For as far back as I can remember, I knew the Lord had marked me out as one of his own. As the first and only child of five that my older mother carried to full term, I spent my early years in a tiny hamlet in the Wimmera in Victoria. I well remember our wooden miner’s cottage amongst the peppercorns, with its little outhouse that provided an ever-present fear of snakes, and the dusty hot summers and the freezing winters. It was a simple life for an only child but I never felt lonely. I sensed God’s presence out in the bush far more than in the town’s liberal Anglican church some distance away, that we chugged to each Sunday in our old T-Model Ford.
Just after the end of World War 2 when I was nine, we had the trip of our lifetime, a visit to England, to see my grandmother. While looking down onto Egyptian soil as our ship passed through the Suez Canal, I remember my mother saying, ”I suppose you’ll end up being a missionary in some place like this”.
Her words indeed were prophetic, for seventeen years later, after radiological training in Melbourne, there I was, a medical missionary in Tanzania, working at the CMS hospital in Mvumi and helping to upgrade and run a radiology service. I had no intention of staying around my parents, to their great disappointment, and it was NOT with their blessing at all that I obeyed God’s strong calling to offer for missionary service. Having lived at Ridley College in Melbourne as a secular student while studying at Melbourne Institute of Technology, I became a server at St Paul’s Cathedral. Here I had every opportunity to mix with Bible-believing Christians and hear about CMS as I worked as a waiter as well as at ‘Crumpets in the Crypt’ on Friday nights.
Some years later, in preparation for going overseas as a missionary worker, CMS wanted me to spend time interstate and away from home. My time at Moore College, as it turned out, just one short year, was unforgettable and life-changing, indeed the most influential opportunity in my life. It offered the warmest of fellowship with other live-in students, and solid Bible teaching, the likes of which I’d never known before, and it highlighted an emphasis on God’s sovereignty. Then, there was the pressure of having to keep up with incessant work tasks/exams and the busiest of Sundays in a local parish as a student worker. These all filled my weeks to the brim. As a Sunday youth worker, I learnt real pastoral skills and had the joy of seeing many young people who had dropped out, come into the church scene. I was to learn that personal contact and visiting are absolute musts, something I’ve appreciated to this day!
Some two years later, after Moore and St Andrew’s Hall, and after having been accepted by CMS, I boarded the plane for Africa. Country relatives had offered to care for my ageing parents and Dr and Mrs Leon Morris of Ridley subsequently became kindness personified, often inviting them to stay at the College. With no children of their own I am sure they could still understand my parents’ sorrow as I departed. At the airport, my father could not even farewell me. I was never to see him again and I often wonder whether he somehow knew this in his heart as he stood there grieving and alone.
I have countless memories and highlights of my three years away. This included wonderful friendships with immigrants in Kenya, particularly Sikhs, many of whom were indentured labourers. Others with more wealth came to better themselves during later years of the British Raj and after the formation of the British protectorate of East Africa. A few Sikhs were my “spare parts providers” for my endless “Mr Fixit” jobs (I was asked to fix everything!). And there were exhausting hours of practical hospital work, not just radiological. One of my saddest duties was to make a tiny coffin for the precious stillborn baby of a missionary couple. One of my funniest experiences was visiting by invitation the hut of my house servant, and seeing my very own table cloth proudly displayed for afternoon tea and some of my tea towels nailed to the walls.
Having to return home after the death of my father after only three years away, I soon met Anne, a post grad student in Asian Studies, and someone keenly interested in missionary work. She was already very active in Asian student outreach. Interestingly, for years she’d been doing Moore college subjects by distance studies. As a married couple, we returned to talk with Moore folk a couple of times to discern whether I should continue with study and enter the ministry. However, we realised that medical work was God’s direction and I was to spend the rest of my working days in hospitals, retiring at seventy-four. Countless opportunities came my way to pray with people and to witness to Christ’s saving grace to patients and doctors alike. One notable opportunity occurred in the theatre. All gowned up and supposedly busy at his job, a Jewish surgeon to whom I’d often talked said, “Now John, let’s talk about redemption”. Everyone, apart from the patient who was unconscious, sure heard the gospel!
My one year at Moore indeed set my path for life and my delight in God’s Word. For both Anne and me, our understanding that God never makes mistakes but is sovereign in everything has particularly helped us in our later lives as we have two children with significant disabilities. I’m also thankful of late to have had contact again with some of the folk I met years ago at College. It is a privilege to be an intercessor for them and the Kingdom work in which they are still heavily engaged.
