Saturday, 16 August 2025
A Riteless Passage
Friday, 15 August 2025
No time for Jephthah
"I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets" (Heb 11:32b)
Well I'm not surprised the author to Hebrews didn't have time to tell about Samson, and - most especially - Jephthah. What on earth were they thinking about even to list them, let alone tell about them?
The author has just mentioned Rahab. Awkward character, what with her technically being a traitor to her own people. Or maybe not so much. Rahab is presumably living on the fringes of her society. Maybe she's seen a way out of her exploitation. She goes on to be the many-greats-grandmother of David. And David and Samuel and Gideon - you could say they show mixed results, because we are all fallible people. But they often did their best. Barak's an interesting choice - a good bloke, but aware of his own limitations. So he let Deborah (whose name never suited her) do the fighting for him, and Jael strike a blow for women's liberation.
But Jephthah? Who would include him in a list of heroes of the faith?
Jephthah, you may remember, was elected to be the wartime judge of Israel. Up to then he had been a vagabond gang-leader. And though he received the Spirit of God, which was the qualification for being a good judge, nevertheless he bargained with God - tried to be an equal - offered to sacrifice the first thing he met when he came home if God gave him the victory. And all the sheep and chickens wisely hid under a hedge when he came back, I presume. So he first met his daughter. And his vow was invalid, and he had a way out of it in the Law. But he sacrificed his daughter anyway. Having first blamed her for the problem. Because his word was his bond. And because he was an idiot.
And yet there he is alongside David and Gideon. An exemplar of faith.
I could conclude that I've misread Judges completely, and killing his daughter as a result of an illegal vow was in fact proof that Jepthah was a selfless and pious man of strong character. In the modern MAGA world, maybe that's arguable. And indeed - some have argued it. Even on a children's Bible website.
The Daughter of Jephthah - Alexandre Cabanel |
Maybe I'm just too post-modern? But I could conclude something else.
I have to conclude that this isn't about Jephthah's rather wild, badly-conceived faith. And it's actually about God's faithfulness. The reason that Hebrews contains a rather mixed bag of heroes of the faith is because being on the list doesn't depend on them. It depends on God. And it was God who was faithful in raising up Rahab to be the ancestor of Jesus. It was God who was faithful in saving his people through the useless Jephthah and the unreliable and not remotely religious Samson. It was God who was faithful in making Jesus the son of David, that adulterer and effectively murderer. It was God who acted through history in preserving his people Israel. And God who is faithful to us.
Which is good news. If God's faithfulness can get even Jephthah into a hall of fame of the faithful, then Jesus's love can do the same for us. God's faithfulness is the light that reflects in our own faith - however dim. And God's faithfulness is true and firm and eternal. Even for Samson. Even for David. Even for us.
Thursday, 14 August 2025
The All Modern Pilgrim Destination
Wednesday, 13 August 2025
On the Wings of a Dove
Dear brethren (and sisters). What a shock it was today.
I was having my "quiet time" between 6 am and noon as usual. About halfway through, Marjorie came running into the Manse study, screaming that Marston Moretaine was being "raptured".
Well, naturally I wondered. Marston is an amiable if dim chap, but a member of the Beaker Folk rather than one of my godly fellowship here in the Funambulist Baptist Chapel. So while my redeemed bottom was still firmly in my Quiet Time Chair, how was it that Marston was being called into heaven like the godly who will shine like stars? I know God's grace is imputed and not earned. But still, this seemed a bit much.
Begging God's pardon for leaving him, as it were, in listening mode, I left Manse Cottage and ran out into the street. And there was Marston.
Lying on the ground.
Being attacked by the Archdruid's pet eagles, which she uses to punish the incalcitrant.
Raptored.
I wished him well, and went back to the Manse to pray for him.
Tuesday, 12 August 2025
21 Things to do with an Unwanted Church Piano
Burton Dasset is currently away on a mountain-climbing tour of the Lincolnshire Fens. But it's nice to know he remembers me. He's sent back this advert he saw in a local church, having remembered our post last week about refusing unwanted gifts. But I've removed the contact details. Otherwise you'd be flooding the inbox of the vicar, trying to take advantage of this offer. Admit it, you would.
