Some devotees engage in self-flagellation and even have themselves crucified as expressions of penance despite health issues and strong disapproval from the Church.[29]

After three o'clock in the afternoon (the time at which Jesus is traditionally believed to have died), the faithful venerate the cross in the local church and follow the procession of the Burial of Jesus. The image of the dead Christ is then laid in state to be venerated, and sometimes treated in accordance with local burial customs.

In Cebu and other Visayan Islands, people usually eat binignit and biko as a form of fasting.

[edit]In Eastern Christianity

   

Icon of the Crucifixion, 16th century, by Theophanes the Cretan (Stavronikita Monastery, Mount Athos)

Byzantine Christians (Eastern Christians who follow the Rite of Constantinople: Orthodox Christians and Greek-Catholics) call this day "Great and Holy Friday", or simply "Great Friday".

Because the sacrifice of Jesus through his crucifixion is commemorated on this day, the Divine Liturgy (the sacrifice of bread and wine) is never celebrated on Great Friday, except when this day coincides with the Great Feast of the Annunciation, which falls on the fixed date of March 25 (for those churches which follow the traditional Julian Calendar, March 25 currently falls on April 7 of the modern Gregorian Calendar). Also on Great Friday, the clergy no longer wear the purple or red that is customary throughout Great Lent,[30] but instead don black vestments. There is no "stripping of the altar" on Holy and Great Thursday as in the West; instead, all of the church hangings are changed to black, and will remain so until the Divine Liturgy on Great Saturday.

The faithful revisit the events of the day through public reading of specific Psalms and the Gospels, and singing hymns about Christ's death. Rich visual imagery and symbolism as well as stirring hymnody are remarkable elements of these observances. In the Orthodox understanding, the events of Holy Week are not simply an annual commemoration of past events, but the faithful actually participate in the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Each hour of this day is the new suffering and the new effort of the expiatory suffering of the Savior. And the echo of this suffering is already heard in every word of our worship service - unique and incomparable both in the power of tenderness and feeling and in the depth of the boundless compassion for the suffering of the Savior. The Holy Church opens before the eyes of believers a full picture of the redeeming suffering of the Lord beginning with the bloody sweat in the Garden of Gethsemane up to the crucifixion on Golgotha. Taking us back through the past centuries in thought, the Holy Church brings us to the foot of the cross of Christ erected on Golgotha, and makes us present among the quivering spectators of all the torture of the Savior.[31]

Great and Holy Friday is observed as a strict fast, and adult Byzantine Christians are expected to abstain from all food and drink the entire day to the extent that their health permits. "On this Holy day neither a meal is offered nor do we eat on this day of the crucifixion. If someone is unable or has become very old [or is] unable to fast, he may be given bread and water after sunset. In this way we come to the holy commandment of the Holy Apostles not to eat on Great Friday."[31]

[edit]Matins of Holy and Great Friday

The Byzantine Christian observance of Holy and Great Friday, which is formally known as The Order of Holy and Saving Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, begins on Thursday night with the Matins of the Twelve Passion Gospels. Scattered throughout this Matins service are twelve readings from all four of the Gospels which recount the events of the Passion from the Last Supper through the Crucifixion and burial of Jesus. Some churches have a candelabrum with twelve candles on it, and after each Gospel reading one of the candles is extinguished.

  

Good Friday cross from the Catholicon at Holy Trinity Monastery, Meteora, Greece

The first of these twelve readings John 13:31-18:1 is the longest Gospel reading of the liturgical year, and is a concatenation from all four Gospels. Just before the sixth Gospel reading, which recounts Jesus being nailed to the cross, a large cross is carried out of the sanctuary by the priest, accompanied by incense and candles, and is placed in the center of the nave (where the congregation gathers), with a two-dimensional painted icon of the body of Christ (Greek: soma) affixed to it. As the cross is being carried, the priest or a chanter chants a special antiphon, Sēmeron Kremātai Epí Xýlou:

Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross (three times).

He who is King of the angels is arrayed in a crown of thorns.

He who wraps the Heavens in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.

He who in Jordan set Adam free receives blows upon His face.

The Bridegroom of the Church is transfixed with nails.

The Son of the Virgin is pierced with a spear.

We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ (three times).

Show us also Thy glorious Resurrection.[32][33]

During the service, all come forward to kiss the feet of Christ on the cross. After the Canon, a brief, moving hymn, The Wise Thief is chanted by singers who stand at the foot of the cross in the center of the nave. The service does not end with the First Hour, as usual, but with a special dismissal by the priest:

May Christ our true God, Who for the salvation of the world endured spitting, and scourging, and buffeting, and the Cross, and death, through the intercessions of His most pure Mother, of our holy and God-bearing fathers, and of all the saints, have mercy on us and save us, for He is good and the Lover of mankind.

[edit]Royal Hours

Main article: Royal Hours

The next day, in the forenoon on Friday, all gather again to pray the Royal Hours, a special expanded celebration of the Little Hours (including the First Hour, Third Hour, Sixth Hour, Ninth Hour and Typica) with the addition of scripture readings (Old Testament, Epistle and Gospel) and hymns about the Crucifixion at each of the Hours (some of the material from the previous night is repeated). This is somewhat more festive in character, and derives its name of "Royal" from both the fact that the Hours are served with more solemnity than normal, commemorating Christ the King who humbled himself for the salvation of mankind, and also from the fact that this service was in the past attended by the Emperor and his court.

[edit]Vespers of Holy and Great Friday

  

The crucified Christ, just before the Deposition from the Cross and the placing of the Epitaphios in the Sepulcher.

