21st September ‘However, the hair of his head began to grow again’ Judges 16.

 As a child, my elder brother and I were dropped off at the local parish church on a Sunday morning to sing in the choir while my father continued his journey on to the United Reformed Church. In the early days this was just, well, normal.

However, we began to notice that this ecclesiastical trend was not shared by our fellow choristers, so we enquired as to why. We were met with the succinct response, “It’s too high”. No more was said, and life carried on.

It meant that on only two occasions, for reasons I no longer recall we attended the URC Sunday School. This was run by very, er, ‘task orientated’ septuagenarians. My elder brother—who at that age had a way with ladies of such a vintage (he had dinner ladies, with all the charm of Voldemort, eating out his hand)—thrived under the atmosphere of imminent threat and lavender, mixed with deep heat.

I, on the other hand, was clearly ear-marked as a ‘trouble-maker’. This perception meant I simply existed under the sobriquet, “James’s naughty brother” rather than “Robert”.

I fear my card was marked after my first visit when, instead of dutifully drawing a nice colourful picture of a rainbow, dove and ark, I had the temerity to question the love of God after I learned that he had wiped out the inhabitants of the earth. My second, and final, visit to this school of discipline did nothing to redeem me, or them.

The theme was, Samson.

Since that day I have always had a soft spot for what the book of Hebrews refers to as “a man of faith” (Hebrews 11.32), and I call a “thick lummox” (Robert 1.1).

The story of Samson is full of pathos. It reveals humanity at its worst and best. It shows the truth of how, like Samson, we are all capable of great courage and profound weakness. Samson, the man who threw away his promise, inheritance, gifts and ended up committing suicide, is still a hero, and, according to the bible, is a ‘man of faith’.

In the most unlikely of packages, we see the gift of redemption.

On that day at that Sunday School the (redacted) story of Samson was told. We were shown pictures of this bizarrely blonde Jewish Adonis wrestling a lion, and to ‘ground the teaching’ a tin of Lyles Golden Syrup with its dead lion and the legend: “out of the strong came forth sweetness” (Judges 14.14). Questions from the floor were invited, so up my hand went. “Yes, James’s brother, what is it?”

“Why did Delilah, ask, ‘what is the secret of your great strength?” I held up one of the pictures of Samson looking like Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson. “Wasn’t it obvious, wouldn’t he have been weedy?” I proffered.

Clearly, as the most stupid child in the room, the error of my ways was highlighted amidst a series of words delivered frustratingly through gritted dentures, culminating in a cry of “his hair!”

Since that day I have realised my instincts were correct and that these Hilda Rumpoles are probably utterly baffled by being constantly introduced in heaven to a diminutive long-haired Jewish gentleman called, ‘Samson’.

Samson’s ‘great strength’ was not in his hair, but rather the Holy Spirit that dwelt within him and his faithfulness to God, symbolised by his adherence to a covenantal promise not to cut his hair.  

Almost 50 years later these memories came flooding back as I sat outside Currys PC World looking at myself in the rear-view mirror, “However, the hair of his head began to grow again”.

Jesus, when fortifying the disciples for all the challenges that lay ahead of them, assures them that God loves them to the extent that, ‘every hair on their head is counted’ (Matthew 10.30).

Given my follicle-free-status over the past few months, such ‘comfortable words’ have not really resonated. I fear God has not been too mathematically challenged during my treatment.

Nonetheless, there is clearly an intention to care and we must see things within a divine plan. That being the case, what divine plan is it that says, I know—after months of looking like ET—what will really pep Robert up are two huge hairs growing out of his left ear?!

“However, the hair of his head began to grow again”…yes, from my ears.

As Samson’s hands were gently placed against the pillars of the temple by a child as his curls returned, finally destined to deliver Israel, I’m sat in a carpark on the Great West Road attempting to remove two hideous ornaments from my pinna.

Perhaps, one day (hopefully far off!) I will accompany my Mrs Rumpoles, and ask that nice diminutive Jewish gentleman, if he can tell me, assuming everything has a divine plan, what I missed that required copious quantities of hair in my ears and nose, but not on my head?

I suspect he will just say, “look at me, things don’t always make sense, but it doesn’t stop you looking for the sugar in lions”.