An old church piano that needs a repair. There's a backstory of course to this plague of pianos needing a good home. And it goes back to round about the 1950s.
In that brave post-war world, with a little more money, many aspiring working class families decided that little Tommy needed to acquire a bit of culture. So an upright piano was purchased - probably on Hire Purchase - lessons procured, and the next thing you knew young Tommy, with a repertoire of "Chopsticks" and "Strangers in the Night", had grown up and moved out, leaving the piano behind.
Then as time went by, mum and dad downsized from their three bed council semi to a bungalow. The piano had to go. But conveniently mum was in the church quire. And one day, during a vacancy, the piano appeared in the vestry.
Where it's been ever since. All over the country. Hundreds and thousands of them, their off-white teeth grinning at whoever lifts the lid for a quiet nostalgic tinkle of the keys. And thousands of church ministers, jealous of the space for a new chasuble chest, PA system, or baroque new font, wonder how to remove them. But nobody wants them. Especially when in need of some repair. They occupy space. They weigh a ton. They gather dust. But someone's granny gave that piano, and it's not going unless to a good home.
What might a church try doing with a piano in some need of repair that is more likely to be successful than hoping for a collection, I wonder? Bearing in mind that the one thing you can't do is flog any ivory off separately.
Edit: I was asked why only 21. So now there's a couple more. This may not stop any time soon.
- Sponsored Explosion.
- Piano soap-box derby.
- Sneak out one key, string, or splinter at a time hidden down your trouser legs.
- Enter the local raft race.
- Paint it green and claim it's the verger.
- Add a wheel and make it a driving simulator.
- Kindling £3 a bundle for the spire fund.
- Hide inside it to terrify champers in the middle of the night.
- Very small outside loo.
- Get Elon Musk to make it the first piano on Mars.
- Convert it into a pew. Then remove all the pews.
- Swift boxes with keys for perches.
- Fuel for "Musical Bonfire Night". Hear the twang of those strings!
- Every time you see the keys, sob loudly and annoyingly for the fate of the elephant that gave its life so a quire that disbanded in 1979 could practice without using the organ.
- Chicken coop.
- Casing for a "retro" 64-inch old-fashioned flat screen TV.
- Turn it into an unwanted church bookcase for unwanted donated books.
- Push it over and use it as a coffee table.
- Drop it from a crane to test Galileo's theory of falling objects.
- Sponsored push to a secret destination (the tip).
- Coffin for a thin, square person.
- Bury it, arguing it's a very delayed funeral for the elephant. Declare a month of mourning so nobody feels like they can complain.
- Rebuild it as a glider and fly it to the tip from the tower.
Sunday, 10 August 2025
Citizens of Somewhere Else
"But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one." (Heb 11:16a)
Here's an odd thing. Or several odd things. Those people who dislike people of other religions or nationalities than themselves. They quite often call themselves "Christian". Or "Cultural Christians". Or "Judeo-Christian" has become quite popular these days. But they criticise other people - people originating from other countries, or of different colours, or, quite often, Muslims - by saying they don't have their primary allegiance to this country.
Norman Tebbit recently died. He showed remarkable resilience and courage when his wife was terribly injured in the 1984 attack on the Grand Hotel in Brighton. But, being a man of snappy phrases, he's probably mostly remembered for his comment that those who needed work should get on their bikes, and also for his "cricket test". He said if people didn't support England at cricket, they weren't sufficiently British. I think there are probably Scottish people who wouldn't think much of that, quite apart from anything else.
Many years later, he said the "cricket test" wasn't needed any more. But still it sticks. What happens if we apply it to Heaven?
Imagine a field. In the mid to late 1st Century. Somewhere in the Celtic town, now colonised by the Romans, of Londinium. A field called "Dominorum". A Brythonic warrior is bowling the head of a fallen enemy at a doughty native of Lactodorum, from the not-yet-county of Northamptonshire. And, in a scene that will recur for the next two millennia, the Northants team's middle order collapses. If the Cockney Celt bowler hits the stumps three times in succession, he gets a hat to put on the head of his "ball" when he gets home. But we have no idea what they called it when that happened.
