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3A. The Holy Ghost in Action 
Exasperated, one cadet finally laid down the cross at my feet. "This is stupid," he spat. "We're impressing nobody but ourselves!" In that moment, we all sensed that we had reached a crisis point in our ministry. Every effort of ours had failed. In this experience, though we least expected it, God was preparing us for a breakthrough.
One day, the cadets and I were sitting outside in the street chatting and idly passing way the time with a group of poor children. One of them innocently asked, "Is the church haunted, Mister? Is it?" "It could be!" I casually laughed back, then after a moment's thought added, "How about getting some kids together tomorrow night, and we'll go and see?"
That next night, we were again talking with the children outside. Suddenly a series of ghostly shrieks echoed from high above our heads. Startled, we leapt to our feet. Our mouths dropped open as we gazed upwards. There, beckoning to us through the louvered slats of a narrow window was a pair of bare white arms! "Look," one little black boy yelled, "there's the ghost!" "I'm going up the haunted tower!" I suggested. "Who is brave enough to come too?"
Pied Piper
Like the Pied Piper of old, I led a motley group of children into the eerie darkness of our silent church. Once inside, with the heavy wooden doors firmly closed behind us, we crossed to the vestry. Shafts of sunlight glimmered above our heads from a high window. The belfry door swung back with a hesitant creak. In the gloom, we laboured up the stone spiral staircase. Our footsteps resonated ominously around us. Half way up, a slit window sprayed welcome light on to our steps and encouraged us to press on to the top. Then, suddenly shattering the peace, a clatter of rusty iron chains crashed down the stone steps from above. This was just too much for my young friends. With a screech they scampered past me to the security of the belfry door!
Ghost Stories
Having seen the children enjoy this exciting new game, we then suggested another. "How about all going downstairs in the Church to listen to ghost stories together?" An amber street lamp cast an evening glow through a half light window across the basement. We shared our favourite ghost stories, accounts of intrigue and mystery. Time slipped by.
Then, in the lull in the conversation, a young black boy asked, "I know a Bible story about Moses, how about that?" "Let's go upstairs," I suggested "where we have a very beautiful place that is ideal for telling Bible stories." We gathered in our lovely chapel, where one cadet had run ahead and lit the two candles on the communion table. Either side of the sanctuary, two small blue gaslight flames flickered in the draft. We listened intently as one child, then another, read his favourite Bible story. In one electrifying moment, the children from the street knelt and prayed together. "Our Father, who art in Heaven. . . ."
Sacrificial Living
From then on, our new friends wanted to meet every week. Soon they were bringing their brothers and sisters, and even their parents too. Amazingly, God had used a rumour about our haunted church to open the door to people's hearts in this poor and needy community. Saint Barnabas's Church, from that point, grew and grew to become a force in the slums. Many cadets and parishioners from the City laboured beside us there.
One lady, Miss Eleanor Gifford, lived and worked in a simple but meticulously neat little room in the East End. During the days and evenings, she visited many poor teenaged girls in their homes. By arranging Bible studies, sewing classes and camping trips for them, Eleanor not only kept them out of trouble, but also introduced them to Christ. In this selfless way, she built bridges into their lives.
She even refused a salary from the Bishop because of a vow she had made many years before to God. "I used to belong to a Quaker group," she once told me. "One day I made a covenant with God. I promised that at sometime in the future, I would devote myself to the poor. After many years as a teacher, and upon my mother's death, my opportunity finally came. That is why I'm here in the slums working with these young people." Tragically, an unknown person murdered Eleanor one night. In trying to prevent one of her young women from being drawn into prostitution, she was savagely stabbed and never recovered. Her total and absorbing commitment to bringing the worst in society to the best God could give them caused her death.
Bed Bugs
Our needs and difficulties in the slums were of keen interest to Bishop Hobson whenever I visited his office. One day, during such an interview, I told him about a particularly annoying problem we were experiencing in our old building. "It's the bed bugs, Bishop!" I blurted out guiltily. "They stop us sleeping. Even after we've washed the mattresses with disinfectant, they still come back the same night! We've resorted to lying on the table tops, but they find us there too!" His mouth dropped open incredulously and a cheeky grin slowly began to spread across his face. "Did they bite you?" he quipped! The very next day, someone came around to rid us of our unwelcome bedfellows!
"You've gotta have a glory in the things you do, an alleluia chorus in the heart of you" 
