My faith was greatly shaken by the rigorous studies at LCD. But such shaking is an important element within the strengthening of faith. My knowledge was broadening out to include new ways of understanding God’s truth. Of course, holding together the content of faith – namely God as understood through Jesus Christ – as trustworthy and reliable is only possible through the lived experience of knowing Him and walking with Him. This, for me and for my colleagues, took the form not only of regular worship in chapel, but also the discipline of private prayer and reflection on scripture. This practice has continued through my life and ministry, and is the foundation of what I am and what I do. My experience echoes the wonderful answer given by Carl Jung, the famous psychologist, when he was asked towards the end of his life, ‘Do you believe in God?’ To which he gave the breathtaking answer: ‘I don’t believe – I know, I know.’ My studies of philosophy showed that epistemology (the science of knowing) takes many forms, in which analytical knowledge – two and two makes four – is but a small part of what we can grasp as truth. Indeed, analytical knowledge is not without its difficulties, as its truth derives from the self-contained world of arithmetical knowledge. Knowledge as we normally understand it emerges from reflection on experience, and is as foundational for every area of life as it is for theology.
At the end of my first year at LCD the Reverend E.M.B. Green, a dynamic young evangelical scholar, joined the staff and sharpened the missionary focus of the college. Michael arrived with an impressive reputation as a scholar and teacher. He was the possessor of first-class degrees in classics and theology, and the author of several studies of New Testament subjects. To have him as one of our faculty was a great coup for the college, and he did not disappoint. We were riveted by his challenging teaching and the depth of his lectures. He was also a gifted evangelist, and many of us went on unforgettable parish missions with him. His love of God and willingness to share his conviction made a lasting impression on my life and ministry. The combination of classics and theology that Michael brought was a great gift to us all, and my understanding of the Greek text of the New Testament deepened, just as my knowledge and grasp of Hebrew flourished under the wise teaching of Mr Jordan, our Principal.
As my theological knowledge and my experience of faith developed, so did my relationship with Eileen. We had already committed ourselves to one another in a long engagement that had started on her eighteenth birthday, but now, two years later, we were anxious to get married well before I was ordained. The problem was that the rule of the Church then was very firm: marriage and ordination training did not mix, so marriage had to be delayed. I was not convinced by this logic. Nervously I approached both Bishop and Principal, and presented the strongest arguments I could muster. To our great delight both gave their full agreement, and we made plans to marry on 25 June 1960, after a three-year engagement and halfway through my studies.
This was perilously close to the prelims of the degree course, and to my dismay I discovered that the first paper in Hebrew, which was mandatory for honours degree students, was scheduled for the Monday following our wedding. The shock was compounded by the fact that we had planned to take our honeymoon in Dunoon, on the Clyde, where Eileen’s mother had been brought up. How on earth could I possibly square this circle – to marry on Saturday, 25 June in Dagenham, fly up to Glasgow, and take a Hebrew exam two days later at the University of London? It was agreed that I could sit the exam at the University of Glasgow – but what would Eileen say about this? Fortunately, instead of throwing up her hands in horror at this intrusion into our honeymoon she saw the funny side, and agreed that somehow the exam had to be included in our plans.
Our wedding was a wonderful celebration and commitment. Dagenham Parish Church was packed with family and friends. Pit-Pat took the service, and preached on the text from Joshua 24: ‘As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord’ – a verse that would continue to inspire and guide us through the years. Although Eileen gave the traditional promise to ‘obey’ her husband, both of us knew that our marriage would not and could not be based on inequality. True marriage, we knew, was a mutual obeying, trusting and learning. I realised that I had much to learn from Eileen, and I hoped that I could offer something to her as well.
We had a wonderful honeymoon, despite the interruption. While I sat in an examination hall in Glasgow University, Eileen waited on a park bench outside in glorious sunshine. I remember going into the examination in a carefree mood – I was rather surprised to find out much later that I had passed comfortably.
After an engagement lasting three years it was a relief to live together as man and wife. Today, the distinctions between married and single life have largely gone, and many cohabit without any sense that it might be wrong. I regret the loss of innocence that this implies, and the fact that it suggests that marriage is no longer special. This may be dismissed as the thoughts of someone out of touch with modern culture. So be it. I remain unconvinced that society has improved on God’s will for His people by such laxity in sexual matters. We have lost the grandeur of holiness and the personal discipline involved in keeping oneself solely for another precious person.
Back from honeymoon we settled in Northwood, sharing a house with another newly married couple, Bill and Maggie Barrand, who became lifelong friends, especially Maggie, who had earlier distinguished herself as a member of the England badminton team. Eileen began work as a staff nurse at Mount Vernon Hospital, where she worked with terminally ill carcinoma patients.
Towards the end of my final year at LCD the security of our faith and the calmness of our lives were shaken by the loss of our first child. We had both been thrilled when Eileen became pregnant. She had a very good pregnancy, and was physically well throughout it. She reached full term, and we awaited the birth with enormous excitement. The days dragged by, until fourteen days later she was admitted to Hillingdon Hospital to be induced. After examining her carefully, the doctor shook his head and told us with great sympathy that the baby was dead. To this day I admire so much that young woman who, at the age of twenty-three, had to endure twelve hours of agony, knowing that at the end of it a dead baby would be the issue.
After her ordeal we clung together tightly, wordlessly, helplessly, and found comfort in one another. So much joy and happiness had been invested in that baby – a boy, to whom we had already given the names Stephen Mark. In the delivery room I held him in my arms, and could not believe he was dead, he seemed so beautifully formed. Eileen was not so fortunate. She only saw him briefly, because the Sister firmly believed it was not in the mother’s interest to hold him. In her kindly Irish Catholic way she told me firmly, ‘Don’t worry, dear. We Catholics believe he lives in a special place called Limbo.’ It was meant to be helpful. We did not find it especially so.
We emerged from the hospital reeling, empty-handed and wounded. Where is God when bad things happen to good people? Neither of us was so naïve as to believe that our happiness and welfare was the test of God’s existence and His providence. We knew we lived in a world shot through with tragedy and the effects of man’s sinfulness. As Christians we were also aware that membership of God’s family did not give us a cast-iron guarantee that we would float through life trouble-free. But this was our first personal experience of suffering, and our thoughts constantly turned towards that vulnerable and helpless baby who never had an opportunity to live.
Two things, I believe, kept us going – personal experience and fellowship. We knew we lived in God’s love, and were aware of His presence beside us. Our tragedy also made us aware of how precious it was to belong to a tightly-knit Christian community. At its best the Church is a wonderful source of friendship and kindness – and that is what we found at college, where we were supported and embraced by affection and prayer. Almost immediately we found that our suffering became part of our lives and ministry. To our astonishment