  

The epitaphios ("winding sheet"), depicting the preparation of the body of Jesus for burial

In the afternoon, around 3 pm, all gather for the Vespers of the Taking-Down from the Cross, commemorating the Deposition from the Cross. The Gospel reading is a concatenation taken from all four of the Gospels. During the service, the body of Christ (the soma) is removed from the cross, as the words in the Gospel reading mention Joseph of Arimathea, wrapped in a linen shroud, and taken to the altar in the sanctuary. Near the end of the service an epitaphios or "winding sheet" (a cloth embroidered with the image of Christ prepared for burial) is carried in procession to a low table in the nave which represents the Tomb of Christ; it is often decorated with an abundance of flowers. The epitaphios itself represents the body of Jesus wrapped in a burial shroud, and is a roughly full-size cloth icon of the body of Christ. Then the priest may deliver a homily and everyone comes forward to venerate the epitaphios. In the Slavic practice, at the end of Vespers, Compline is immediately served, featuring a special Canon of the Crucifixion of our Lord and the Lamentation of the Most Holy Theotokos by Symeon the Logothete.

[edit]Matins of Holy and Great Saturday

  

The Epitaphios being carried in procession

  

The Epitaphios mounted upon return of procession

On Friday night, the Matins of Holy and Great Saturday, a unique service known as The Lamentation at the Tomb (Epitáphios Thrēnos) is celebrated. This service is also sometimes called Jerusalem Matins. Much of the service takes place around the tomb of Christ in the center of the nave.

A unique feature of the service is the chanting of the Lamentations or Praises (Enkōmia), which consist of verses chanted by the clergy interspersed between the verses of Psalm 119 (which is, by far, the longest psalm in the Bible). The Enkōmia are the best-loved hymns of Byzantine hymnography, both their poetry and their music being uniquely suited to each other and to the spirit of the day. They consist of 185 tercet antiphons arranged in three parts (stáseis or "stops"), which are interjected with the verses of Psalm 119, and nine short doxastiká ("Gloriae") and Theotókia (invocations to the Virgin Mary). The three stáseis are each set to its own music, and are commonly known by their initial antiphons: "Life in a grave", "Worthy it is", and "All the generations". Musically they can be classified as strophic, with 75, 62, and 48 tercet stanzas each, respectively. The climax of the Enkōmia comes during the third stásis, with the antiphon "Ō glyký mou Éar", a lamentation of the Virgin for her dead Child ("O, my sweet spring, my sweetest child, where has your beauty gone?"). The author(s) and date of the Enkōmia are unknown. Their High Attic linguistic style suggests a dating around the 6th century, possibly before the time of St. Romanos the Melodist.

At the end of the Great Doxology, while the Trisagion is sung, the epitaphios is taken in procession around the outside the church, and is then returned to the tomb. Some churches observe the practice of holding the epitaphios at the door, above waist level, so the faithful most bow down under it as they come back into the church, symbolizing their entering into the death and resurrection of Christ. The epitaphios will lay in the tomb until the Paschal Service early Sunday morning. In some churches, the epitaphios is never left alone, but is accompanied 24 hours a day by a reader chanting from the Psalter.[citation needed]

The Troparion (hymn of the day) of Good Friday is:

The noble Joseph, when he had taken down Thy most pure Body from the tree, wrapped it in fine linen, and anointed it with spices, and placed it in a new tomb.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, both now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

The angel came to the myrrh-bearing women at the tomb and said:

Myrrh is fitting for the dead, but Christ has shown Himself a stranger to corruption.

  

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_Friday

I thought I knew Yarmouth, but I heard in a discussion about what was the largest parish church in England, that Great Yarmouth Minster was one that laid claim to that accolade.

 

Minster? In Yarmouth?

 

But seems there is much to the town I did not know, and clearly it needs to be further explored. But whilst in the area, riding on trains, I took and hour out to walk from the station to the Minster to have a look, if it was open.

 

Maybe they are more welcoming to visitors now, but two boards outside announcing the fact, so I went in and was stunned at the size of it, too much to take in really, but it was full of light and I was given a very warm welcome. This made a very lasting impression.

 

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The Norman-era Minster Church of St Nicholas in Great Yarmouth remains, due to its floor-surface area, England's largest parish church.[1] It was founded in 1101 by Herbert de Losinga, the first Bishop of Norwich,[2] and consecrated in 1119. Since its construction, it has been Great Yarmouth's parish church. It is cruciform, with a central tower, which may preserve a part of the original structure. Gradual alterations effectively changed the form of the building. Its nave is 26 feet (7.9 m) wide, and the church's total length is 236 feet (72 m).

In December 2011, the Bishop of Norwich officially designated it a Minster Church. It is not only used for religious services but is a hub for various other regional and civic events, including concerts by choirs, orchestras and other musical ensembles, art exhibitions and, during festivals and fayres, the church opens permitting stalls and traders inside.

  

The building, very possibly the town's oldest, is also its most visible, historic landmark. It sits in the central area of Great Yarmouth, close to the house of Anna Sewell.[2] The Transitional clerestoried nave, with columns alternately octagonal and circular, was rebuilt in the reign of King John. A portion of the chancel is of the same date. About fifty years later the aisles were widened, so that the nave is now, rather unusually, the narrowest part of the building. Immediately adjacent are two main graveyard areas: the Old Yard lies directly east behind the church, while the very substantial New Yard stretches for about half a mile to the north.

  

A grand west front with towers and pinnacles was constructed between 1330 and 1338, but a plague interrupted building extension plans. In the 16th century the ornamental brasses were cast into weights and the gravestones cut into grindstones. Within the church there were at one time 18 chapels, some maintained by guilds, others by private families, such as the Paxtons. At the Reformation the chapels were demolished and the building's valuable liturgical vessels sold off, the proceeds spent to widen the channel of the harbour.

 

During the Commonwealth period, the Independents appropriated the chancel, the Presbyterians the north aisle, while Churchmen were allowed the remainder of the building. The interior brick walls, erected at this time to separate the different portions of the building, remained until 1847. In 1864 the tower was restored, and the east end of the chancel rebuilt; between 1869 and 1870 the south aisle was rebuilt; and in 1884 the south transept, the west end of the nave and the north aisle underwent restoration.

