Awesome ... it’s a word, rather like ‘wonderful’ or ‘dreadful’, that was originally brimming with meaning and now filtered out by modern usage. No doubt you’ve heard expressions like, ‘That film was awesome!’
Originally, it would describe, ‘an otherness’, something outside the familiar, eliciting a mixture of fear, wonderment and a sense that we are out of our depth in terms of our human experience; we are entering or have entered the unknown and we can only respond ‘in awe’.
I’ve recently read the story of a most unexpected visitation in the book of Judges: an angel of the Lord visits an ordinary, nameless and childless woman and tells her she will have a son. What next? Her husband, Manoah, and she offer a goat in the angel’s presence and the angel ascends in the flame of the altar and disappears. How awesome is that? Manoah and his wife fall on their faces to the ground. Wouldn’t you? They were encountering something truly awesome, something ‘wonder-ful’. When disciples of Jesus, Peter, James and John, saw Jesus, Moses and Elijah, clothed in splendour from another world on a ‘high mountain’ they were overwhelmed - awe-struck. The Bible is full of stories of people encountering awe-inspiring happenings.
But let’s bring it down the earth - with me, actually. I’ve never seen an angel, a burning bush, entered a cloud dense with the divine presence or heard an audible voice from Heaven for that matter. Yet, countless people like me have had one of those moments, let’s say extra-ordinary, God-charged moments, when He appears to have stepped into the ordinary - unexpectedly, perhaps momentarily, and life has changed.
I first had a moment like this when I was around twelve or thirteen; it was just before ‘reporting time’ for bed in the boarding school I attended; I was sitting alone, by the window in an upstairs classroom, reading the New English Bible which had been recently published and had been given to me as a Christmas present. Starting at the beginning, I had only reached Matthew 5 when I began reading: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.”
It is hard to describe this moment: it was charged, it was the weightiest moment of my life; it probably lasted only a second or two but the memory of it has remained impressed on my mind ever since. In a moment, I decided, I knew, that this was the way I would live, to love and not to hate, to follow this teaching. There was no sinner’s prayer or moment of conviction of sin but yet a radical turnaround, a moment of repentance, a decision to follow the Great One; it was a divine moment.
Was it awesome? Well, not scary as some awesome moments are. Yet, it was electric, impregnated and completely unforgettable.
I have known similar moments since: they have come unexpectedly and often in a time of great need. Some would use the jargon, ‘God showed up’. God doesn’t show up; He is present all the time. But, He does choose His moments ... and perhaps part of His awesomeness is that He is God of the unexpected. Often, again ‘the interruption’ has been but for a moment but how weighty the content and, after, I have seen my life situation quite, quite differently.
Truly there are God-encounters described in the Bible that are truly awesome, to use modern jargon, ‘enough to blow your mind away’: Moses encountered the divine presence in the burning bush and on Sinai, Ezekiel saw the moving throne of God, Daniel had awe-inspiring encounters of angels and Christ Himself, Mary had a conversation with the angel Gabriel. My experience at school was nothing too awesome perhaps, but enough for me! God had broken into my little world and that has made a massive difference ever since.
“If you come to the UK and to Coventry, come and see us! You’ll find us at the Jesus Centre!” We’re in the Calais refugee camp this week, dropping off some socks and blankets from the Centre - and making some new friends. As a teacher of English, many of my students were former residents here. They all know about Calais ...
Outside, long stretches of high fences and curvy barbed wire line the highways and flashing blue-lighted police vans are parked in nearby laybys. Inside, we step into a different world – one of undulating dunes and puddled, muddy tracks, a sea of make-shift shacks and tents and quickly erected shops – Europe’s most notorious township. A cool off-shore breeze ruffles the remaining strands of straggling grass.
We’re met by warm ‘hellos’, and smiling friendly faces; people stop to talk and immediately we’re offered a meal, barbequed on an open fire. Graciously we decline; we’re heading first toward the Eritrean church. Yes, the wooden cross stands tall and stark against the greying winter sky that canopies this ramshackle city ...
Yes, here’s the church in a little compound of its own, beautifully clean in contrast to the heaps of rubbish strewn around, often discarded by those now moved on.
