Considering I was a sickly asthmatic who lost much sleep in my youth as I struggled to breathe, who would have thought that, while still in my teens, I would complete the famous Comrades Marathon – a 54-mile race between Durban and Pietermaritzburg in South Africa?
Longstanding Passion
That I was running marathons at all was down to the encouragement of my wonderful doctor-dad, who felt the exercise would expand my chest. The sport went on to play a significant role in my life and ministry. The friendships I formed as part of the Natal University Athletics Club did much to boost my self-confidence, especially when I took on the editorship of the gloriously named Athletes’ Foot, the club magazine. That gave me a taste of journalism which was to become a lifelong calling.
One of our top runners, Brian Jackson, later followed me to England, where he studied at Oxford for the Anglican ministry. I was still running; in fact, that was how I commuted to work at Barclays Bank, in the City of London – a round trip of 12 miles from my gran’s house in Hampstead. (I showered and kept a change of clothes at the bank’s squash club on Bishopsgate, in case you were wondering!)
Northern Trials
When it came to the Scottish Marathon, on May 13th, 1972, I travelled north by train, hoping to improve my time of 2 hours, 57 minutes at Durban a couple of years earlier. But it was cold and wet, and I simply couldn’t keep pace with my own schedule. With just four miles to go, right opposite the famous Muirfield golf course, I ‘hit the wall’, as they say in running parlance. I was literally stopped in my tracks. I just couldn’t go a step further; rather similar to the experience of Paula Radcliffe in the Athens Games of 2004, and at precisely the same point (22 miles). Such failure left me feeling most despondent, a state of mind exacerbated by a train strike which left me stranded in Edinburgh with no money, and forced to sleep at a bus stop with only a raincoat to protect me from a cold May wind.
I knew my life lacked direction and I certainly wanted to choose the right path
Life Abundant
Brian Jackson attempting a track record in his heyday – his preferred distance was 10,000m.Within a week, Brian (who was staying with me at the time), returned from an outreach to Oxford Street shoppers full of enthusiasm – and duly picked on me. He told me how God had a plan and purpose for our lives and that Jesus offered “life in all its fullness” (John 10:10). I knew my life lacked direction and I certainly wanted to choose the right path. I was soon to learn that Jesus also said: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no-one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). And so, at Brian’s encouragement, I invited Jesus into my life that night (May 20th, 1972). I have never looked back, and Jesus has more than made good on his promise of an ‘abundant life’.
That is not to say it’s been a smooth path without any potholes. I have known despair and loss, including divorce and widowhood. But the presence, power and comfort of Jesus has borne me through it all. A rose garden is perhaps a better illustration; it comprises many thorns, but the beauty and scent of the blooms makes all the difference.
Journalistic Calling
Within a year or so, with dreams of being another ‘Billy Graham’, I heard the distinct call of God – not to the pulpit, but to the pen. This came through a sermon on the societal influence of lawyers, journalists and others, preached by my pastor, the Rev John Stott, at All Souls, Langham Place, in central London. And it was Brian again who encouraged me to attend a night school in journalism, in Bouverie Street, just off Fleet Street, where I later spent four years as a correspondent for the South African Press Association.
In more recent years, the Lord has specifically called me to be a ‘helper of Israel’
I have lived in Yorkshire for the past 40 years, working in various senior editorial capacities for a number of newspapers, while also founding several Christian publications including the popular outreach tabloid New Life. In more recent years, the Lord has specifically called me to be a ‘helper of Israel’ – a kind of Ezra-type figure (Ezra means 'help'), encouraging Jews to return both to their Land and to their Lord.
Love for Israel and the Jews
A couple of months ago, in the midst of lockdown, I was invited to join a WhatsApp group of some of my old friends from Natal University days 50 years ago. Initially, I wasn’t too impressed with the boyish banter which seemed to indicate lack of focus among these once highly motivated students. I shared how my time with them changed my life in more ways than one, but this didn’t at first elicit much response – until I mentioned how my elder brother (a fine runner whom they remembered well) was in need of their prayers.
This provoked a deluge of compassion, and a greater openness to spiritual matters followed. The Lord showed me that this exercise was a picture of God’s call for Gentile Christians to honour, love and serve their Jewish brethren, and, above all, to share with them the gospel of their Messiah, who has so changed our lives. I began to recall how these friends – including Brian, who has sadly died of a degenerative brain disease – had given me so much, and were the means by which I came to know Jesus, and to discover his great plan and purpose for my life. The least I could do was to share my testimony with them.
In the same way, the Jews gave us everything – the Bible, the patriarchs, the prophets, the Law, and especially our Saviour. We owe them so much. That is why my heart’s desire is to share the good news with our Jewish brethren. “For the gospel is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile” (Rom 1:16).