 

During the Second World War, the building was bombed and nearly destroyed by fire. It was rebuilt by the architect Stephen Dykes Bower and re-consecrated in 1961. During reconstruction, the church temporarily used St Peter's Church on St Peter's Road. When St Nicholas re-opened, attendance at St Peter's declined until the 1960s, when a growing Greek community had use of it, and in 1981 it became St Spiridon's Greek Orthodox Church.

On 2 October 2011, the Lord Bishop of Norwich Graham James raised St. Nicholas to the status of a Minster Church, so marked on 9 December 2011 during the town's Civic Carol Service. Its formal title is now the Minster Church of St. Nicholas, Great Yarmouth.

On 13 October 2014 a memorial stone was unveiled to commemorate the deaths of thirteen people in 1981 Bristow Helicopters Westland Wessex crash.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Yarmouth_Minster

 

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I do like Great Yarmouth. More than anywhere else in East Anglia, with the possible exception of Kings Lynn, you feel that this is a place which has broken the surly bonds of proximity to London, which is, after all, fewer than 150 miles away, and instead yearns out for the sea, and Europe. Yarmouth takes its name from the mouth of the River Yare: tightly crammed onto a narrow tongue of land, surrounded on three sides by water, it retains its endearingly shabby character and a sense of its own singular history, despite the best efforts of the Luftwaffe and the Borough planners, who over the last half-century must rank as some of the most neglectful and bone-headed planners of any of England's medium-sized towns.

Great Yarmouth has a seedy brashness, a jollity which overwrites the hard times it has suffered, and it has suffered indeed: the town lost a greater percentage of its houses to German bombing during the Second World War than any other town in England. The disappearance of the fishing industry led to an unemployment rate of mining town proportions, and the rugged working class character of the town, without any significant areas of middle class villas or suburban metroland, has often been a poor advocate for itself.

 

Can there be a more hauntingly lovely town centre street in East Anglia than South Quay? On one side are the confident 19th and early 20th century buildings, the town hall, the banks, the merchants' houses, the town pubs, while on the other side is the quay of the steely, silent Yare, the great ships parked opposite the buildings. For Great Yarmouth is still a major port, and the warehouses on the Southtown side remind those who pass beneath the great red brick buildings on the far bank exactly where all this prosperity came from.

 

And a twenty minute walk will take you across the heart of the town to Yarmouth's wide, white, sandy beaches, for today this is above all else a seaside town, of course. And while the beaches are by no means as lovely as those of Lowestoft ten miles to the south, nothing can beat Yarmouth for the sheer number of its amusement arcades, its fairgrounds, its candy floss stands and its cheap tat shops. Kiss me quick and squeeze me slow: this feels like the seaside used to, like it ought to, before we got all sophisticated about such matters. It reminds me of my childhood. In summer, all Norwich seems to come here for a cheap and cheerful day out, and you cannot get a seat on the train for love nor money.

 

When I first knew Great Yarmouth as a child in the 1970s, the roads to the north of the town centre were lined with small hotels, and while these certainly still exist, the days when thousands of people came to Great Yarmouth for a two week holiday are now gone. The former hotels are now residential care homes, or divided up into flats and bedsits, which are still not called apartments, thank goodness. The vast coach park immediately to the north of the town centre is still discernible as the site of Yarmouth Beach station, which brought the holiday-makers here. In those days, Great Yarmouth had three railway stations, but now there is only one, with its single line playing host to an hourly shuttle into Norwich.

 

That the demand for cheap meals and takeaway food has not diminished is testified to by the large population of Greeks, mainly from Cyprus; they started arriving here during the days of the fascist dictatorship and the war in the 1970s. The vast former Anglican parish church of St Peter, redundant in the 1980s, has been happily reborn as the Greek Orthodox church of St Spiridon. Today, especially in the area to the south of the town centre, you are as likely to hear Greek spoken on the streets as English. And what English! This must be one of the last towns in England with a strong, identifiable accent of its own - people do not have Norfolk accents here, they have Great Yarmouth accents, which stand out in the streets of sophisticated Norwich as much as voices from Birmingham or Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

 

People who have never been here know Great Yarmouth from books, especially the opening few chapters of Charles Dickens's David Copperfield, for here it was that the Peggoty family lived in an upturned boat on the beach, and here it was that David was happy. Dickens was writing in the 1840s about a Great Yarmouth of a quarter of a century earlier, and you will find few traces of Dickens's Yarmouth today. Great Yarmouth underwent a massive building boom in the 1860s, and this and the modern era define its character above all else. But wandering around the Middlegate area you may be struck by how, among the dull and often crass buildings of the 1960s and 1970s, there is occasionally some extraordinary survival, a 16th century house wider at the top than the bottom, perhaps, or an early medieval tollhouse, or a grand 18th century frontage with a perfunctory building tacked on behind. This was the heart of the area destroyed by a succession of German bombing raids in 1941 and 1942. Because of Great Yarmouth's singular situation on a spit of land, its population lived crammed into narrow alleys called rows, many early medieval in origin, the bulk built in the 15th and 16th centuries. This unique medieval townscape of perhaps 140 rows survived up until those fateful nights. It was almost completely destroyed, with a consequent heavy loss of life. Hauntingly, several bombed buildings have been left exactly as they were after the destruction, in a railed off area behind the replacement Unitarian church.

 

It is easy to forget quite how prosperous Great Yarmouth was during the medieval period. As Bill Wilson reminds us in the revised Pevsner, at the time of the 1334 merchant's tax register, Yarmouth raised more in the subsidy than either Norwich or Lynn, which a hundred years before had been exceptionally prosperous places. Only York, Bristol and London were richer than Yarmouth on the eve of the Black Death; the town had provided three times more sailors for the attack on Calais than London, and in 1348 there were 220 boats on the Yare river mouth. But the following year the Black Death wiped out perhaps two-thirds of the townsfolk, and it would take Yarmouth hundreds of years to recover its former prosperity.

