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Great Bible Truths with Dr David Petts
Hosted by Dr David Petts - Pentecostal preacher, former AoG Bible College Principal · EN
Dr David Petts is an international speaker and author who is best known for his 27 years as Principal at Mattersey Hall Bible College and his in-depth but easily understood teaching on the Holy Spirit. Now retired, he enjoys preaching locally and sometimes further afield. These podcasts are your opportunity to experience Dr Petts' teaching first hand!
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292 My Story Talk 5 Brentwood School 1950-56 Part 2
Feb 7, 202500:16:40Tap to summarizeMy Story Talk 5 Brentwood School (1950-1956) Part Two Welcome to Talk 5 in our series where I’m reflecting on God’s goodness to me throughout my life. Today we’re talking about the academic programme at Brentwood, the chaplain, the chapel and Divinity lessons, and the school CCF. Academic Programme A typical day at Brentwood began with chapel or assembly at 8.50am. This lasted about half an hour. Lessons, which were all 45 minutes long, began at 9.30. The first two periods were followed by a 15 minute break at 11am and the next two periods were followed by lunch at 1pm. With the exception of Wednesdays and Saturdays which were dedicated to sporting activities, there were three periods each afternoon, beginning at 1.45 and ending at 4pm. And then of course there was homework, which at Brentwood was called prep. In the first year this was expected to take us an hour and a half each evening, increasing to three hours when you were in the sixth form taking A levels. This often involved memorizing things on which you were going to be tested the next day. And there were huge incentives for doing your prep thoroughly. Apart from the fact that you might be put in detention on Wednesday afternoon if you failed the test, a form order was produced every two or three weeks and sent home to your parents to let them know your current position in class. This certainly kept us on our toes, and, although at Brentwood I never came top as I had regularly done at primary school, I made sure I was always in the top 10. Subjects in our first year, all of which were compulsory, included English, French, Latin, Maths, History, Geography, Physics, Art or Woodwork, Divinity (Religious Education), and Gym. But after the first year, which at Brentwood was referred to as the second form, the system changed and the subjects you took depended on which stream you had chosen to enter. The Third Form (i.e. the second year) was divided into four streams, Classical Three, Science Three, Modern Three, and General Three. The advantage of this system was that boys could concentrate early on the areas where they hoped to specialise later. The disadvantage was, of course, that not everyone was at all sure at such a young age of what those future areas might be. It also meant that relatively little teaching was given on some quite important subjects. For example, you did relatively little science if you went into the classical stream. However, in my case, I think the system proved beneficial. I opted for the classical stream because I was interested in languages and had shown that I had a measure of ability in that area. In doing so I was able to begin studying Greek at the age of 12 which was to prove important in what the Lord had for me in the future. At the age of 15, when we were in the fifth form, we all took O-level exams (General Certificate of Education, Ordinary Level), after which another choice had to be made. Which sixth form stream to enter? Although successful in all my exams, my best results were in languages, and of all the streams available the choice for me was narrowed down to Lower Sixth Classics where I could take Latin, Greek, and Classical History, or Lower Six Arts where the options were Latin or English Literature, French, and German or Mediaeval History. Not knowing then the future God had planned for me, I opted for the Arts stream and chose Latin, French, and Mediaeval History for my A-level subjects and Spanish as a subsidiary subject for O-level. I thank God that, with his help, I passed all these exams. I was particularly grateful about History. A few months before we were due to sit the exams, my history teacher, Mr. Moulde, said to me, Quite honestly, Petts, I think you’re going to fail History. The basic reason for this was that I wasn’t doing enough prep because of all the church activities I was engaged in because, among other things, halfway through my A-level course I had felt God calling me to the ministry. But more about that in the next talk. So, in front of the whole class, I replied, The problem is, Sir, that I believe that God has called me to be a minister, and that to gain as much experience as I can, I need to be involved as much as possible in my local church. I believe that if I honour God, and if he wants me to pass History, then he will help me to do so. To which he replied, Well, Petts, I respect your faith, but I can’t say that I agree with you. Unless you put in a lot more work, you will certainly fail. I did try to put in more work on History without giving up any of my church activities. When the results came through I was delighted to discover that I had scored 60% (the pass mark being 40). And at the beginning of the next term, as I happened to meet Mr. Moulde in the quad, he said to me with a broad smile, Well, Petts, what do you mean by getting 60? I would never have believed it. Congratulations. Later that term I won a scholarship at Brasenose College, Oxford to read Philosophy, Politics and Economics. But more of that in a later talk. I need now to say more about my Christian faith while I was at Brentwood. This, of course, needs to be understood alongside my experience at Elm Park Baptist Church which will be the subject of our next talk. At school I was to get a taste of a different kind of Christianity, some of which wasn’t Christianity at all as I understood it. But this will become clear in a moment. The Chaplain, the Chapel, and Divinity lessons The religious climate in the UK in the 1950s was very different from today. Although church attendance had dropped, probably caused by disillusionment because of the war, there was still a general acceptance of the basic truths of Christianity. This, coupled with the fact that religious teaching at Brentwood was, in the words of the school prospectus, in accordance with that of the Church of England, meant that with the exception of Divinity (RE) lessons, apart from one experience I will mention later, there was rarely anything much that would challenge my Christian faith. Surprisingly the source of that challenge was the Chaplain, the Chapel, and what was taught in Divinity lessons. The Chaplain, the Reverend R. R. Lewis, M.A. was a graduate of Jesus College, Oxford, and an ordained Church of England priest. As such, he was responsible for most of what went on in chapel and taught all the weekly Divinity lessons. From this it was clear, because he openly acknowledged it, that he did not believe in the deity of Christ, the virgin birth, or the resurrection. In fact he denied the possibility of miracles on the grounds that, if God created the laws of the universe, he would not break his own rules! Of course, when I told my father about this, he reminded me of the outstanding miracle experienced by Auntie May which I mentioned at the beginning of this series. On another occasion we were told that God could not foretell the future because, if he could, that would mean that we could not be held responsible for our actions. I know some Christians do struggle with this, but, as I have pointed out elsewhere, if I know that something will happen it does not mean that I am causing it to happen. <p class="Body...