We enter the tent-shaped building and quietly join the circle of fervent prayers, so intent they hardly seem mindful of us. ‘Let’s pray for the government,’ says one. ‘Which government?’ I think? Ours? The Eritrean? The French? Perhaps all, it’s certainly needed. The tide of prayer is amazing, ebbing and flowing, rising crescendos, falling diminuendos. We leave some mince pies and home-made flapjack – the pray-ers are still lost in prayer and hardly notice as we creep out ..
We walk down the main street – at times impassable because of late rains and walk up the steep incline of the bank to avoid the puddles. Everywhere, there are tents or little shacks, some painted, others covered in graffiti. Shops have sprung up selling food, one even advertising hot showers. We pass l’école, I put an ear to the door; something is going on, I’d best not go in. I see a sign for free English classes (now that’s my field) but it is closed today (it’s Saturday). Shame ... I would love to have gone in.
Everywhere people are smiling at us and saying ‘hallo’. I keep forgetting I’m not En Angleterre but I still hear more English than French. There are Africans ... Afghans ... Syrians ... and nearly all men, some riding by on bicycles.
I say ‘hallo’ to a couple of young Africans and quickly we are invited back to one of their shacks. Let’s take our shoes off, stoop through the door, this is someone’s home. The floor is swept clean, blue sleeping bags, a huge Barcelona football flag and children’s clothes line the walls. A large candle is lit and two mattresses lie on the floor. The hospitality here is awesome! We are offered a quilt to line our back and an orange blanket to cover our legs. It’s certainly cosy. The gas primus is lit and an old can is placed full of water to boil; at intervals a spoon of coffee is put in and stirred... this is coffee Eritrean style.
Twenty minutes later a pan of hot food is passed through the door. There are no plates but we are given bread and together dip it in the one pan and share the meal of vegetables. It’s delicious; this is African hospitality and it is wonderful!
Our host tells us of his adventures: the harsh government; escaping army conscription; his walk across the Sahara and arrest by bandits wanting money; being given a handful of food, passed down into an underground hide-away and that only every other day; his eventual release and later being shot at by Daesh (IS) when sadly some of the party were killed; the flight across the Mediterranean; up through Europe to the camp and now the repeated attempts at reaching the UK – night visits to the train station, the entrance to the tunnel, the port – with always the fear of arrest; a violent attack in Calais by someone with a strong dislike for ‘unwelcome refugees’ and, deep in the heart of this ‘Jungle’ there is theft – the poor steal from the poor. We pray for our new-found friend, who, despite all, still manages a brave and cheery smile and warm goodbye. We wish him well and tell him we hope to see him again!
A young man passes me and offers me a chocolate. I can’t get over the generosity; there is no begging, asking for anything in return, everyone smiles and calls me ‘mama’ (must be the grey hair and grandmother look.)
Back to the church ... o no! Flames are licking the outsides of the nearby mosque. The pastor rushes over with an extinguisher and people are running. It’s out! The mosque is saved. Fire is a real hazard round here - naked flames in tiny spaces.
Yes, we glimpsed a darker side of Calais too; one of my students tells me of a near knife-attack – there are religious and racial differences and sometimes the little one has is stolen. As everywhere on this troubled planet, the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, exist side by side.
We take a final walk through this little township. The smiles, the generosity and hands held out for friendship are something I will never forget.
Back now, through the tunnel and time to stop at the M25 services; slick shops selling expensive computer accessories and luxury gadgets. What a contrast! Not a single smile greets me here; not a gesture of hospitality; no chocolates held out in an act of generosity; I could be here hours and no one would even say hello, let alone invite me to share a coffee with them. Each to its own; I have seen real poverty today but who really is poor?
And now I’m back at the Jesus Centre; it’s Monday morning. I greet my students again – many of them have come through ‘Calais’. I know a little more about what they have endured and the pain that often lies behind their cheerful smiles and warm handshakes. Sometimes I notice a distant look in their eyes, today they seem withdrawn. I understand, now, yes, just a little better ...
My hope – that I, that we can display a little of that overflowing generosity that I experienced – the Jesus Centre, our church, my city, my country. Jesus said, “When you give a lunch or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your rich neighbours—for they will invite you back, and in this way you will be paid for what you did. 13 When you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind; 14 and you will be blessed, because they are not able to pay you back. God will repay you on the day the good people rise from death.” Luke 14: 12-14