 

It was at this time that the town walls were completed, and it is still possible to trace the course of the walls today, especially to the south of the town. On three sides, the walls defended Yarmouth from the sea, on which it resolutely turned its back; on the river side, there was no wall. Within the walls, at its widest and most northerly point, the town had its market place, still a busy one, and further north than that, looking down the length of the market place, over the rows, the warehouse, along the river and out to the sea, they built a great church, dedicated to the patron saint of sailors, St Nicholas.

 

A hundred miles up the east coast is the great port city of Hull, which dwarfs the town of Great Yarmouth, but with which Great Yarmouth otherwise shares very much in common. There, the great late 15th Century church of Holy Trinity is claimed as the country's biggest, which may well be true in terms of its sheer bulk. But here in Yarmouth the medieval merchant wealth had done better than that, and here it was that, in terms of floor area, the burghers of Yarmouth built the largest church in England.

 

Whereas the Hull church towers over and dominates the medieval street plan, here in Great Yarmouth St Nicholas seems to sprawl, its width and length dwarfing the central tower. Holy Trinity is fully in proportion, a typical late medieval church writ large, but St Nicholas is not. This great building has an idiosyncrasy, and to visit it is to see a church in a new way. There are several reasons for this, not least that this building was largely complete a full 150 years before Holy Trinity. There is no clerestory, and hardly any of the language of Perpendicular which would inform and shape so many of England's great urban churches. The setting of the building below the level of the market place means that the overall impression is of the green of the vast copper roofs. To see it in the low sun of a cold winter's afternoon, with the stone and flintwork glowing and the frost beginning to gleam on the parapets, is to see one of East Anglia's most beautiful urban sights, I think.

 

Walking around the outside of the building is a not inconsiderable task, and you soon become acquainted with the rhythm of the flintwork, windows and stone dressing, which make it feel that it is all of a piece, which is an illusion, although there are reasons for it. The west front is vast, but hidden by trees and in any case visible only from a minor road.To the east of the chancel is a haunting 1840s gravestone which tells us that beneath this Stone rests two Babes that brought Happiness to their Parents although they are Dead. I wondered if Dickens had ever spotted it. And as you come back round to the south porch you'll find one of England's most unusual 19th century gravestones. It remembers George Beloe, a nine year old boy who was unfortunately drowned when the suspension bridge over the Bure, just outside of Yarmouth, collapsed in 1845. A large crowd had gathered on the bridge to watch a clown float down the river in a barrel pulled by geese, and the bridge collapsed when they surged from one side to the other as he went under. The full death toll was never known, because many of the victims must have been washed out to sea by the fast-flowing current. Seventy-nine bodies were recovered, most of them children. What makes George Beloe's headstone extraordinary is that it depicts, in stone relief, the collapse of the bridge. Now eroded by weather after more than a century and a half, you can still make out the two ends of the bridge, and the eye of God looking down as the deck collapses into the Bure.

 

Having made your circumnavigation, you can now step through the huge porch, which faces the market place, into the interior of this extraordinary building. You may know already what to expect, but if you do not then you will be struck by how outstandingly light and clean the interior is. As your eyes adjust to the great distances, you may then notice the curious pattern of the arcades which open and close vistas as you begin to wander, as if this was a maze of vast, low rooms. And then you would notice the jaunty, bleached Festival of Britain feel of the furnishings, the acreage of modern glass, most of it very good, and the uncluttered simplicity, and then it will strike you - there is nothing old here.

 

On the night of 24th June 1942, St Nicholas was completely destroyed by German bombing. All that was left standing were the outer walls and the tower, in danger of collapse. The stonework was utterly calcined by the fierce heat. In a town which had suffered so much over the previous twelve months, it was a greivous loss, and it would be almost twenty years before St Nicholas was open for business again. Essentially, it had to be rebuilt, using the surviving walls and tower. The chosen design was that of a relatively minor architect, but a man who would be responsible for the two great East Anglian church architectural controversies of the 20th Century, Stephen Dykes Bower.

 

It is inevitable that a comparison should be made with Coventry Cathedral, which also replaced a bombed predecessor. The two buildings are about the same size, the work was carried out over the same period of years in the late 1950s, and the two buildings opened just a year apart. But while Basil Spence's Coventry Cathedral is a fabulous, iconic structure in the spirit of the age and in the full flush of post-war enthusiasm, St Nicholas at first appears little more than an exercise in pedantic and ponderous medievalism. As Bill Wilson points out, the £315,000 awarded by the War Damage Commission here was but a quarter of the money allotted to Coventry, but he also recalls Pevsner's scathing attack on the design: What an opportunity was lost! What thrilling things might have been done inside! A modern interior, airy, noble, of fine materials could have arisen to affirm the vitality of C20 church architecture inside the C13 walls. How defeatist does the imitation-Gothic interior appear, once this has been realized!

 

And Pevsner was not alone. The main criticism seemed to be that, while the opportunity had not been taken to produce something brave and modernist, the rebuilding was also not true to the principles and details of the Gothic which had been there before. Instead, Dykes Bower made up his own Gothic, particularly in the arcades and tracery. It is a simple Gothic, stripped of detail and without the clutter beloved of the 19th Century revival. Coventry Cathedral's design was startling and newsworthy, and the great artists of the day were commissioned to provide its fixtures and fittings. It has come to represent a city which otherwise projects a rather vague image to the world. But Great Yarmouth is not Coventry, and there is a big difference between the urban church of a relatively small and insular town and the Cathedral of a great diocese. It is perhaps unfair that Coventry's Cathedral is still viewed today as a phoenix risen from the ashes in a way that Great Yarmouth's church can never be, despite the near-identical circumstances. But that's not all. Bill Wilson, writing in 1991, concludes that the problem with the concept is the lack of assertive detail and the fact that so large a space needs to be filled with plenty of furnishings. Unhappily, there are hardly any...