Transcribe →291 My Story Talk 4 Brentwood School (1950-56) Part One
Jan 31, 202500:15:55Tap to summarizeTalk 4 Brentwood School (1950-56) Part One As I mentioned in the last talk, life for children and young people from Christian families tends to be pretty much dominated by what goes on at school and at church. It was certainly true for me during my years at primary school and continued to be so when I moved on to Brentwood School. Even my recreational activities, in term time at least, took place either at school or in connection with church. So in this talk and the next I’ll be concentrating on my experience at Brentwood School, and I think it will be helpful if I start by talking about: The educational system in England Just like today, children left primary school in the July of the school year in which they became eleven. But the school they moved up to depended on their academic ability, which was assessed by their performance in an examination known as ‘the scholarship’ or ‘the eleven plus’, a system which still exists in some areas today. Only those who were successful in these exams were accepted into what were usually referred to as ‘High Schools’ or ‘Grammar Schools’. (There were no ‘Comprehensive’ schools as we know them today). Children who did not pass the eleven plus would normally go to a ‘Secondary Modern’ school where there would be little or no opportunity later to progress to academic qualifications like GCEs and A levels. Brentwood, however, came into a different category. It was founded in 1558 as what paradoxically came to be called a public school. Many of the older schools in England come into this category. Well known examples are Eton and Harrow. They were originally called public schools because pupils could attend them regardless of their location, denomination, or family background. However, the term is misleading because, being independent of the state system, they're not actually open to all the public because they charge fees which very few can afford. So how did I come to go to Brentwood? Gaining admission to Brentwood It all started with a recommendation from my headmaster at primary school. I remember feeling a bit nervous as I took the eleven plus exams at primary school. I was under pressure because I was aware that so much depended on it, and because everyone was expecting me to pass because each year I had come top of the class. What I didn’t know was that the headmaster, Mr. Occomore, had had his eye on me for some time, and was about to make a recommendation that I think surprised even my parents. Once I had passed the eleven plus, he contacted my father and suggested that, instead of applying to any of the local high schools or grammar schools, I might try to see if I could get into Brentwood School which, he felt, would offer me an even better standard of education. To gain admission I would have to go to Brentwood and sit another exam with a view to winning a Foundation Scholarship. Unfortunately there were only six such scholarships available each year. But, after talking it through with me, my parents encouraged me to try. They were no doubt praying that if Brentwood was the best place for me, God would open the door. And he did. In the week following the exam, Mr Allison, the headmaster at Brentwood, phoned my father and told him that they were prepared to offer me a place, even though I had not come in the first six. I had come seventh! And because Brentwood had accepted me, the Essex Education Committee would cover the cost of the fees. This was because Brentwood was on the Direct Grant List of the Ministry of Education. Without that, my father would never have been able to afford to pay for me to go to Brentwood where I soon found myself mixing with boys some of whose parents were far wealthier than mine. I am so grateful to God that I grew up at a time when education was available to all, regardless of their family’s income. First impressions Life at Brentwood was very different from life at primary school. For one thing, it took much longer to get there. My primary school was only a 10-minute walk away from my home, whereas to get to Brentwood I had to walk to Hornchurch station, catch the number 66 bus into the centre of Hornchurch and then wait for the school bus to arrive. There were only two or three boys who got on at Hornchurch, but the bus picked up about 40 more as it passed through Upminster on the way to Brentwood. The journey took another half an hour to get us to school. Unlike primary school, all the boys were in uniform. We wore a maroon-coloured cap and a grey suit accompanied by grey socks, black shoes, and a black tie. The rules on uniform were very strict and rather detailed. For example, in the first year it was compulsory to wear short trousers – something which was not uncommon in those days – whereas in the second year it was permissible to wear long trousers and a white shirt. I suppose, like most kids of today, we really couldn't see the point of these apparently trivial regulations. On arriving at school, we all went straight into Chapel or assembly in the Memorial Hall, depending on which day of the week it was, but more of that next time. Once in class, I was initially surprised by two things. First, the classes were considerably smaller than they had been at primary school where the average class at that time numbered between 40 and 50 pupils. At Brentwood there were only 30. Another surprise was that all the teachers wore gowns. This was a tradition that reflected the fact that they were all university graduates, the majority with MA degrees from Oxford or Cambridge. At 10.45 each morning there was a 15-minute break when we were able to go to the tuck shop, where we could buy a sticky bun for a penny and drink the third of a pint of milk provided free to all children by the government. This break was a welcome relief from the strict discipline in the classroom where the teacher could administer corporal punishment for something as