But the author to the Hebrews had never heard of cricket. He was a long way from that far-off patch of Empire. The idea of rain stopping play - rain generally being a blessing in the Med - would not hold the terror (or, at least, mild frustration) it does on the western fringes of the Eurasian continent.
But still, he (or she) spelt it out. If there was a game of cricket between England and Heaven - and why not, because in Heaven "all in white shall wait around" - then English Christians should be supporting Heaven. They have another country. Another city. (Obviously, if England did play Heaven at cricket, King David would constantly be no-balled for slinging.)
Abram set out from Ur. But if we consider Abram's faith in the light of what it says in Genesis - he's not the faith super-hero he often gets depicted as. He hasn't boldly gone into the unknown on his own, leaving his birthplace. He actually left with his dad, who took him from Ur to Harran. Abram only left Harran under his own steam. But Abram carried on and became the example of the faithful of all times, because he was heading for the New Jerusalem.
Not the Jerusalem of the time. That was ruled by a Jebusite priest-king called Melchizedek, and was actually just three cottages and an outside loo. And not even the Jerusalem that David built, or that Herod re-embellished with a new Temple it didn't actually need. All those Jerusalems were provisional, temporary. And certainly not the current one, which rains down death from the skies on its enemies. That one, too, will pass.
Abram was looking for a new Jerusalem. A place of peace where there is no war, no sickness, and the presence of God is as real as it was in the dark when the torch passed through his sacrifice in the Valley of Shaveh. His heavenly Father's home. Not Ur, the place where his earthly parents came from. Not Harran, where his earthly father had remained. He roamed across the known world. He was a stranger in the land he was promised. But he did it because he was looking for somewhere else. He wasn't a citizen of Ur, of Harran, or even of his Promised Land. He was a citizen of Somewhere Else.
And that's who you are, when you become a follower of the God of Abraham. You are a citizen of Somewhere Else. A country whose priorities aren't defence and immigration and building new railways - but peace and love for everybody. You can give thanks for this world. Care for it and all the people made in God's image. Work to make it a better place. But you know it's temporary. You are a citizen of Somewhere Else. You want to be home - in the place where the God who made you knows you. You want to be with him, and like him. And that longing to be with God, and that knowing you belong somewhere else - that you are called for more, because Jesus came to find you, and meets you in his death- that's faith.
You are a citizen of Somewhere Else.
Saturday, 9 August 2025
Nun the Wiser
Friday, 8 August 2025
Guide to Accepting Second Hand "Gifts" In Church
You know how it is.
Mabel has just bought herself an exciting new toaster/set of dining chairs/kettle/vacuum cleaner. And she's wondering what to do with the old one. Which was old enough that she needed a new one. But not so old that she really wants to throw it away. Or, indeed, arrange for the council to collect it.
But then she remembers that what the church really needs is a second hand toaster/set of dining chairs/kettle/vacuum cleaner! And comes to you as pastor/vicar/minister/steward/churchwarden to ask if you would like the second hand item as a gift.
The first thing you should do is remember that, if it's electrical, it will be out of warranty. And the cost and effort of disposal when it breaks in the first week will be yours.
The second thing you should do is remind Mabel of Malachi 1:8. And suggest that, if Mabel thinks the church needs a toaster/set of dining chairs/kettle/vacuum cleaner, she could keep the old one and give the new one.
But that may sound like too much scripture to be quoting - and, let's face it, as liberal Anglican that is a lot, a whole verse. While for some evangelicals it's a bit suss quoting the Hebrew Scriptures/Old Testament like that. So you may find a use for this helpful flowchart.
Friday, 1 August 2025
Liturgy for Yorkshire Day
Sunday, 27 July 2025
Liturgy for a Bishop Closing Down a Choir Concert
Hymn: "I'm gonna make you love me"
Bishop of Fulham: Oh no, you're not.
Audience: Oh - is it panto?
Bishop: Can you stop this racket?
Audience: Who are you? And why are you in a dressing gown?
Bishop: I'm the Bishop of Fulham.
All: It's what you do.