 

And yet, and yet. When I step into St Nicholas now, I find myself thrilled by the cool light, the almost monastic simplicity. Apart from the hideous organ, the open spaces are barely punctuated, and there is something timeless and eternal about the silence. Dykes Bower's arcades are hardly there, vanishing into the whiteness above and the simplicity of the bare wood roofs. Through the crossing the jewel-like chancel glows, almost beckoning. From the other direction the west window does exactly the same. What Pevsner could not have foreseen is that this building is entirely suited to modern Anglican spirituality which has extended in recent years beyond mere congregational worship. And he also could not have foreseen how we would come to view the simplicity of Dykes Bower's design, the white walls, the lack of detail, the stripped, bleached wood and the cool, hard floors as being exactly symptomatic of the 1960s, the decade which gave this new building its birth. For this, I like it very much, not least because it was reopened on 8th May 1961, the day I was born.

 

Perhaps best of all I like the range of glass around the east and west windows by Brian Thomas. They are all of a piece, installed for the reopening. There can be few modern schemes outside of the cathedrals on so vast a scale, and yet they are elaborate, detailed and intimate. This great, light building is the perfect setting for them. The east window depicts the Crucifixion, surrounded by scenes from the Passion. In the north aisles are the joyful mysteries of the Christ story, from the Annunciation to the Presentation, while in the south aisles is the salvation story from Adam and Eve to Christ's mission. At the west end are the sacraments.

 

There are effectively four aisles, two either side of the church, which extend up to beyond the crossing. The aisles each side become conjoined as they flank the nave itself, making the nave appear narrow and tall in comparison, despite what we know to be true of it. The triple lancet of the west window aids this illusion. Below it, the Norman font is from a redundant Wiltshire church, and looks most un-East Anglian. There are small artworks and minor survivals dotted about, but they do not intrude. The early 18th century pulpit came from St George, a few hundred metres to the south, now closed. The pews in the central part of the nave are also from St George, and although they are simple they strike a jarring note. Modern chairs would be better. Dykes Bower screened off the south chancel chapel to create a space for private prayer, and this doesn't work as well as it might, creating an obstruction within the otherwise openness of the east end. The garishly painted organ is also his.

 

But this is a place to wander - despite the vast scale I found I had circumnavigated the interior three times without really noticing. It struck me then quite how much Dykes Bower must have intended this - he was designing a great town church interior, and looking across the water to Holland and Belgium as much as to anywhere else in England. He wanted a church that opened onto the market place, into which shoppers could come for a sit down and even a prayer, a building whose open spaces would be wandered through. Having told you all of this, I expect you are already making plans to come to Great Yarmouth and visit this church for yourself as soon as you possibly can. You may be aghast to learn, then, that this wonderful structure is hardly ever open to the public. At present, you can only visit on a Saturday morning: otherwise, it is merely the private, vastly-subsidised venue of a small group of Sunday worshippers. Nothing could be more short-sighted, and little could be more shameful.

 

For, while the mission of the Church of England is increasingly seen as to the whole people of God and not just to its registered members, and churches all over England are making themselves open to pilgrims and strangers wanting to feel a sense of the numinous and even perhaps to be open to a spirituality which may or may not be Christian but which is at least a yearning for God, the people of Great Yarmouth are locked out of their own church from day to day. They can at least visit the Catholic church of St Mary, which has a sign saying, curiously, that the church is open as often as possible, but that is a small Victorian building, and cannot compare with St Nicholas which is, after all, the heart and soul of Great Yarmouth's history, a touchstone down its long generations.

 

But if you can get inside, and if you stand beneath the crossing looking westwards, the view is typical: clean, clear, full of light and gravitas with a sense of prayerfulness and even of mystery. There is enough to convince. This building does not feel defeatist; if anything, it was a rather brave approach to the problem. But few people saw it like that at the time, and few people did in the years after. It must be said that Dykes Bower did not go out of his way to win friends in the modernist world - as his wikipedia entry says of him, he was a devoted and determined champion of the Gothic Revival style through its most unpopular years. And yet, he had the last laugh. When he finished here, he spent the next two decades overseeing the transformation of the church of St James at Bury St Edmunds into a fitting cathedral for the Diocese of St Edmundsbury and Ipswich. His is the chancel there, his the transepts, the side chapels and the north ambulatory, all in his own faux-gothic style. And when he died in 1994 he left a cool two million pounds to the Diocese for the construction of a huge Gothic central tower over the crossing of the cathedral. The Diocese spent another ten years or so raising the extra needed, which was fairly controversial in those years when the CofE was haemorraging cash left, right and centre. Despite the voices against it, the tower was built, entirely to Dykes Bower's fancy, and the gleaming white edifice now towers over Bury as if it had been there for half a millennium or more.

 

Simon Knott, October 2010

 

www.norfolkchurches.co.uk/gynicholas/gynicholas.htm

I thought I knew Yarmouth, but I heard in a discussion about what was the largest parish church in England, that Great Yarmouth Minster was one that laid claim to that accolade.

 

Minster? In Yarmouth?

 

But seems there is much to the town I did not know, and clearly it needs to be further explored. But whilst in the area, riding on trains, I took and hour out to walk from the station to the Minster to have a look, if it was open.

 

Maybe they are more welcoming to visitors now, but two boards outside announcing the fact, so I went in and was stunned at the size of it, too much to take in really, but it was full of light and I was given a very warm welcome. This made a very lasting impression.

 

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The Norman-era Minster Church of St Nicholas in Great Yarmouth remains, due to its floor-surface area, England's largest parish church.[1] It was founded in 1101 by Herbert de Losinga, the first Bishop of Norwich,[2] and consecrated in 1119. Since its construction, it has been Great Yarmouth's parish church. It is cruciform, with a central tower, which may preserve a part of the original structure. Gradual alterations effectively changed the form of the building. Its nave is 26 feet (7.9 m) wide, and the church's total length is 236 feet (72 m).

In December 2011, the Bishop of Norwich officially designated it a Minster Church. It is not only used for religious services but is a hub for various other regional and civic events, including concerts by choirs, orchestras and other musical ensembles, art exhibitions and, during festivals and fayres, the church opens permitting stalls and traders inside.