trivial as not being in your seat before the teacher arrived. But that brings us on to the subject of discipline. Discipline I have already mentioned the strict rules about uniform, but there were other minor regulations such as not putting your hands in your pockets, not combing your hair or eating in public. I well remember the occasion during my first week at Brentwood when I was eating an apple on the pavement outside school while I was waiting for the bus. Suddenly, who should appear but the headmaster himself who approached me and said, Are you a new boy? And then he added, Perhaps you don't know that at Brentwood we don't eat in the street. Are you very hungry? To which I replied, Yes, Sir. Well perhaps you could put it away now and save it until you get home. Needless to say, I was very relieved that he had dealt with me so kindly, but I must confess that once I had got upstairs on the bus where the headmaster could not see me, I took the apple out of the bag and ate it. Of course, it was unusual for the head to be dealing with such a trivial thing. Such matters were usually dealt with by praepostors, a word which comes from the Latin meaning placed ahead and which is roughly equivalent to what in most schools was called a prefect. These were boys chosen from the sixth form and were easily distinguished by the fact that they wore a special tie instead of the regulation black one. They had authority to remind boys of the school rules and to impose discipline, like setting essays for offenders to write, or giving them 100 lines, which meant writing out the same sentence 100 times. In class, of course, discipline was maintained by the teachers. Most of them achieved this by keeping their lessons interesting, and, as someone pointed out to me wh...
Transcribe →290 My Story Talk 3 Home, Family, Christmas & Holidays (1947-1953)
Jan 24, 202500:15:47Tap to summarizeMy Story Talk 3 Home, Family, Christmas & Holidays (1947-1953) Welcome to Talk 3 in our series where I’m reflecting on the goodness of God throughout my life. From what I've said so far it’s clear that after the war my life in the 1940s was largely comprised of school and church. I suppose that was true of most Christian children in those days and continues to be so today. And what was true of my years at primary school and Sunday school was also true of the years that followed. Most of my activity was to be centred on school and church. But before I move on to those things in the next talk, I need to say more about my family, because without a doubt our family is by far the strongest influence in the formation of our character, our behaviour, and our outlook on life. And life is not just about our education or work or church. It’s about relationships, people, recreation, having fun, and healthy enjoyment of the things God has so graciously lavished upon us. So this talk is about my home, my family, Christmas and holidays. Home For the first 23 years of my life I lived with my parents in the home in Hornchurch where I was born. It was a fairly standard three bedroomed semidetached house, but it benefited from a rather large garden which backed onto the railway. We weren’t disturbed by the noise of the trains because the garden was some 200 feet – about 60 metres – long, but by walking to the end of the garden and looking down the railway embankment we could watch electric trains on the District Line and the steam locomotives on the London, Midland and Scottish Railway. My parents were both keen gardeners and had chosen the house because of the size of the garden. They planted several apple trees, two pear trees, two plum trees, a greengage tree, as well as strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries, blackcurrants and redcurrants. My grandfather had also planted for me an ash tree at the very end of the garden and, by looking at Google Earth, it looks as though it’s still there today. Sadly, the large fishpond which I helped my father build when I was about ten seems to have gone. Family and Friends One of the advantages of having a large garden was that there was a big enough lawn for my father to teach me to play cricket and football. So, although I was an only child, I was never a lonely child. There were always plenty of friends who liked to come and play. I also enjoyed playing board games with my grandad, my mother’s father, who lived with us for about five years, and later with my grandmother, my father’s mother, who came later to live with us for six years and who died at the age of 86 when I was 16. Having elderly parents living with us for eleven years was not easy for my mother, but she seldom if ever complained, and her example taught me the real meaning of love, a commitment to serving others despite the cost to ourselves. I also got some idea of what it’s like to be in your eighties! Family at Christmas I saw relatively little of other family members as my uncles, aunts and ten cousins all lived too far away for frequent visits. But we did see most of them at Christmas and sometimes during the other school holidays. Because, with one exception, all my cousins were older than I was, Christmas was usually spent with my Auntie Addie – Adelaide actually, but I never heard anyone actually call her that! She was a year or two younger than my mother and had two sons, Brian who was a year older than me, and Geoffrey who was born shortly after the war when Uncle Bert returned from years away fighting in Burma (now known as Myanmar). We usually alternated where we would spend Christmas, either at our house in Hornchurch or at their prefab in Woodford Green near Walthamstow. Prefabs were prefabricated bungalows introduced after the war to provide housing that could be erected more quickly than by using the usual methods of construction. Originally they were intended to last for, I think, only ten years, but in practice most of them lasted for decades. One of the exciting things about them was that they were all provided with a fridge with