Bishop: The night is over.
All: And the day lies open before us.
Bishop: No, that's the door out that lies open before you. You know what to do.
A Small Child may ask:
Small Child: But why do you have no shoes?
Bishop: I don't need shoes.
Small Child: Why not?
Bishop: Because I'm a flying bishop.
Drummer: Boom-tish
Bishop: I'm here all week. Which is more than you are. Get out.
Recessional: Dancing Queen
With thanks to Alice Goodman for the tip-off and "it's what I do" joke
Wednesday, 23 July 2025
Archdruid Eileen's Sermon on AI
There appears to be a sudden upsurge in people asking whether Artificial Intelligence can be used to generate sermons. Apparently, this is what all the tired clergy-dudes are doing when they don't have the time to write sermons because they're too busy doing the jobs of circuit stewards, or they have no church wardens.
And I admit. I have used AI on occasion to write a sermon. But you can count the number of times on the fingers of one hand:
- The sermon on 1 Corinthians 13, which was awesome in its generic nature. Quite correct, but deeply unoriginal.
- The sermon on Psalm 137:9 - where it refused to condone violence
- The other sermon on Psalm 137:9 - where it wholeheartedly endorsed genocide (I think they'd tweaked a setting)
- The sermon on John 3:16 - where it told me it was not allowed to comment on Biblical texts.
- The sermon on the Sermon on the Mount and the Sermon on the Plain. Where it told me that high church people prefer the former, and low church people the latter.
- The sermon on Ecclesiastes, where it became really sad and refused to tell me what it really thought.
- The sermon on Revelation, where it just span off and started shouting "kill kill kill".
Tuesday, 22 July 2025
Commemoration of Ozzy Osbourne (1948-2025)
Tomorrow's amended programme is as follows:
10 am - Being hung upside down by Don Arden's heavies (not sexy slang)
1 pm- Biting the heads off bats
4 pm - Being paranoid
7 pm - Just generally swearing in a vaguely Brummie kind of Way
10 pm - Howling at the Moon
Monday, 14 July 2025
Sunday, 6 July 2025
When AI took over Wimbledon
There has been concern about poor line calls by computer at Wimbledon.
But they're barely trying at the moment.
Given the current levels of accuracy in AI, it's only so long before a tennis player receives a call of "offside". Or possibly "knock on", whatever that is (the Beaker Folk have never been in favour of the game invented by the Revd Webb-Ellis).
But what is sure is that Wimbledon is under real threat. What happens when their Artificial Intelligence Overlords decide to replace the ball-children with wombles? Wombles are notoriously efficient. But their habit of travelling overground and underground means the integrity of Centre Court is at risk.
And if AI truly takes over then the whole integrity of the history of Wimbledon is at risk. Who is to say that Vinnie Jones didn't win the men's singles in 1986? Who can put their hands on their hearts and say that Tim Henman didn't win the title ten years running? The entire record of this pointless, inexplicable sport, with a scoring system based around the quarter-hours on a clock, is at risk. When we're told that the points are 15, 30, Pi, and 19.45 - who will stand up for the truth versus the convenient lie?
(Image is Virginia Wade as "Girl with Dolphin". It's true that our Jubilee Grand Slam winner was once used as a nude model for a bronze on London's north bank.
Or is it? Maybe AI is just taking over our entire history.
Sunday, 29 June 2025
Rural Ministry Studies - Revised Exam
Two hours. Only use ChatGPT if you're truly desperate.
1) A congregation member has offered you a second-hand bookcase. Not because he's fly-tipping. He just thought it would be useful as he's recently ordered a nice one.
a) How loudly should you shout "no"? (to the nearest decibel)
b) What are you going to do with the three you already have?
2) You have squeezed in so many services on a Sunday, to ensure everyone gets one, that some are now scheduled to start before the previous one ends. Do you have a TARDIS? Or are you just struggling to please everyone?
3) If Bryan in Little Tipping hates Gervais in Pigwell Magna, and Felix in Chipping St Stephen hates Marjorie in Boswell St Jude - why do you keep sharing the Peace at benefice services? (bonus points for explaining why you have benefice services)
4) After driving 87 miles on a typical Sunday, you can hear squeaking. Is it you, or the car?
