Mulled Vine

Have you ever wondered what people are really like, what they think, what they do when no one is looking? I did, that fateful morning, and it was my undoing.

It was an ordinary Sunday, much like any other. Spring was in the air and I could sense a corporate reluctance from my flock. I had prepared a fairly decent sermon on Grace, intended to instruct and to encourage, but not many were paying attention. Even the normally attentive Harold Withington had dozed off in his usual seat, much to his wife Arma’s annoyance – she was very concerned about appearances. So I was glad to reach the end and announce the closing hymn.

The congregation rose with a collective sigh, and as it was preparing itself during the organ prelude it struck me: they were all fakes!

Mrs Andrews in the front pew, singing with arrogant shrills above the rest, excessively proud of having studied music at London Royal College of Music. Her husband James, whom I knew was having a torrid affair with young Maisie two rows back (obviously not during the sermon). Why even Harold, old saint that he was, had a gambling problem that I’d had to rescue him from repeatedly.

Yet despite this, they paraded like perfect little Christians, with impeccable, fine smiles, secretly looking down on each other, forgetting deliberately the great heights from which we all have fallen, and the immense price paid to get them back there.

So after the hymn I announced that no one was to leave their seats. It was time for detention Bible style. They sat stunned, looking at their old pastor, not quite sure what to expect.

I then started to pray, oh how I started to pray! I prayed that the Lord would deliver my flock from their sins, that they would mend their wicked ways, that they would learn to love each other, that they would care for the poor and so on. I sensed the congregation getting restless, but nobody moved because we were in the presence of the Almighty.

Then I stopped and we waited. We waited for the Spirit of God to move among us. Nobody moved. Nobody talked. At least until suddenly Harold started from his slumber and leapt up shouting, “Don’t Panic Mr Mainwaring, don’t panic!”

The congregation collapsed with laughter at the old Dad’s Army quote, and that was it, the moment had passed: God had spoken, or perhaps not. Who knew?

I hung up my collar and frock in disgust and walked out never to return.

They were All fakes.

When other kids were playing Superman, I was running around our garden with a cape playing an evil sorcerer and singing the Swan Lake theme at the top of my voice.

I blame (and thank) my parents for this. They were both classical musicians and raised us on classical music. The rockiest I ever got was Queen.

That’s all changed now as daily I discover artists every one else seems to already know.

I felt like sharing Eva Cassidy’s “Fields of Gold” and “Somewhere over the Rainbow” with you today in case you’ve missed out.

He arrived late to the party, just as things were really getting going: the sound system blared, people shouted, screamed and laughed, writhing rhythmically to what he presumed was music. He stood silently, alone amongst the festivities, stranger, invisible, irrelevant. He knew this would be so but he came anyway – it’ll be good for you his mom had said – what did she know. He missed his solitude, his music, his books, his space. Across the room he saw a girl, standing silently, alone amongst the festivities, stranger, but not invisible, not irrelevant, at least to him. He smiled, she smiled, and the emptiness was filled.

The woman next to me on the train is listening to music on her MP3 player.
It is very loud and I want to tell her to shut up, but I don’t, I fume, and mutter, and hint, and shuffle, but all to no avail.
I think she’s just turned it up.
Now she’s humming for goodness sake!!
I think I’m going to explode!
Excuse my while I hit her over the head with my laptop.

He arrived late to the party, just as things were really getting going: the sound system blared, people shouted, screamed and laughed, writhing rhythmically to what he presumed was music. He stood silently, alone amongst the festivities, stranger, invisible, irrelevant. He knew this would be so but he came anyway – it’ll be good for you his mom had said – what did she know. He missed his solitude, his music, his books, his space. Across the room he saw a girl, standing silently, alone amongst the festivities, stranger, but not invisible, not irrelevant, at least to him. He smiled, she smiled, and the emptiness was filled.

(Part of my say it in six sentences efforts)

The woman next to me on the train is listening to music on her MP3 player.
It is very loud and I want to tell her to shut up, but I don’t, I fume, and mutter, and hint, and shuffle, but all to no avail.
I think she’s just turned it up.
Now she’s humming for goodness sake!!
I think I’m going to explode!
Excuse my while I hit her over the head with my laptop.

Another day

Harsh alarm
Interrupted dreams
Dark staggerings
Cold feet
Bleary ironing
Excited animals
Hot shower
Illmatched socks
Cold trudge
IPOD music
Windy station
Noisy train
Delays delays
Coffee Breakfast
Office Computer

Another commute

My wife and I argued yesterday. It was very unpleasant and I’m still reeling from it. I was attacked (unjustly I thought) and retaliated. Words were said which are now regretted.

On the train this morning, listening to music on my ipod, I had opportunity to dwell on the argument in my mind, and found myself spiralling downwards towards anger and resentment again. Fortunately I caught myself doing this and just stopped those thoughts. They were not helpful and had no place in my solitude, so I banished them.

It is that easy. The mind is a wonderful thing and we are much more in control of how we react to our circumstances than we like to admit.