In 1974, while living in the Cook Islands with my teaching parents and two sisters, I first met Jesus. A friend, Bobby (Rangi) Moekaa, invited me to a Christian group that was run in the school by Brian Chitty (who happened to work with my parents in education). Brian shared the gospel based on the amazing prophetic statue in Daniel 7. Being a logical young lad, I reasoned that if God could predict through the OT prophets the world's empires up to Jesus, I should believe in him. I did and gave my heart to Jesus. Things turned sour at home after this. My parents were not impressed, particularly my Dad. It didn’t help that I immediately tried to evangelise them. When your thirteen-year-old son shares the gospel with you, and you are fiercely antichristian as my Father was at that stage of life, it never goes well for the evangelizer. Long story short, my relationship with my Dad was wrecked, and, in tears, on my bed, I told God I could not follow him as I wanted in such a home and
The blog of Mark Keown, New Testament lecturer at Laidlaw College, Auckland, New Zealand. It involves comments on theology, life, sport and whatever comes into Mark's random mind.