a small freezer compartment, so we could have ice-cream whenever we liked. Fridges were a luxury in those days and it was many years later that we ourselves had one. Eileen and I had our first fridge in 1968, six years after we were married. Brian and I had to share a bed every Christmas and I have vivid memories of waking up in the early hours of the morning to see what Santa had left in our ‘stockings’ – which were actually pillowcases, as stockings weren’t large enough to accommodate the vast number of presents we each received. I don’t remember how old I was when I realised that Santa wasn’t real, but it must have been well before I left primary school. I do know that some Christians, quite understandably, believe it’s wrong to tell their children something which isn’t true, fearing especially that, when they finally understand that the whole Santa thing is a myth, they will conclude the Christmas story found in the Bible is a legend too. That’s a view that I understand and fully respect, but I can only say that it was never a problem for me, or, as far as I know, for my children and grandchildren for that matter. If we teach our children that what is in the Bible is true, they will soon discover that Father Christmas is nowhere to be found in the Bible, but is just a nice story that, although it isn’t true, gave them a lot of fun when they were too young to understand otherwise. But each of us must follow our own conscience in this matter, as we always must when confronted with issues over which Christians disagree. Christmas dinner, as I remember it, was very similar to what most people have today, with one notable exception. I can’t remember when we first had turkey, but for several years our celebratory meal was roast chicken. Unlike today, chicken was then very expensive, and Christmas was the only time we had it. At other times our regular Sunday roast was lamb, which, also unlike today, was the cheapest meat you could get. Our typical weekly menu was roast lamb on Sundays, cold lamb on Mondays, minced lamb in the form of shepherd’s pie on Tuesdays, and lamb stew with dumplings on Wednesdays. So chicken at Christmas was a real treat! Apart from eating, we spent most of Christmas Day and Boxing Day playing with the games we had received as presents. These were always very competitive and included subuteo football, a form of cricket you could also play on the table, table tennis, darts, and a bagatelle pin board. We also enjoyed heading a balloon to one another and counting how many times we could keep it up. When we later tried it outside with a football we found it was much harder! Another good thing about staying at Auntie Addie’s house was that we were able to visit other family members, as three of my aunts lived quite near to her. There was always quite a crowd in the evenings when we all joined together for a party, when we played traditional party games like musical chairs and pass the parcel. Years later I was to discover that some people's idea of a party was a time when you did little more than sit around and drink too much. This shocked me because our parties had never been like that. My parents were both teetotallers and, although most of the rest of the family were not, they respected their wishes and rarely drank in the presence of children and teenagers. Of course, the consumption of alcohol is another of those matters where Christians disagree, but hopefully all would at least agree that abstinence is the best policy in the presence of those who might become addicted. I personally think of myself as an abstainer, but not a total abstainer. And I’m grateful that, because of the example set by my family, I have always been cautious in these matters and am happy to say that I have never been drunk, something which even some Christians find hard to believe. Family and Holidays But Christmas was not the only time when I met other family members. There were the summer holidays too. Hotels were too expensive, and we usually spent a couple of weeks away from home staying with family. During my primary school years we went several times to Cowes on the Isle of Wight where my father’s sister, Auntie Lil, had a flat overlooking the sea. Her husband, Uncle Ernie, was a lighthouse keeper on the Needles, an impressive rock formation just offshore at the western end of the island. His job required him to live on the lighthouse for several weeks at a time, so sometimes we never saw him at all during the weeks we were on holiday with Auntie Lil. But when he ...
Transcribe →289 My Story Talk 2 School, Sunday School, and Salvation
Jan 18, 202500:16:04Tap to summarizeTalk 2 School, Sunday School, & Salvation Welcome to Talk 2 in our new series where I’m reflecting on my how the Lord has blessed my life. Today I’ll be talking about my time at Primary School, at Sunday School, and how I learnt at the age of eight how to be saved. Suttons Lane County Primary School My first school was situated on Suttons Lane, quite close to Hornchurch aerodrome. On the edge of town, to the south it had open views of the fairly flat countryside on the northern side of the River Thames. It was less than a ten-minute walk from my house. From an early age I was able to walk to school unattended as there were no roads to cross thanks to ‘the cinder track’, a footpath that ran along the edge of what we called ‘the farmer’s field’ where we would see horses pulling a plough to prepare the soil for the potatoes that were grown there. Every day at school began with the teacher marking the register followed by assembly in the school hall where we sang a hymn, said the Lord’s Prayer together, and listened to any announcements the headmaster had to give us. I don’t know how many of our teachers were practising Christians, but the emphasis in assembly was distinctly Christian, as was the teaching in the weekly Scripture – later to be called Religious Education – lessons we had in class. In those days it was a legal requirement for all schools