Blessing

On Easter Day we had a choir come and sing in the prison. A lovely morning of blessing. One choir member left a cardigan so I arranged to meet her at Brixton Tube station later that afternoon to return it to her. That stretch of pavement outside the tube is always noisy, chaotic with plenty of people. While I was there I was approached by a young man who recognised me from the prison and an older Black woman who was distributing food. Her smile and presence had a profound impact upon me. So I wrote a story about her. Here it is.

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Blessing peeled off her shoes and sank into the only arm chair in her studio flat. It had been another long day cleaning toilets and offices for the local council but now she had a few moments to gather herself.

Tonight was Church bible study with Pastor Kwame breaking open the book of Hebrews again. It was billed as a ‘break-through’ evening but Blessing had been to many ‘break-through’ evenings and, if she was to be honest, she had not seen much ‘break-through’.

She warmed up some left-overs from the day before and prepared herself for Church; a fresh frock and her non-work shoes. She told herself she was getting too old for working five days a week and must find a way to cut down. She lived a simple life.

She had arrived in London from Ghana over twenty years before with her sister. The plan was to work, send money home of course, but to shape a more stable life, perhaps with a husband maybe a business.

Certainly, a husband came along. Clive charmed her with his smile and cheeky wink from the church band and later his promise of love and help with the business. But neither happened. There was a honeymoon at a nice hotel on the edge of Swindon, but it was the church’s ‘Couples for Christ’ weekend away.

Soon after the honeymoon, Clive found reasons to be away some nights and these turned into weeks away. Then the violence began and finally ended with the chipping of Blessings’ front tooth. The police were called and Clive was never seen again.

So, Blessing settled down to a safer vocation of single-blessedness, faithful to her Lord, the word of God and the Pastor in that order. It was a deep faith, a trusting for even the smallest things, a faithfulness to her own prayer and listening to the still, small voice emerging from the bible.

A few years after Clive, Blessing’s calling to ministry was confirmed and it was this which set her heart ablaze with love and purpose. But strangely it was a ministry which went unnoticed and indeed unknown by her church and the Pastor. Blessing’s ministry was given to her in the privacy of her closed room and the call to its exercise was also one which came to her in privacy. Tonight was such a time when the call came.

She would find it hard to explain how, but the moving in her heart, the welling up of love she felt deep within, indicated that this coming Sunday was the day the Lord wished her to minister.

She rose early on Saturday morning with a greater excitement and joy. She cleaned the chicken and washed the rice and prepared the pots, spices and the plastic containers as she had done many times before. The cooking of jollof rice and chicken took most of the day particularly when the cooling and the packing was included.

By the end of the day, she was ready. All day she had had the witness of the Spirit which told her this was the time, the moment, the joy when the Lord would give her others to receive her ministry.

The church knew that on some Sunday mornings, Blessing would excuse herself and attend instead the Power Praise service in the evening. But they didn’t know why and they never bothered to ask. So, in the morning, after her quiet time, Blessing loaded her shopping trolley and set out for the tube station.

Emerging out into the crazy chaos of Brixton High Street, Blessing found a spot away from the flow of crowds moving in and out of the station. She composed herself, offered a short arrow prayer and reached into her shopping trolley.

Pulling out a plastic container she straightened herself and stood cradling the container of rice and chicken in both hands. She just stood there, not looking around expectantly but just standing there, eyes slightly lowered, with the faintest smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Two minutes past and Shakil approached and took the container from her hand along with a small plastic fork. He was 21 years old, just out of prison, sleeping in a derelict house and his health was failing. Gently, he took that container because it was offered and not given and at that moment of taking, Blessing looked up and Jesus shone through her face filling Shakil with a warmth and love he remembered years ago from his mother’s touch.

It was just shortly after Shakil had found a second piece of chicken in his rice that Declan staggered, drunk, towards Blessing, his arms open to take a container of food fetched from Blessing’s shopping trolley. But Declan could not look at dear Blessing. He had tried before two weeks previously and found the love of Jesus in her face far too frightening and truth-telling. But just as he placed his hand to take, he paused, signifying thank you, and disappeared quickly into the crowd to eat his lunch.

Sharon was next. Ragged and worn with clothing ripped and her belly empty, she pleaded to Blessing for food but she didn’t need to to do so because the food was offered for taking and never given. But maybe the pleading was not for the food but for a glimpse of Jesus’ warmth. Blessing looked up and beheld Sharon. She smiled and Jesus filled her face with its chipped tooth with radiant joy. Satisfied already, Sharon touched Blessings’ hand – and knew herself somehow healed.

The afternoon wore on and Blessing’s shopping trolley was empty and those who were empty in Brixton were filled with jollof rice and the mystical warmth of Jesus.

At home and with her feet tired again, Blessing fell into her chair and pulled off her shoes and reached down to rub her feet. `I will spend just a moment to rest’, she thought, and then prepare for Power Praise at church.

She will not tell Pastor or her sisters at church about the jollof rice and chicken, nor about Shakil or Declan. She will not speak of Sharon and her ripped clothes. But they will all appear in her prayers tonight as they settle down to sleep somewhere in Brixton, with memories of food and the glory of Jesus in the radiant face of Blessing and her chipped tooth.

Tim Clapton

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