  

The building, very possibly the town's oldest, is also its most visible, historic landmark. It sits in the central area of Great Yarmouth, close to the house of Anna Sewell.[2] The Transitional clerestoried nave, with columns alternately octagonal and circular, was rebuilt in the reign of King John. A portion of the chancel is of the same date. About fifty years later the aisles were widened, so that the nave is now, rather unusually, the narrowest part of the building. Immediately adjacent are two main graveyard areas: the Old Yard lies directly east behind the church, while the very substantial New Yard stretches for about half a mile to the north.

  

A grand west front with towers and pinnacles was constructed between 1330 and 1338, but a plague interrupted building extension plans. In the 16th century the ornamental brasses were cast into weights and the gravestones cut into grindstones. Within the church there were at one time 18 chapels, some maintained by guilds, others by private families, such as the Paxtons. At the Reformation the chapels were demolished and the building's valuable liturgical vessels sold off, the proceeds spent to widen the channel of the harbour.

 

During the Commonwealth period, the Independents appropriated the chancel, the Presbyterians the north aisle, while Churchmen were allowed the remainder of the building. The interior brick walls, erected at this time to separate the different portions of the building, remained until 1847. In 1864 the tower was restored, and the east end of the chancel rebuilt; between 1869 and 1870 the south aisle was rebuilt; and in 1884 the south transept, the west end of the nave and the north aisle underwent restoration.

 

During the Second World War, the building was bombed and nearly destroyed by fire. It was rebuilt by the architect Stephen Dykes Bower and re-consecrated in 1961. During reconstruction, the church temporarily used St Peter's Church on St Peter's Road. When St Nicholas re-opened, attendance at St Peter's declined until the 1960s, when a growing Greek community had use of it, and in 1981 it became St Spiridon's Greek Orthodox Church.

On 2 October 2011, the Lord Bishop of Norwich Graham James raised St. Nicholas to the status of a Minster Church, so marked on 9 December 2011 during the town's Civic Carol Service. Its formal title is now the Minster Church of St. Nicholas, Great Yarmouth.

On 13 October 2014 a memorial stone was unveiled to commemorate the deaths of thirteen people in 1981 Bristow Helicopters Westland Wessex crash.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Yarmouth_Minster

 

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I do like Great Yarmouth. More than anywhere else in East Anglia, with the possible exception of Kings Lynn, you feel that this is a place which has broken the surly bonds of proximity to London, which is, after all, fewer than 150 miles away, and instead yearns out for the sea, and Europe. Yarmouth takes its name from the mouth of the River Yare: tightly crammed onto a narrow tongue of land, surrounded on three sides by water, it retains its endearingly shabby character and a sense of its own singular history, despite the best efforts of the Luftwaffe and the Borough planners, who over the last half-century must rank as some of the most neglectful and bone-headed planners of any of England's medium-sized towns.

Great Yarmouth has a seedy brashness, a jollity which overwrites the hard times it has suffered, and it has suffered indeed: the town lost a greater percentage of its houses to German bombing during the Second World War than any other town in England. The disappearance of the fishing industry led to an unemployment rate of mining town proportions, and the rugged working class character of the town, without any significant areas of middle class villas or suburban metroland, has often been a poor advocate for itself.

 

Can there be a more hauntingly lovely town centre street in East Anglia than South Quay? On one side are the confident 19th and early 20th century buildings, the town hall, the banks, the merchants' houses, the town pubs, while on the other side is the quay of the steely, silent Yare, the great ships parked opposite the buildings. For Great Yarmouth is still a major port, and the warehouses on the Southtown side remind those who pass beneath the great red brick buildings on the far bank exactly where all this prosperity came from.

 

And a twenty minute walk will take you across the heart of the town to Yarmouth's wide, white, sandy beaches, for today this is above all else a seaside town, of course. And while the beaches are by no means as lovely as those of Lowestoft ten miles to the south, nothing can beat Yarmouth for the sheer number of its amusement arcades, its fairgrounds, its candy floss stands and its cheap tat shops. Kiss me quick and squeeze me slow: this feels like the seaside used to, like it ought to, before we got all sophisticated about such matters. It reminds me of my childhood. In summer, all Norwich seems to come here for a cheap and cheerful day out, and you cannot get a seat on the train for love nor money.

 

When I first knew Great Yarmouth as a child in the 1970s, the roads to the north of the town centre were lined with small hotels, and while these certainly still exist, the days when thousands of people came to Great Yarmouth for a two week holiday are now gone. The former hotels are now residential care homes, or divided up into flats and bedsits, which are still not called apartments, thank goodness. The vast coach park immediately to the north of the town centre is still discernible as the site of Yarmouth Beach station, which brought the holiday-makers here. In those days, Great Yarmouth had three railway stations, but now there is only one, with its single line playing host to an hourly shuttle into Norwich.

 

That the demand for cheap meals and takeaway food has not diminished is testified to by the large population of Greeks, mainly from Cyprus; they started arriving here during the days of the fascist dictatorship and the war in the 1970s. The vast former Anglican parish church of St Peter, redundant in the 1980s, has been happily reborn as the Greek Orthodox church of St Spiridon. Today, especially in the area to the south of the town centre, you are as likely to hear Greek spoken on the streets as English. And what English! This must be one of the last towns in England with a strong, identifiable accent of its own - people do not have Norfolk accents here, they have Great Yarmouth accents, which stand out in the streets of sophisticated Norwich as much as voices from Birmingham or Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

 

People who have never been here know Great Yarmouth from books, especially the opening few chapters of Charles Dickens's David Copperfield, for here it was that the Peggoty family lived in an upturned boat on the beach, and here it was that David was happy. Dickens was writing in the 1840s about a Great Yarmouth of a quarter of a century earlier, and you will find few traces of Dickens's Yarmouth today. Great Yarmouth underwent a massive building boom in the 1860s, and this and the modern era define its character above all else. But wandering around the Middlegate area you may be struck by how, among the dull and often crass buildings of the 1960s and 1970s, there is occasionally some extraordinary survival, a 16th century house wider at the top than the bottom, perhaps, or an early medieval tollhouse, or a grand 18th century frontage with a perfunctory building tacked on behind. This was the heart of the area destroyed by a succession of German bombing raids in 1941 and 1942. Because of Great Yarmouth's singular situation on a spit of land, its population lived crammed into narrow alleys called rows, many early medieval in origin, the bulk built in the 15th and 16th centuries. This unique medieval townscape of perhaps 140 rows survived up until those fateful nights. It was almost completely destroyed, with a consequent heavy loss of life. Hauntingly, several bombed buildings have been left exactly as they were after the destruction, in a railed off area behind the replacement Unitarian church.

