A grey-sky week in London was brightened by God’s abundance and grace and a couple of fantastic glasses of red. It is so easy when one is in a fallow time to wallow, sink and allow the impending shorter days to wreak havoc with your mood: Until a few months ago, I was entirely based in Nigeria, where power cuts and outsize insects aside, I was having a whale of a time writing, brand managing and dancing on the occasional table. It was also such a refresher too to be living in a country where one didn’t get given a look tantamount to having an embarrassing illness as one does sometimes in these parts for having a faith, admitting to the restorative effects of prayer and pinning your favourite verse on the wall. But anyway, back in London I have returned to one verse again and again:
“Be still and know I am God”
And so I did in three of my favourite London churches for stillness: St. James’ Piccadilly, Holy Trinity Sloane Street and my home church Holy Trinity Brompton. In the silence of contemplating God’s plan for my life, His omnipresence and how I felt like the last of the flagrant slackers staring into the middle distance and getting high on stained glass, my phone buzzed (thankfully on silent) and I was invited to a trio of interesting events: a review dinner for the revamped Eight Over Eight on the Kings Road, where the Black Cod is not quite as game over as Nobu but is yummy nevertheless, a tea at the Carlton Club with the scrummiest of ginger biscuits and just beautiful setting (I challenge anyone not to be won over by the old school charm of claret coloured dining rooms and hold nothing back cornice work,)and finally my favourite divinely authored appointment: lunch with a gourmand homeless person.
The homeless person didn’t buzz in. We met as he stood outside St James Piccadilly and he asked me for a sandwich. I said I would get him one, but then he stopped me in my tracks: “You cannot possibly know what I want to eat. I’m sick of people playing God and giving me any old **** to eat just because I’m homeless.” I was shocked by his outburst but he had a point. The default of most, even when doing a supposed act of charity is to assume that the recipient will be grateful for whatever we give, however little it is. Homeless chap had a point; so I asked him what he would like: he replied a beef and Emmental sandwich on ciabatta and it should be toasted. He also made a polite request for extra salt and pepper and bemoaned my resistance to not going to a chain as apparently if I walked a little further he could also ask for extra Dijon mustard on the side as that gave everything a real ‘kick’. Not in the teeth I quipped. And then he smiled and I saw he was missing a few and I inwardly cringed for about a half minute and then he laughed as did I.
Another truism about giving; it needn’t be earnest and a lightness of touch is always preferable to those who labour the point, rather like sermons. As a foodie I totally felt this man’s predicament, the fact that we are so quick to see someone’s problem and totally fail to discern their individuality. Luckily for us the believer we do not have an Almighty with a similar one size fits all observational skills-set, as Christ himself said
“that even the very hairs of your head are numbered”
Meal bought and exchanged, my new friend thanked me. I said he was welcome and turned to go but he stopped me again. ‘I am not thanking you for the meal, I am thanking you for seeing me for me.” Just as God does for all of us.
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