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.

Jeshua was frankly a little down; he had known from birth that his was a special calling, that his birth was supernatural, and that he had a divine imperative to be good, perfect in fact, but today it was all a bit too much.

A familiar voice spoke in his head, “What is the matter, Jeshua?”

“Abba, you know what the matter is, you know all things.”

“I know I do, but I like you to talk to me, so tell me what the matter is.”

“Well,” began Jeshua, “there is this boy at schul, Aaron is his name, and he picks on me all the time, I suppose because I am little and not very good at games; I so badly want to smite him dead, but I know I mustn’t.”

His Father smiled sadly from his omnipresent viewpoint, and said, “Listen, I know it’s tough, but your calling is so very important, so you must resist. I will send Gabriel to minister to you.”

Jeshua sighed.

“Uhm, Abba?”

“Yes, my Son?”

“What does minister mean?”

(I have always wondered what it would have been like for Jesus as a boy, and whether he had any powers, or whether these came with the Spirit at his baptism.)

I have a low patience threshold at the best of times but today was the limit.

Blah, blah, blah … vision statement … blah, blah, blah, … synergistic thinking …. blah, blah, blah … I haven’t really achieved anything but look at my wonderful blue sky thinking … blah, blah, blah … look I can do Powerpointless presentations with transitions and dull text … blah, blah, blah.

And all this when I should have been catching one of my rare evening trains home.

So afterwards I strode to the station, fuming, muttering as I do about the self-inflated oxygen wasters in that meeting, when lo and behold a direct train to my home town had been delayed 15 minutes by some missing driver and was waiting just for me.

I say lo and behold because it felt vaguely Biblical. “And lo God did provide a train for his faithful servant.”

Of course I don’t really believe God did that just for me, particularly as my muttering was not full of blessing, but it was nice to have a train anyway, so thank you Lord for the way it worked out.

This blog is a bit devoid of spiritual content at the moment, because that’s the way I feel, but that’s for another time. My train is almost home.

Today I am happy to call myself a conservative Christian…

We’re doing a series on the Last Days at our church, something I’m really enjoying since its an area I’ve avoided until now. There’s probably some deep psychological reason for this but I think its mostly to do with Jesus’ statements about not knowing when the hour will come.

The past two weeks we have covered death and what happens just after death. The gist of it is this: body dies, spirit goes either to Paradise or Hades/Sheol based on whether you are a believer or not, to be continued…

Some things bothered me.

Firstly, much reliance was made on clues that are in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. I worry about this because its a parable, so for example are the spirits really talking, thirsty etc?

Secondly, judgment seems to begin now, not at some future date when we are all gathered as per Revelation.

If you have any good links on these subjects, do send them my way.

Deep in my spirit there is a yearning, a longing deep and persistent. It started earlier today as I pondered life’s great mysteries and sought a greater meaning to it all. My thoughts drew to a close and having answered these mighty questions, my thoughts turned to my emptiness. Why did I feel thus? Was it not enough that now at last I understood the meaning of life? Well, no, because my yearning has nothing to do with all of that – it has to do with Chili Dogs and Beer.

Margeret Mallory was a fine mortal and lover to us all. Scandalous perhaps, but if you knew something of the woman, her love for life, her joy, her generous spirit, her voracious appetite for all things new, then maybe you’d understand why she was so alluring. She was like a flame to us dowdy moths, utterly irresistible. Now she is gone, and in our lives a void remains. But she would not have us mourn, so true to form Margeret has willed that we blow her entire estate (granted only £112.05) on an almighty send off. Good-bye Margeret, you will be missed, and mine’s a Guinness!

Deep in my spirit there is a yearning, a longing deep and persistent. It started earlier today as I pondered life’s great mysteries and sought a greater meaning to it all. My thoughts drew to a close and having answered these mighty questions, my thoughts turned to my emptiness. Why did I feel thus? Was it not enough that now at last I understood the meaning of life? Well, no, because my yearning has nothing to do with all of that – it has to do with Chilli Dogs and Beer.

(Part of my say it in six sentences efforts)

I discovered a website today where the idea is that you write a story in 6 sentences. Its a lot of fun and cheered me up no end this evening. Its now just after midnight and I have written these two:

Have you ever wondered why its dark at night?

Have you ever wondered why its dark at night? Some say it is because the earth is round and spins so that sometimes the sun is on the other side. Rubbish, I tell you. If you look carefully as the sun sets you’ll see God reach out and grab the sun just before it falls and pops it in his pocket. Scientists scoff at this notion, saying that it is silly, primitive thinking, and simply impossible since we all know God does not exist, and even if he or she did, they would not have a pocket. To them I put this thought: if God does not have a pocket then where would he put the sun at night?

Margeret Mallory

Margeret Mallory was a fine mortal and lover to us all. Scandalous perhaps, but if you knew something of the woman, her love for life, her joy, her generous spirit, her voracious appetite for all things new, then maybe you’d understand why she was so alluring. She was like a flame to us dowdy moths, utterly irresistible. Now she is gone, and in our lives a void remains. But she would not have us mourn, so true to form Margeret has willed that we blow her entire estate (granted only £112.05) on an almighty send off. Good-bye Margeret, you will be missed, and mine’s a Guinness!

I’ll spare you the other stuff I’ve written but if you’re really interested see Mulled Writings.

Margeret Mallory was a fine mortal and lover to us all. Scandalous perhaps, but if you knew something of the woman, her love for life, her joy, her generous spirit, her voracious appetite for all things new, then maybe you’d understand why she was so alluring. She was like a flame to us dowdy moths, utterly irresistible. Now she is gone, and in our lives a void remains. But she would not have us mourn, so true to form Margeret has willed that we blow her entire estate (granted only £112.05) on an almighty send off. Good-bye Margeret, you will be missed, and mine’s a Guinness!

(Part of my say it in six sentences efforts)