to include Scripture on the curriculum and for each day to begin with an act of Christian worship. So the Christian teaching I received at home and at Sunday School was reinforced by what went on at school. The truth of the Christian message was still widely assumed, even if church attendance had greatly diminished as a result of the war. How different things are today! I can see with hindsight that, although I didn’t realise it at the time, one of the reasons I enjoyed school was that there was no conflict between what I was taught at home and what I was taught at school. And, of course, I enjoyed it too because, unlike some schools today that have misguidedly sold off their playing fields for commercial purposes, our school shared a playing field with the adjacent secondary school, where we played cricket and football, both of which were probably my favourite activities. I played for the school team at both cricket and football, the love of which I inherited from my father who on Saturdays was an active player in both. I loved going to watch him play for the Elm Park Football Club and the Cranham Cricket Club. He once told me he thought that the boys in the secondary school where he taught paid more attention to his Scripture lessons because he also taught them to play football. He was a qualified F.A. Coach, and, incidentally, also told me that one of the boys he had coached played in the England team that won the World Cup in 1966. I still have a box full of medals he won for cricket, football, snooker, and tennis. He was seven times the champion of the Elm Park Lawn Tennis Club. But I think I also enjoyed school because I was good at my lessons. As I’ve already mentioned, I started school at the age of 4 in September 1943. Educationally I had the distinct advantage that my father was a teacher and had taught me to read and write before I went to school, and so by the time I was 7 my parents were told that I had a reading age of 12. In saying this I hope I don’t give the impression that I’m boasting. I learnt long ago that true humility is not a matter of pretending that you don’t really have any talents or gifts, but acknowledging that what you do have comes from God, and that all the credit is his and not ours. If I have a good brain, it is God who gave me that brain, and I have no right to boast about my academic achievements. But that does not mean that I may not mention them! As God said to Jeremiah: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations (Jeremiah 1:5). Before we were born, God had a purpose for each one of us, and he created us with the abilities we would need to fulfil that purpose. It’s our decision as to whether we fulfil that purpose or not. So I thank God for the good brain he gave me and for parents who encouraged me to use it. And if I tell you that every year I attended that school I came top of the class, you’ll understand that my reason for doing so is to show how, without my realising it, he was guiding me onto a pathway where academic achievement would be an essential part of the work that he had planned for me to do. Sunday School and Church But school was not the only place I was learning. Probably the most influential source in my education was what my parents taught me at home. But more of that in a moment. I was also learning at Sunday School and at other church related activities like Lifeboys (the name then given to the junior section of the Boys’ Brigade). My first reaction to Sunday School was that I didn’t like it! I was only 4 and I’m grateful to my parents that when I told them so they did not force me to go. A little later they suggested very gently that I might like to try it again, and this time I enjoyed it. Because of the wisdom they showed in this matter, I always knew that attendance at Sunday School or Church was to be my decision. No one could ever say that I only went because my parents made me go. And so I went of my own free will, and year after year was given a book as a prize for good attendance. The annual Sunday School Prize Giving Sunday was a big event, and many of the parents who were not church-goers came to see their children receive their prizes. Sunday School, which in most churches took place in the afternoon, was a big thing in the 1940s and 1950s. Even parents who did not come to church wanted their children to be taught about the Bible – or they were just glad to get a break from the kids on a Sunday afternoon! We were told that our church had the largest Sunday School in Essex with up to 400 children attending each Sunday. My mother was a Sunday School teacher and my father taught the teenage Bible Class, but more of that in the next talk. Unlike most of the children who attended Sunday School, I also attended church. I think my first experience of church was travelling on a Sunday evening up to London to attend the church where my parents had attended before the war. We travelled on the London Underground railway on the District Line between Elm Park and Bromley stations, and I took an instant dislike to London because at that time much of that area was damaged, dirty, and quite smelly. The Tab which formerly, I was told, had up to a thousand in its congregation, had been bombed in the war and, as far as I know was never rebuilt. Many of the people’s houses had been destroyed and, rather like my parents, they had moved away from the East End of London. Consequently the meetings I went to as a young child with my parents were attended by at most a few dozen people and took place in the upstairs room of a pub, which I seem to remember was called The Five Bells. The meetings weren’t really suitable for children, and I didn’t really enjoy the fuss that all the adults made of me. One thing I did like was the minister, Mr Tildsley, referring to me as King David and perhaps that sparked in my young heart a desire to copy my namesake and achieve great victories for God. Fortunately, as far as I was concerned, my parents soon decided th...