5) You're considering consolidating all your PCCs into one giant PCC. Have you also thought of therapy?
6) All these retired clergy who are apparently keeping the rural church going - have you ever met one? Or is it just me?
7) [Methodist ministers only] On a scale of 9 to 10 - how lonely are you?
8) [Anglican ministers only] Don't you wish Justin Welby had cared about rural churches as well? Please do not use swear words
9) Explain the latest exciting new strategy to reorganize pastoral care in your diocese / region / county in diagrammatic form. Try to use no more than 4 dimensions.
10) Regarding that exciting new strategy. How soon do you plan to move to a place with a less exciting new strategy?
11) Sir John's income is £4 million pounds per year. The average house in your area is worth £3 million pounds. 10% of the people in the village come to church. How are you struggling to replace a light bulb in the loo?
Saturday, 28 June 2025
Extravert / Introvert Church
Interesting experiment today, as we experimented with the way different worship styles appeal to different personality types.
Both services started at 11 am. I led the Introverts service in the gym. Some quiet background music, a short "thought" and everyone given some time for quiet reflection. All done by lunch.
The Extraverts are still going. Checking the CCTV recording I see that Hnaef started by asking if anyone had anything to share. They're currently onto the third hour of the Peace.
Friday, 27 June 2025
The Friday Night Prayer Gossip Meeting
Thursday, 26 June 2025
Release the Mythical Beasts
This is so embarrassing.
And I should have noticed.
Normally on the morning of the Summer Solstice we have problems with the mythical beasts. They try to follow the timetables, but they originated before British Summer Time. So they have a habit of turning up an hour late, thinking that BST is GMT. Or vice versa. Or something.
But this Summer Solstice, I locked Drayton Parslow in the Doily Shed for messing with my orders of service.
I just went to let him out. It's been five days, after all. And nobody's got a bladder that strong. And we needed to sell some doilies.
And found that the Woodwose, the Piper at the Gates of Dawn, and Hern the Hunter, had all followed me in for a laugh.
Do you have any idea how terrified a Fundamentalist Baptist gets, when locked in a shed for five days with three mythical creatures?
No. More than that.
He's run off screaming to his cottage. And while I realise that, in a very real sense, we are all to blame, I particularly think his wife, Marjory, has let him down. Surely she should have reported his absence by now.
Sunday, 22 June 2025
Liturgy for the Day After Summer Solstice
Archdruid: Nights are drawing in
All: Soon be Christmas.
Saturday, 21 June 2025
Summer Solstice Sunrise Celebration
Sunday, 15 June 2025
Fathering Sunday
I'd like to wish a happy and profound Fathering Sunday to all those that celebrate it. Fathering Sunday is the day on which all Beaker Folk try desperately not to offend anyone, which coincidentally managing to offend absolutely everyone as we thrash around trying to celebrate good fathers while remembering those with bad fathers, absent fathers, the Godfather, Father Christmas, and on this most Trinity of all Sundays, the Father, Mother and/or Genderfluid Parent of us all. Obviously we give it its traditional English name, not the modern commercial American ripoff name.
Burton Dasset didn't really help, to be honest. He's got caught up in some of kind of "muscular Christianity" thing - a relapse to his days at Public School, I think, though I did catch him watching American wrestling on the telly the other day. Or maybe he's got too inspired by Elon Mush. Or he's having a reaction to a career in stock accounting computer systems. But I found the following a slightly odd liturgy:
Burton: Who's the Daddy?
All: God!
Burton: Burton can't hear you! Who's the Daddy?
All: God!
They continue for hours
At least that was the planned liturgy. What actually happened was that, underwhelmed by a 7-stone weaking trying to prove his virility, the congregation went off to the Beaker Barista's for a freeform Cafe Church instead.
Next year, Fathering Sunday coincides with Summer Solstice. So we will make another futile attempt to ignore it. Burton's been told if he keeps up this weird macho business any longer, we're going to be looking into exorcism. He's too old for a midlife crisis, and too young to be going senile. So it's gonna be the strappy table and the Slazenger to beat the demons out.
