The right contact for rockers, the downcast and people in need
“Welcome, I’m Nigel!” The clergyman extends his hand to greet me. He is a priest in the Anglican Church and in years gone by he might have been called a person of respect. In the living room, I enjoy a freshly brewed English tea and listen to his story.
“I had absolutely nothing to do with faith and my youth was pretty wild,” the 60-year-old immediately takes off all his masks. “But one day, my girlfriend invited me to a Billy Graham crusade and I just went along!” I take another sip from my cup and prick up my ears.
“At the end of that event, we both made a conscious decision to entrust our lives to God. The change was amazing. In the days that followed, even the colors shone brighter. And as a further result, Alison and I got married. That was 40 years ago!”
Reverend Nigel Rostock now wants to show me his church. I look across a meadow to the ancient walls. “It’s 850 years old and even has a tower from the Norman era,” remarks my expert tourist guide. So this is the church where Nigel preaches his sermon every Sunday. During the week, he also looks after rocker clubs, bikers in the broadest sense and attends local gatherings in the district. This is how he builds relationships and invites people to the service. Some come, but not many. Occasionally, desperate people seek his advice after strokes of fate.
The nave with its impressive beams breathes the air of centuries past. Some of the former believers have long since been laid to rest in the cemetery beyond the thick outer walls. Their gravestones hang crooked in the wind. A kind of cultural heritage and relics of a time when churches in Britain were still full. Nigel assures me how faith has turned him – an only foster child – into a man with confidence and perspective.
“A life without hope is pretty empty,” says the Englishman. “Then all you have left is money, sex and power,” I add to the train of thought. “Exactly,” replies Nigel, “and I was just preaching about that the other day!”
It’s a gloomy day in Leicester, central England. In 1989, my wife and I completed part of our residency here at Leicester Royal Infirmary. I look back at the gray walls of St. Peters one last time. As long as there are hope-bringers like Nigel and Alison who are enthusiastic about the Risen Lord, the Church of Jesus Christ is not dead. Quite the opposite. Because it lives on in people – completely independent of historical buildings. “Outside the door, the dealers often offer drugs and you’re not safe walking in the park either!” Nigel describes the immediate surroundings. I have not the slightest doubt that the priest is working in the right place here.
“God has led us here with a purpose”, I hear him say twice. I pat the biker, priest, family man and grandpa on the back. My car starts. We continue north. /KDJ
