Chapter 18: Unless I see the nails in His hands . . . (John 20.25)

(Illustration: Some of the congregation who attended both services at High Howdon Methodist Church)

I wonder if you have ever sensed something of God’s presence, at the sight of a fiery evening sky, or a snow-covered mountain range, or by looking at the stars many light-years away in a clear night sky, or perhaps even at the first cry of a new born baby?

Many wonder at such beautiful sights, but may not believe there’s such a thing as a Creator behind it all.

I was fifteen, when I first really sensed such a ‘feeling’ of God's presence.

I was on holiday at a Methodist Circuit youth retreat at Otterburn Hall in Northumberland, and on the Saturday morning, I woke very early and couldn’t get back to sleep. So I got dressed, went downstairs and lifted the latch of the outer door quietly, and went for a walk in the wooded gardens nearby.

Everything seemed so brand new, the air was so fresh, the grounds smelt earthier than usual, the grass was covered in dew, the leaves of the trees were shimmering, all gold and green in the sunlight, and all seemed right with the world. As the birds sang their dawn chorus, I just sensed a feeling of well-being and warmth which made me feel that God was close and personal, and there all around me, not distant and aloof!

The preacher John Wesley once described his conversion to faith, as his heart becoming strangely ‘warmed’. It felt just like that, but on returning home, I shelved this experience deep into the recesses of my mind, it didn’t seem to last very long, as I still had many questions to ask.

In our mid-teens, we went to church twice on a Sunday, morning and evening, with my mam and my nana. My friends didn’t go once! It didn’t seem fair!

But I quite liked the Sunday morning worship, as Joan and I were given something to do. We were involved as Sunday School teachers, Joan first then me, when she went to college, and we both enjoyed creating lessons for the children. I believe that our ability to work alongside children, to understand what grabbed their attention, what inspired them, and which words to use to control their behaviour, grew from that time. It stood us in good stead for becoming schoolteachers later on.

When I eventually learned how to play three chords on a guitar at the age of seventeen, I got together a little group of children who sang with me in church. But when I think back to our very first offering, it now seems so cringeworthy. I altered the lyrics to a very popular song of that period, which was ‘I’m a Believer’ by The Monkees’. (Nov 1966) It began with the words,

‘I thought love was only true in fairy tales’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wB9YIsKIEbA

But what we sang was:-

‘I thought God was only true in fairy tales,

Then for someone else but not for me.

He was out to get me, (durdurndur)’ etc.,

Bless that elderly congregation! They were full of compliments  after the service and they praised the children! They said that they wanted more. Methodists are like that, at least our lovely congregation was. The children and I were really encouraged.

But Sunday evening was quite different, for it was a much longer service, and we had to sit quietly, and listen.

At 5.45 p.m. on the dot, nana, or mam, would call out;- 

“Joan, Sheila get your coats, it's time to get ready for church!”

Now by then, I was already deep into a Charles Dickens’ novels, or some other novel, such as The Silver Sword, or William Tell, which were serialised each Sunday on television, beginning at 5.30 p.m. so I didn’t want to go to church again! I wanted to watch the TV!  

Besides, the programme would’ve been over in ten minutes, then I could have run around to church, and still made it on time.

But off went the TV, and off we had to go! How come dad didn’t have to go too?

So each Sunday evening I would sit there at the start of the church service, fuming.

Then I would add up the hymn number board, to help pass the time. Boiled sweets were handed furtively to us, by nana, to keep us occupied once the sermon started, which could last anywhere between twenty-five to forty minutes! If you listened carefully, you could hear the crackle of other sweet wrappers coming off ever so slowly, in various other parts of the church. And I would smile at that, and once more let my mind wander.

One preacher, called Mr Laffey, was much younger than the others, and he used visual aids win his sermons. One was an egg to explain the Trinity. I could have listened to him for ages, there was something about him that made me sit up and take notice.

But more often than not, I would have my own little silent conversations with God as I sat, there bored, and I clearly remember telling God,

‘Show me you’re real, if you’re there God; let me see an angel or a vision, so I know I’m not wasting my life away here!’ “If you want me to serve you in this world, speak to me, give me some sign!”

And I would scrunch up my eyes at the sun coming through the nearby window on a summer’s evening, to see if anything ‘happened’. Like Doubting Thomas, I was demanding proof, before I would offer my life to God.

But I saw nothing! I heard nothing!

I did enjoy singing the hymns though, especially the final one, which was always a good rousing one, to send us on our way.

There were some cracking Methodist hymns, especially when the men put in their bass line:-

Feed me till I want no more . . .(want no more!)

My chains fell off…(fell off). My heart was free! (was free)

And cro-----wn (Crown Him, crown him, crown Him) Him! (oh-oh-oh-oh) Crown him . .

High Howdon Methodist church must take the credit for our teaching skills; for giving us responsibility and a ‘free rein’ at a young age, and trusting in our abilities; and for encouraging our gifts and helping us to develop them, and I'm so so very grateful.

We were both made to feel so loved and appreciated.

It's so important that we help others feel this way too.

And so, Charles Dickens novels, and all the others novels, all half-viewed, were put on hold for another time.