I Am 19 Miles Away from the ecclesia and have no transportation. Nevertheless I am not a bit discouraged for there is one sister in our ecclesia who is 40 miles away. Thinking of my beloved brothers and sisters in other parts of the world — such as Africa, England, America, Panama, Russia, etc. I verily believe that there are some who are living in worse isolation than myself. Living so far away from the nearest ecclesia I am unable to attend the weekly meetings which mean so much. But there is one meaningful moment for me every single day: that moment is when I take my Bible and my Bible Companion. These are beyond price. I say to everyone who is isolated: please don’t allow an isolated life to prevent you from living up to the highest standards of a Christian life. Alone with God we live. Alone with God we die. But not alone, we rise to life eternal.
Many readers will know that Bro. Neville Beckford of Kingston has been partially disabled from birth. One Sunday in August, 2000, he was due to preside at the memorial service. On the way to the meeting hall he slipped and fell. In intense pain, and finding himself unable to walk, he hailed a taxi in order to reach the hall and fulfil his duties. After the meeting, sensing that Neville needed help, Bro. Jim Samuels took him to the nearest hospital, where X-rays revealed a multiple compound fracture of the hip. He was transferred to a larger hospital, where he had major surgery and was a month on the ward. It was six months before he could walk again. We have all read stories in magazines like Readers’ Digest and National Geographic about Olympic and similar heroes who conquer their disabilities to win international fame. Bro. Neville Beckford is my Christadelphian hero. He seeks an incorruptible crown.
The Outpatients’ Waiting Room at Kingston Public Hospital was crammed with victims of hurricane Gilbert in 1988 awaiting treatment for trauma. For many hours 40-plus year old Sis. Marie Williams, a victim of Gilbert’s fury, sat in the hard tin chair beside me, a study in Christian patience. One hand was resting on my knee in a touch of brotherly love. Bone weary myself from the long wait, I nodded off several times. I was jerked into consciousness when a trolley porter tapped my shoulder and said, “She’s dead, you know.” I looked at Marie, her hand still resting on my knee. It was true. She had fallen asleep in Christ.
In 1957 I had a terrible accident — a head on collision on a winding mountain road. An elder brother from my ecclesia was critically injured and my son was seriously hurt. I ‘awoke’ in hospital long after. Eventually all three of us recovered, the elder brother with permanent brain damage. A very meaningful moment for me occurred many, many years later. In the course of my duties with a Caribbean government, I had to meet some members of the British royal family at a function in Lancaster House, the London headquarters of the British Commonwealth. During the tea break, I observed a man looking at me intently. Finally he came up to me and said, “Did you have a bad accident in 1957?” Puzzled, I replied, “Yes, but why do you ask?” “I thought I recognised you. It happened right outside my house. I took you all to the hospital and saved your life.”
Sometime Around 1980, the late Bro. Hugo Mitchell told me about a very famous Soviet visitor to Guyana. They discussed the plight of Christians in the Soviet Union and Hugo must have mentioned that he, along with many of his colleagues and friends, believed in God. The visitor was scornful of such primitive folly and predicted that, within ten years, the triumph of scientific socialism would totally eliminate such crass superstition. Hugo answered after this manner: Don’t you know that for 3000 years the Bible has been telling us that it is the man who says there is no God who is the fool. Who was right?
For Some Time a blind old man has been coming regularly to our meetings in Kingston. We knew he lived close by, but when he said that he desperately wanted to become a member, we decided it was time to find out where he lived. He led me down a few dingy, deserted streets, and showed me the entrance to a long street full of people. Many eyed me with suspicion. There was a huge tree trunk barring the way, and beyond a massive barricade of burnt out cars, rusty refrigerators, and mountains of stinking garbage. Men in unidentifiable uniforms fingered heavy machine guns. “Down there,” he said, “is where I live. Right behind that piece of zinc. Whenever you want to see me, just ask for ‘Old Blindy’ and say that you are from his church.”
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One