Odd little discussion just now with Bertrand.
You know Bertrand? Lives just down the road. Opposite the Reading Room. In the imaginary cottage nobody from Husborne Crawley really lives in.
I was doing the old missional thing on Bertrand. Responding to the Great Commission. You know, going to all nations, pouring out Beakers etc etc. Telling him that God loves him and Jesus wants him to come along to the Moot House on Sundays and what about it, eh?
And Bertrand says, "What about if I don't?"
And I go, "You what?"
And he goes, "Since God loves me so much he'll let me into heaven regardless, and Hell is empty if not non-existent, and I find it hard to get up on Sundays - why do I need to do anything? Can't I just sit around drinking Greenwich Brewery beer, and flicking left over silver-foil pie cases from the Woburn Sands chip shop at the picture of Richard Bacon I've nailed to the mantelpiece I put in specifically to flick pie cases at pictures of Richard Bacon on?
And I've had a think about it. And he's got a point.
Anyone got a spare pie?