Monday, 2 June 2025
Nativity of Thomas Hardy (1840)
Thursday, 22 May 2025
Unexpected Messages in Church Visitors' Books
1 June 1994 Norbert Dranesqueezer, Great Tremlett
Why do you have no Books of Common Prayer? The language is sublime. The theology truly Reformed. The whole of the Christian life can be found in one slim volume. And I like to steal one from every church I visit.
Was here for an hour and no sign of the vicar. Where is he?
There are bat droppings on the green cloth covering the altar.
Disappointing.
11 June 1996 Jenny Streetweiser, Chipping Corners
After much research, I found out my great-grandparents were married here in 1937. They don't seem to be here now - any ideas where they may have gone?
30 September 1997 Rick Roll, Saint Myrtle's Over-the-Hill
Dear God, having seen the beauty of your house, I feel I'm never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.
2 Feb 1998 Angelique Boggs, That London
Most disappointed in the medieval architecture. I feel they could have done better.
4 January 1999 Raynswold Grimley, Great Tremlett
If this is God's house why doesn't he do it up a bit? It's not like he doesn't have the staff.
1 January 2000 Grayson Drapely, Wyre Drivel
I was struck by the joyful message on your "Wayside Pulpit."
What do you mean, "Happy Millennium"? Do you imagine our Lord was born in 0 AD? Heathens.
14 October 2001 Norbert Dranesqueezer, Great Tremlett
Still no BCP? The Alternative Service Book has been consigned to where it belongs. I thought you would have improved.
28 June 2002 Melissa Sparrow (Mrs), Grilsby-on-the-Hill
What a beautiful church! I have been inspired to poetry:
The village churchyard, all serene
Where sleeping mounds of grass so green
Lay over those who've no more breath
They rest there in the sleep of death
Death death death
Death death death
Death death death
11 November 2003 Selina Tryclops, Gibbering in-the-Meadow
Anglo-Saxon architecture is so brutal. Yet there is such beauty in its simplicity. Shame yours is all Norman, but you can't have everything.
29 February 2004 Lavinia de Strangler, Bleakly on-the-Moor
If you were wondering where the lectern is, I've got it.
Damn. I've given myself away again, haven't I?
Billy Bumbreath
Bums!!!!!!! Hahahahahaha
11 June 2008 Rod Pole, Flapping on-the-Hill
Quiet round here, isn't it? You could avoid the police for weeks.
PS stay out of the crypt, if you know what's good for you.
8 April 2011 DCI Tom Barnaby. Causton, Midsomer
Called but you were out. Please could you drop in to the station when you get a minute? Nasty affair at "Black Gibbet".
25 December 2013 Magnus Grebe, Sagging Baddley
It's 4pm on Christmas Day. I see that there's a benefice service on Sunday at Blooms Green. Which means there's nobody gonna be around for 10 days. And I've found where you hide the Communion wine. Not a bad drop.
Happy Christmas!
31 December 2013 Magnus Grebe, Sagging Baddley
How was I to know you'd lock up on Christmas afternoon and not come back?
The door to the ringing tower is locked so I can't raise the alarm.
I've tried shouting, but it's half a mile to the village.
There's no phone signal - and my phone ran out 4 days ago.
And I've eaten all the hassocks.
If you read this too late, I'd just like to say - you swines.
2 March 2015 DCI John Barnaby, Causton, Midsomer
Called but you weren't here inexplicably moving the hymn books around.
Please can you call in at the station?
Terrible business at "Hanging Nook".
11 June 2017 Jeb Gray-Vdigger, Little Tremlett
So grateful that you leave this beautiful building open.
It's so good to be able to sit and meditate in a wonderful church in silence.
So I've shot all the crows in the churchyard. Noisy beggars.
1 February 2020 Marie Innhaste, Little Stickleback
Just finished having a lovely meeting with Revd Rachel, planning for the wedding in April. It's going to be so lovely.
I'm so excited. What could possibly go wrong?
1 May 2024 Eric Derek,Polling Boothby
The Spiders.
The Spiders.
The SPIDERS.