Transcribe →288 My Story Talk1 Family Background and World War 2
Jan 10, 202500:14:12Tap to summarizeMy Story Talk 1 Family Background and World War 2 Introduction Welcome back to Great Bible Truths with me, Dr David Petts. As this podcast will go out live in early January let me take this opportunity to wish you God’s richest blessings for the coming year. Let me also apologise that my website was down for several weeks, but the good news is that it’s now up and running again. Now, as I mentioned in my last talk at the end of our series on Mark’s Gospel, this year, God willing, I’m planning both to write and record my memoirs in order to place on record God’s goodness throughout my life, from the moment of conception in my mother’s womb, right through to this present time. I also hope that the things I record may be of some historical and sociological interest, particular to younger people. What’s more, I’m convinced that, if he can bless me, he can bless you too, and my purpose in doing this is to encourage your faith, if you are already a Christian, and, if you’re not, to persuade you that, if you put your trust in Christ as your personal Saviour, you will discover how trustworthy and faithful he is. Some of God’s miraculous interventions in my life have already been recorded in some of my books, notably in Signs from Heaven – why I Believe and The Voice of God – how he speaks to us today. But there’s still so much more to tell, and friends and family have been encouraging me that now is the time to get on and do it. And, even more importantly, I feel that God himself is prompting me to do so. Now you may be wondering why I am including talks about my personal experience under the general heading of Great Bible Truths. That’s an understandable question, but the answer is simply that as Christians our lives are meant to illustrate and demonstrate how the truth of God’s Word works out in practice. In 2 Corinthians 3:2 Paul talks about the Corinthians themselves as a letter… known and read by everyone. And, although in the context Paul is talking about his readers as the living proof of his apostolic ministry, there seems to be here an underlying principle that our lives are, or at least should be, living testimonies to the truth we believe. And finally, by way of introduction, I need to say that I am very well aware that, again in the words of the apostle Paul, By the grace of God, I am what I am (1 Corinthians 15:10). Whatever we are, whatever we have done, whatever gifts and talents we may have, it’s all by the grace of God. And all the glory must always go to him. But now to my story. My parents My story, of course, begins with my parents. Stanley and Ivy Petts (née Claus) were both born in Poplar, East London, in September 1907. Their home backgrounds were very different. Mum’s childhood was very difficult, her father often coming home drunk. Her mother died before I was born. She left six children, two boys, Harry and Bill, and four girls, Minnie, Lily, Ivy, and Addie. As far as I know, only Minnie and my mum, Ivy, ever became Christians. On the other hand, my dad’s family were all Christians attending the Poplar and Bromley Baptist Tabernacle, affectionately known as The Tab, and it was there that my dad met my mum. Dad had three sisters, Lily, Violet, and May. May was born deaf and dumb – that’s how it’s recorded on the national register – but, as I’ve already recorded in my book Signs from Heaven, was miraculously healed in answer to prayer . When she was in her twenties, my grandmother took her to a divine healing meeting conducted by the evangelist, George Jeffreys , who placed his hands on her and prayed for her. That evening, as they were travelling home to Poplar in the East End of London, they went down to catch the underground train. Suddenly, with a shocked expression on her face, May put both hands over her ears. She could hear the roar of the train as it came through the tunnel approaching the platform! Until that moment, from the day she was born she had never been able to hear, but now she could hear, and within a few weeks was beginning to speak. I suppose that’s why I’ve never doubted God’s miracle working power and firmly believe that we should expect to see miracles today. Mum and Dad were married on August 4th 1934 and lived with his parents until they were able to afford a home of their own. During the time they were there, my mother sadly had a miscarriage and, as my father told me years later, the doctor had expressed the opinion that she might be unable to have children. But they prayed that, in my mother’s words, the Lord would give her a son, and that he would go into all the world and preach the gospel. But I knew nothing of all this until I was sixteen when I told my parents that I believed that God was calling me to serve him as a minister. In 1937 Mum and Dad moved into their own home, a new-build semi-detached house in Hornchurch, which, with the help of a mortgage, they were able to purchase for the princely sum of – wait for it – £630 (six hundred and thirty pounds)! Prices for similar properties in the same area today are closer to £630,000! I was born in the front bedroom of that house on January 12th 1939, and my late wife Eileen was born 6 days earlier in Stockport, Cheshire. That was just eight months before Britain declared war on Germany on 3rd September 1939. Of course, I was too young to remember very much of the early years of the war, but I was already 6 years old when the war ended and have just a few memories of what life was like at the time. Earliest Memories During the first part of the war, between 1939 and 1941, because Hornchurch was an area that was likely to be bombed, my mother and I were evacuated to a village called Marcham (near to Abingdon). We stayed in a vicarage with the vicar and his wife (Rev and Mrs Palmer). I have no clear memories of that time, although I do remember the vicarage, from when we went back to visit them after the war. My father wasn’t with us for much of the time because, although he was not in the armed forces as he was a conscientious objector, he was sent as a schoolteacher to what was called an Approved School (which was where they used to send juvenile delinquents). It was a residential establishment near Woking in Surrey and my dad had to live there much of the time, so we didn't see much of him as it was some distance from where we were in Marcham, and in those days very few people had cars. In 1941 my father was transferred to a different Approved School. This was nearer to Hornchurch and so my mother and I left Marcham and returned home to be nearer to my father. However, our house was less than half a mile from Hornchurch aerodrome, which played a very important part in the Battle of Britain. So there was still a very real danger of being bombed by enemy aircraft. My main memories of those early years were having to take refuge in an air-raid shelter whenever the siren sounded. (The siren gave a very loud signal when enemy aircraft were approaching and a different signal called the ‘all-clear’ when the danger was over). There were two kinds of shelter, the Morrison shelter and the Anderson shelter. We had a Morrison shelter which was like a v...