 

It is easy to forget quite how prosperous Great Yarmouth was during the medieval period. As Bill Wilson reminds us in the revised Pevsner, at the time of the 1334 merchant's tax register, Yarmouth raised more in the subsidy than either Norwich or Lynn, which a hundred years before had been exceptionally prosperous places. Only York, Bristol and London were richer than Yarmouth on the eve of the Black Death; the town had provided three times more sailors for the attack on Calais than London, and in 1348 there were 220 boats on the Yare river mouth. But the following year the Black Death wiped out perhaps two-thirds of the townsfolk, and it would take Yarmouth hundreds of years to recover its former prosperity.

 

It was at this time that the town walls were completed, and it is still possible to trace the course of the walls today, especially to the south of the town. On three sides, the walls defended Yarmouth from the sea, on which it resolutely turned its back; on the river side, there was no wall. Within the walls, at its widest and most northerly point, the town had its market place, still a busy one, and further north than that, looking down the length of the market place, over the rows, the warehouse, along the river and out to the sea, they built a great church, dedicated to the patron saint of sailors, St Nicholas.

 

A hundred miles up the east coast is the great port city of Hull, which dwarfs the town of Great Yarmouth, but with which Great Yarmouth otherwise shares very much in common. There, the great late 15th Century church of Holy Trinity is claimed as the country's biggest, which may well be true in terms of its sheer bulk. But here in Yarmouth the medieval merchant wealth had done better than that, and here it was that, in terms of floor area, the burghers of Yarmouth built the largest church in England.

 

Whereas the Hull church towers over and dominates the medieval street plan, here in Great Yarmouth St Nicholas seems to sprawl, its width and length dwarfing the central tower. Holy Trinity is fully in proportion, a typical late medieval church writ large, but St Nicholas is not. This great building has an idiosyncrasy, and to visit it is to see a church in a new way. There are several reasons for this, not least that this building was largely complete a full 150 years before Holy Trinity. There is no clerestory, and hardly any of the language of Perpendicular which would inform and shape so many of England's great urban churches. The setting of the building below the level of the market place means that the overall impression is of the green of the vast copper roofs. To see it in the low sun of a cold winter's afternoon, with the stone and flintwork glowing and the frost beginning to gleam on the parapets, is to see one of East Anglia's most beautiful urban sights, I think.

 

Walking around the outside of the building is a not inconsiderable task, and you soon become acquainted with the rhythm of the flintwork, windows and stone dressing, which make it feel that it is all of a piece, which is an illusion, although there are reasons for it. The west front is vast, but hidden by trees and in any case visible only from a minor road.To the east of the chancel is a haunting 1840s gravestone which tells us that beneath this Stone rests two Babes that brought Happiness to their Parents although they are Dead. I wondered if Dickens had ever spotted it. And as you come back round to the south porch you'll find one of England's most unusual 19th century gravestones. It remembers George Beloe, a nine year old boy who was unfortunately drowned when the suspension bridge over the Bure, just outside of Yarmouth, collapsed in 1845. A large crowd had gathered on the bridge to watch a clown float down the river in a barrel pulled by geese, and the bridge collapsed when they surged from one side to the other as he went under. The full death toll was never known, because many of the victims must have been washed out to sea by the fast-flowing current. Seventy-nine bodies were recovered, most of them children. What makes George Beloe's headstone extraordinary is that it depicts, in stone relief, the collapse of the bridge. Now eroded by weather after more than a century and a half, you can still make out the two ends of the bridge, and the eye of God looking down as the deck collapses into the Bure.

 

Having made your circumnavigation, you can now step through the huge porch, which faces the market place, into the interior of this extraordinary building. You may know already what to expect, but if you do not then you will be struck by how outstandingly light and clean the interior is. As your eyes adjust to the great distances, you may then notice the curious pattern of the arcades which open and close vistas as you begin to wander, as if this was a maze of vast, low rooms. And then you would notice the jaunty, bleached Festival of Britain feel of the furnishings, the acreage of modern glass, most of it very good, and the uncluttered simplicity, and then it will strike you - there is nothing old here.

 

On the night of 24th June 1942, St Nicholas was completely destroyed by German bombing. All that was left standing were the outer walls and the tower, in danger of collapse. The stonework was utterly calcined by the fierce heat. In a town which had suffered so much over the previous twelve months, it was a greivous loss, and it would be almost twenty years before St Nicholas was open for business again. Essentially, it had to be rebuilt, using the surviving walls and tower. The chosen design was that of a relatively minor architect, but a man who would be responsible for the two great East Anglian church architectural controversies of the 20th Century, Stephen Dykes Bower.

 

It is inevitable that a comparison should be made with Coventry Cathedral, which also replaced a bombed predecessor. The two buildings are about the same size, the work was carried out over the same period of years in the late 1950s, and the two buildings opened just a year apart. But while Basil Spence's Coventry Cathedral is a fabulous, iconic structure in the spirit of the age and in the full flush of post-war enthusiasm, St Nicholas at first appears little more than an exercise in pedantic and ponderous medievalism. As Bill Wilson points out, the £315,000 awarded by the War Damage Commission here was but a quarter of the money allotted to Coventry, but he also recalls Pevsner's scathing attack on the design: What an opportunity was lost! What thrilling things might have been done inside! A modern interior, airy, noble, of fine materials could have arisen to affirm the vitality of C20 church architecture inside the C13 walls. How defeatist does the imitation-Gothic interior appear, once this has been realized!

