The Archdruid's Birthday Sermon

Every year, one particular day comes round with its reminders of mortality.  One looks at Holbein's Ambassadors, (and surely it's only a matter of time before the National realises they've only got a copy?) and sees the skull beneath the pomp and vanity.  The girl looks into the mirror, and sees a crone looking out.  The face in the water looks back, shakes her head as if to say that it's the last time you'll look like today.  One gets a sense of Ripples that never come back.

One's birthday.

When what is before you starts to appear shorter than what lays behind, one's mind turns to other things.  It was Pink Floyd who sang:

“You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.  And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.  No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.”

And indeed I know how it is.  Ten years ago, more or less, I was earning my stripes as a trainee Archdruid with the Anglo-Saxon Folk of Aldwincle.  Bright-eyed and eager to achieve my ambitions, to live my visions and dreams, to make loads of money while simultaneously making gullible New-Age types feel fulfilled in a vaguely Christian, approximately traditional, largely made-up form of religion.  A religion in which feelings and emoting are more important than doctrine and theology. And yet one day you find yourself in a running battle with the jumped-up Assistant to the Assistant Executive Druid, while your gormless followers compete among themselves for who can come up with the stupidest form of alt.worship in an attempt to be "creative" in  their spirituality, and Young Keith is still taking out the out-buildings with his bizarre and dangerous new inventions.  And still you need to raise some money for the new Moot House.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun, as the prophet said.  But where does all this running leave you?  And again the prophet tells us - "shorter of breath, and one day closer to death".

So far so depressing.  One can muddle through, but in what way does one achieve anything?  To quote the prophet one last time - it leaves us hanging on in quiet desperation in the English Way.  At least I have the comfort of spirituality.  Which is, of course, much like having the comfort of knowing God but without the certainty.  Some, like spiritual extreme skateboarders, like to live with doubt and uncertainty - find their faith on the edge.  Yet sometimes it would be nice to have some more of that wide-eyed fundamentalist certainty.

Is it better to be a simple drone with certainty or a sensitive worrier with a tendency to doubt?  The answer does not seem clear.  I must away and light a vanilla tea light, and listen to some Kirsty MacColl* in an attempt to get in touch with the Divine.  Wherever - inside, outside or beyond - He, She, It or They are to be found.  In the Divine can be found all the ultimate ends of humanity, albeit maybe not all the answers.

And, no - don't ask me how many candles I'll be having on my cake.  Or I'll break your ankles.

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* "Soho Square" seems appropriate.