Transcribe →287 Mark 16:1-20 The Resurrection and Great Commission
Nov 7, 202400:18:02Tap to summarizeTalk 48 Mark 16:1-20 The Resurrection and Great Commission Welcome to Talk 48 in our series on Mark’s Gospel. This will be the final talk in the series, and we’ll be looking at Chapter 16 which is Mark’s account of Jesus’ resurrection and his final instructions to his disciples which are often referred to as The Great Commission. We'll work through the chapter a verse or two at a time, and will begin by reading verses 1-4. When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus' body. 2 Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb 3 and they asked each other, "Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?" 4 But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away. Verses 1-2 In our last talk we commented on the devotion of these and many other women who had faithfully followed Jesus right from the beginning of his ministry in Galilee. Now we see them buying spices to anoint Jesus’ body. What they did not know was that Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus had already done so when they buried him in accordance with Jewish burial customs (John 19:40), and that by the time they were to reach the tomb Jesus would have already risen. But of course, like the rest of the disciples, they were not expecting him to rise despite all that Jesus had told them. If they had been, they would have known that to anoint his body would be completely unnecessary! Verse 3 The stone which Joseph put in place would have been in a sloping groove down which he had rolled the stone to cover the entrance to the tomb. The two Marys had seen him do this (15:47) and now, on the way to the tomb, realised that unaided they would be unable to move it back. Why hadn’t they thought of this before? When we are grieving we don’t always think as clearly as usual and now the women are anticipating a problem which, as they were soon to discover, would not be a problem at all! The Lord had already dealt with it! Verse 4 Have you ever set out to do something for the Lord which you felt sure he wanted you to do, and then discovered that you’d got it wrong? Or perhaps, as you’ve set out to do it, doubts have come into your mind, unforeseen potential problems have occurred to you, and you’ve wondered how you could possibly achieve your goal. That’s certainly been my experience, and that exactly what was happening with these women. Their motivation was pure. What they were doing they were doing out of love for the Lord. But their mistake – if it was a mistake – was that, like the rest of the disciples, they didn’t remember or didn’t believe what Jesus had said. Was the Lord displeased with their actions? Surely not. As we see in the next few verses, they were given the great privilege of announcing the news of the resurrection to the other disciples. Even when we get things wrong, the Lord still has work for us to do. Now let’s read verses 5-8: 5 As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed. 6 "Don't be alarmed," he said. "You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him. 7 But go, tell his disciples and Peter, 'He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.'" 8 Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid. I want you to notice the extreme emotions experienced by the women in these verses. This is completely understandable. They were grieving – over the terrible suffering they had so recently seen inflicted on someone they so dearly loved – over the fact, or what they thought was a fact, that all their hopes for the future had been dashed – over the loss of a loved one. As we have seen, they are not thinking clearly. They are wondering who can have moved the stone. They enter the tomb and are confronted by an angel! No wonder they’re alarmed, trembling and bewildered. But grieving can bring with it other emotions too, as I have recently discovered in my own experience. I’ve found that we can weep tears of sorrow and, paradoxically, tears of joy too. And I’ve experienced both at the same time! And there’s a hint in verse 8 that that is what these women were experiencing too. The word translated bewildered in the Greek is ekstasis. It can also mean astonishment or amazement. But interestingly, in Matthew’s account he uses a different word, chara, which means joy! And where does this joy come from? It comes from the news the angel brings them – Jesus is not here. He has risen! What a consolation that was to become! And it’s our consolation too. Because he lives, we shall live also. And our loved ones who die in the Lord are not here. They are with Christ, which is far better. And the day will come when we will see them again, as these devoted women soon were to see Jesus. Perhaps it’s this strange mixture of emotions that can account for the fact that, despite the good news, the women fled from the tomb and said nothing to anyone because they were afraid. This was presumably just their initial reaction, because verse 9 tells us Mary Magdalene, at least, went and told the good news to the other disciples. And according to the angel’s instructions, that was to include Peter. If, as is widely believed, Mark derived his information from Peter, it’s perhaps significant that Peter gets a special mention here. It was Peter who had denied the Lord and who in John 21 is graciously given the opportunity to reaffirm his love for Jesus. Even when we fail him, the Lord is constantly seeking to draw us back to himself. But that, according to the earliest manuscripts is where Mark’s Gospel abruptly ends. Verses 9-20 are viewed by some scholars as a later addition. But these verses have for a long time formed part of Scripture as we know it and, as we shall see, the basic truth contained in them is confirmed elsewhere in the New Testament. So now, verses 9-11. 9 When Jesus rose early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons. 10 She went and told those who had been with him and who were mourning and weeping. 11 When they heard that Jesus was alive and that she had seen him, they did not believe it. The fact that Jesus appeared first to Mary Magdalene is confirmed in all four Gospels, although as usual the other Gospels give more details than we find in Mark. Although initially afraid to say anyth...