 

And Pevsner was not alone. The main criticism seemed to be that, while the opportunity had not been taken to produce something brave and modernist, the rebuilding was also not true to the principles and details of the Gothic which had been there before. Instead, Dykes Bower made up his own Gothic, particularly in the arcades and tracery. It is a simple Gothic, stripped of detail and without the clutter beloved of the 19th Century revival. Coventry Cathedral's design was startling and newsworthy, and the great artists of the day were commissioned to provide its fixtures and fittings. It has come to represent a city which otherwise projects a rather vague image to the world. But Great Yarmouth is not Coventry, and there is a big difference between the urban church of a relatively small and insular town and the Cathedral of a great diocese. It is perhaps unfair that Coventry's Cathedral is still viewed today as a phoenix risen from the ashes in a way that Great Yarmouth's church can never be, despite the near-identical circumstances. But that's not all. Bill Wilson, writing in 1991, concludes that the problem with the concept is the lack of assertive detail and the fact that so large a space needs to be filled with plenty of furnishings. Unhappily, there are hardly any...

 

And yet, and yet. When I step into St Nicholas now, I find myself thrilled by the cool light, the almost monastic simplicity. Apart from the hideous organ, the open spaces are barely punctuated, and there is something timeless and eternal about the silence. Dykes Bower's arcades are hardly there, vanishing into the whiteness above and the simplicity of the bare wood roofs. Through the crossing the jewel-like chancel glows, almost beckoning. From the other direction the west window does exactly the same. What Pevsner could not have foreseen is that this building is entirely suited to modern Anglican spirituality which has extended in recent years beyond mere congregational worship. And he also could not have foreseen how we would come to view the simplicity of Dykes Bower's design, the white walls, the lack of detail, the stripped, bleached wood and the cool, hard floors as being exactly symptomatic of the 1960s, the decade which gave this new building its birth. For this, I like it very much, not least because it was reopened on 8th May 1961, the day I was born.

 

Perhaps best of all I like the range of glass around the east and west windows by Brian Thomas. They are all of a piece, installed for the reopening. There can be few modern schemes outside of the cathedrals on so vast a scale, and yet they are elaborate, detailed and intimate. This great, light building is the perfect setting for them. The east window depicts the Crucifixion, surrounded by scenes from the Passion. In the north aisles are the joyful mysteries of the Christ story, from the Annunciation to the Presentation, while in the south aisles is the salvation story from Adam and Eve to Christ's mission. At the west end are the sacraments.

 

There are effectively four aisles, two either side of the church, which extend up to beyond the crossing. The aisles each side become conjoined as they flank the nave itself, making the nave appear narrow and tall in comparison, despite what we know to be true of it. The triple lancet of the west window aids this illusion. Below it, the Norman font is from a redundant Wiltshire church, and looks most un-East Anglian. There are small artworks and minor survivals dotted about, but they do not intrude. The early 18th century pulpit came from St George, a few hundred metres to the south, now closed. The pews in the central part of the nave are also from St George, and although they are simple they strike a jarring note. Modern chairs would be better. Dykes Bower screened off the south chancel chapel to create a space for private prayer, and this doesn't work as well as it might, creating an obstruction within the otherwise openness of the east end. The garishly painted organ is also his.

 

But this is a place to wander - despite the vast scale I found I had circumnavigated the interior three times without really noticing. It struck me then quite how much Dykes Bower must have intended this - he was designing a great town church interior, and looking across the water to Holland and Belgium as much as to anywhere else in England. He wanted a church that opened onto the market place, into which shoppers could come for a sit down and even a prayer, a building whose open spaces would be wandered through. Having told you all of this, I expect you are already making plans to come to Great Yarmouth and visit this church for yourself as soon as you possibly can. You may be aghast to learn, then, that this wonderful structure is hardly ever open to the public. At present, you can only visit on a Saturday morning: otherwise, it is merely the private, vastly-subsidised venue of a small group of Sunday worshippers. Nothing could be more short-sighted, and little could be more shameful.

 

For, while the mission of the Church of England is increasingly seen as to the whole people of God and not just to its registered members, and churches all over England are making themselves open to pilgrims and strangers wanting to feel a sense of the numinous and even perhaps to be open to a spirituality which may or may not be Christian but which is at least a yearning for God, the people of Great Yarmouth are locked out of their own church from day to day. They can at least visit the Catholic church of St Mary, which has a sign saying, curiously, that the church is open as often as possible, but that is a small Victorian building, and cannot compare with St Nicholas which is, after all, the heart and soul of Great Yarmouth's history, a touchstone down its long generations.

 

But if you can get inside, and if you stand beneath the crossing looking westwards, the view is typical: clean, clear, full of light and gravitas with a sense of prayerfulness and even of mystery. There is enough to convince. This building does not feel defeatist; if anything, it was a rather brave approach to the problem. But few people saw it like that at the time, and few people did in the years after. It must be said that Dykes Bower did not go out of his way to win friends in the modernist world - as his wikipedia entry says of him, he was a devoted and determined champion of the Gothic Revival style through its most unpopular years. And yet, he had the last laugh. When he finished here, he spent the next two decades overseeing the transformation of the church of St James at Bury St Edmunds into a fitting cathedral for the Diocese of St Edmundsbury and Ipswich. His is the chancel there, his the transepts, the side chapels and the north ambulatory, all in his own faux-gothic style. And when he died in 1994 he left a cool two million pounds to the Diocese for the construction of a huge Gothic central tower over the crossing of the cathedral. The Diocese spent another ten years or so raising the extra needed, which was fairly controversial in those years when the CofE was haemorraging cash left, right and centre. Despite the voices against it, the tower was built, entirely to Dykes Bower's fancy, and the gleaming white edifice now towers over Bury as if it had been there for half a millennium or more.

 

Simon Knott, October 2010

 

www.norfolkchurches.co.uk/gynicholas/gynicholas.htm

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7