Meeting Paul Levy (But thankfully not Lee Gate-iss)
I spent the last three days with Paul Levy and his family. Great fun.
Levy gave me directions to get to a train near his house, but the grammar and spelling were so bad that I ended up in a hot air balloon over the Thames River, where I saw Jeremy Walker at Bunhill fields, giving a tour to Japanese tourists who were Bunyan lovers.
That night Levy and I watched Liverpool smash Leicester in a pub, where Leicester were not the only ones who got smashed.
Levy did not accompany me to the Westminster Conference the next day because they don’t clap after the speakers give their papers, and he informed me that he would not go if he could not clap.
I will confess to my surprise at how much Levy said he loved being in America, where he got to preach and wear one of those big batman gowns. He said he loved it, but he would need a special gown made if he was going to be able to wave his hands like Matt Chandler.
Anyway, it was great to spend time with a Welsh preacher who didn’t pretend to be Lloyd-Jones redivivus.
And it was nice not to have to bump into that Cambridge snob that is Lee Gate-iss. Who wants to hang around a guy who tells people how to pronounce his name – ahem, Tullamore – and how smart he is?
Time to update that page, Lee, and tell everyone you have a PhD from Cambridge on counting words in commentaries.
Yours in the bonds of one-way shove.
Pastor Mark Jones is keeping his congregation close by (for the rest of this year).