Transcribe →286 Mark 15:40-47 The Burial of Jesus
Oct 30, 202400:17:41Tap to summarizeTalk 47 Mark 15:40-47 The Burial of Jesus Welcome to Talk 47 in our series on Mark’s Gospel. We have now reached Mark 15:40. Today we’ll be concentrating on Jesus’ burial and, as we do so, we’ll take time to note the importance of the certification of his death and of the key roles played by Joseph of Arimathea and women like Mary Magdalene. Next time, which will be our final talk in this series, we’ll be looking at Mark’s account of the resurrection and the Great Commission. As we proceed we will take time to stress the importance of each of these historical facts without getting involved with relatively minor issues like the apparent differences in the Gospel accounts, or whether, as some have argued, Jesus was actually crucified on the Thursday, rather than, as is traditionally taught, on what we know as Good Friday. Such discussion is generally unproductive. As far as any differences in the accounts are concerned, I have already pointed out in my book, You’d Better Believe It, that the Schofield Bible offers an explanation of how the different accounts of Christ’s resurrection appearances can be reconciled. What’s more, any such differences actually strengthen the case for the resurrection as they suggest that there was no collaboration between the four writers. And does it really matter what day he was crucified? Surely what matters is that Christ died for our sins… was buried… and rose again. This, says Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:1-4, is the essence of the gospel. So, over these two final talks, we’ll take the text of Mark’s Gospel as we have it and consider Jesus’ burial, the confirmation of his death, his resurrection, and his last instructions to his disciples. We’ll begin today by reading verses 42-47: 42 It was Preparation Day (that is, the day before the Sabbath). So as evening approached, 43 Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent member of the Council, who was himself waiting for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for Jesus' body. 44 Pilate was surprised to hear that he was already dead. Summoning the centurion, he asked him if Jesus had already died. 45 When he learned from the centurion that it was so, he gave the body to Joseph. 46 So Joseph bought some linen cloth, took down the body, wrapped it in the linen, and placed it in a tomb cut out of rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb. 47 Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where he was laid. We’ll start with the confirmation of Jesus’ death. Joseph goes to Pilate and asks for the body of Jesus, but Pilate needs to be sure that Jesus is already dead. Some victims of crucifixion had been known to survive for days. He summons the centurion who crucified Jesus, who assures him that Jesus really is dead. So Pilate gives the body to Joseph. Why is this important? Why has Mark chosen to include this detail about the certification of Jesus’ death? Because the entire truth of the resurrection rests upon it. There have always been those who, refusing to believe the clear evidence of the Gospel writers, have argued that Jesus only appeared to die on the cross but recovered in the tomb and walked out! And if Jesus did not die, the resurrection is a myth! There is no truth in the gospel that Christ died for our sins, that he was buried and that he rose again (1 Corinthians 15:1-4). The certainty of the resurrection rests securely on the certainty of his death. And his burial is important too. This not only gives added confirmation to the fact that Jesus was truly dead, but it also helps us in our understanding of the significance of baptism. In Romans 6:4 and Colossians 2:12 Paul teaches us that in baptism we are buried with Christ and raised with him to live a new life through our faith in the power of God. Of course, the word for baptise in Greek is baptizo which always means immerse, and all baptisms in the New Testament were by immersion. But how does this relate to Jesus’ burial? Let me put it like this: When we first put our faith in Jesus we acknowledged that on the cross he died in our place, to take the punishment for our sins. In so doing we identified ourselves with his death. That’s why Paul could say in Galatians 2:20, I was crucified with Christ, and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. When you gave your life to Christ, you became a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). The old you died and a new you came alive. Baptism is a wonderful picture of that truth. Jesus died, was buried, and rose again. In baptism you act out your identification with him as you are buried in the water and come up out of it to live out the new life he has already given you. (See my book, You’d Better Believe It, for more on this). But let’s look now at the man who buried the Lord Jesus, Joseph of Arimathea. Let’s read again verses 42-43. 42 It was Preparation Day (that is, the day before the Sabbath). So as evening approached, 43 Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent member of the Council, who was himself waiting for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for Jesus' body. And verses 46-47 46 So Joseph bought some linen cloth, took down the body, wrapped it in the linen, and placed it in a tomb cut out of rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb. 47 Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where he was laid. First, please note the urgency of the situation. As I’m sure you know, the Jewish Sabbath lasted from sunset on Friday to sunset on Saturday. That’s why it was important for Jesus to be buried very soon after he died. Apart from the fact that it was against the Law for a dead body to remain exposed overnight, for the Jews all forms of work were prohibited on the Sabbath. So if Jesus’ followers didn’t bury him before sunset the Romans would have disposed of his body as they were not subject to the laws of the Sabbath. And, as verse 42 tells us, evening was already approaching when Joseph went to Pilate to ask for Jesus’ body. Joseph was a well-respected member of the Sanhedrin, most of whom, as we know, were bitterly opposed to Jesus, but Joseph was an exception. When Mark says that he was himself waiting for the kingdom of God, he is implying that Joseph was a follower of Jesus, albeit until now, secretly. He had been present at Jesus’ trial before the high priest, but we’re told in Luke 23:51 that he had not consented to their decision and action. Clearly Joseph had now decided to let his respect for Jesus be known publicly. What he was about to do could hardly be kept a secret. By coming in contact with a dead body he would make himself ritually unclean and would not be able to attend the synagogue the following day. His absence would be noticed. What’s more, it was a risky thing to show sympathy with anyone who had been crucified, especially on a charge of sedition. He was in danger not only of incurring the wrath of the Jewish authorities, but of the Romans too. No doubt that’s why Mark says that Joseph went boldly to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. Verse 46 tells us that, after Pilate had authorised Joseph to have the body Joseph bought some linen cloth, took down the body, wrapped it in the linen, and placed it in a tomb cut out of rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb. Matthew 27:60 explains that this tomb was one which Joseph had had carved for himself, and, to complete the picture, John 19:39 tells us that he was accompanied by Nicodemus, the member of the Sanhedrin who had come to Jesus by night in John 3. Perhaps he too had decided that it was high time to make his secret discipleship public. The message of Christ crucified demands a decision of us all. In the light of his death, are we prepared to stand up for him? But Joseph and Nicodemus were not the only ones to play a significant part in the burial of Jesus. Verse 47 tells us that Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses sa...
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