THE SPIDERS.
Left 5p in the wall safe. You deserve it for keeping this lovely building open.
Wednesday, 14 May 2025
The Primate of All England of the Rings
An Unexpected Departure
Ages pass, and he is still serving his notice. People start looking meaningfully at their calendars. Eventually he departs, leaving the Table of Foreboding with one chair empty. It is decided that the election of a new Primate will take place without delay. Once they have selected the Selection Panel.
Eventually the Panel for Selecting the Selection Panel assemble. Over months of painstakingly detailed discussion, they determine the members of the Selection Panel. As is traditional, the messages summoning the Selection Panel are sent on the backs of eagles. Four of which are shot by farmers, two die after catching bird flu, and one unfortunately eats a poisoned rat. Not daunted, the Panel for Selecting the Selection Panel keep sending out plucky eagles. Eventually, the movie closes. In the final scene, we see each member of the Selection Panel as they kiss their loved ones goodbye, and mourn that their children will be grown up before they return.
The Desolation of Smug
The Battle of the Three Armies
Saturday, 10 May 2025
Acts of Oppression
"The Fourth Sunday of Easterhttps://almanac.oremus.org/2025-05-11
Principal Service
The reading from Acts must be used as either the first or second reading.
Acts 9.36-43
Psalm 23
Revelation 7.9-end
John 10.22-30"
AEDLC: I know. And how did you manage to get a hyperlink into what you said there?
ADLC: Just a little trick I picked up at Mirfield. But we must take action. Where is the Director of Liturgical Compliance?
AEDLC: She's on her post-Easter holiday.
ADLC: Still?
AEDLC: She claimed back all those hours she spent monitoring Easter Vigils to make sure they started after sunset.
ADLC: Lot of clergy caught out this year, with Easter being so late.
AEDLC: Yes. But they're all being... re-educated now.
ADLC: So - I'm in charge. And this gross abuse of liturgical precedent has occurred.
AEDLC: Can't you let it go? Could just be an oversight.
ADLC: And have clergy thinking they can just skip the Acts reading?
AEDLC: Well, it is a bit weird. Why do we have all those post-Pentecost passages being read before Pentecost?
ADLC: That is not the point. You've got to have rules! If we didn't have liturgical rules, where would we be?
AEDLC: St Helen's Bishopsgate?
ADLC: There's nothing for it. How far is the nearest Archdeacon from the church?
AEDLC: Just checking on the Archdeaconscope... covering for the Rector at St Brumington-in-the-Hole.
ADLC: Right. Call out the Archdeancopter. Get him down to Leominster and let him kick some acolytes.
AEDLC: Don't you mean...
ADLC: I know what I mean. When a church misses the Acts reading after Easter, we've gotta be tough. And, Bernard..
AEDLC: Yes?
ADLC: Tell him to confiscate the Hob Nobs. Custard Creams will be good enough for refreshments for that bunch of rebels.
Thursday, 8 May 2025
Malclergia the Detroyer of Rest Days
I've made a discovery. Or, to be exact, my son Keith has. But due to the horrors of what he has found, he's having a lay down. So I've promised to tell you.
Reading in a tome he should never have opened, in a crypt we didn't know was there, underneath St Bogwulf's Chapel - the little estate chapel in the grounds of the community, which Drayton Parslow's Funambulist Baptists rent at a reasonable rate - he discovered the dread secrets of Malclergia the Destroyer of Rest Days.
Now, I've never liked the terminology of "Rest Days". Always sounds a bit pious to me. "Rest Day" is all very "I'm just like God, who rested on the 7th day", whereas "day off" has a bit of working-class honesty, in my opinion. But all the same, I'm not going to annoy Malclergia, for reasons that I hope will become clear, so I'll give her her full title.
Malclergia, it transpires, is one of those spirits that don't quite belong to heaven or hell. A bit like the Woodwose, Herne the Hunter, or the Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Except unlike those others, she doesn't rock up on May Morning an hour late because primordial beings can't cope with British Summer Time. Rather, she wanders the earth, finding annoying things to do to clergy when they're expecting a break. She's basically just a 12-year-old kid trapped in an eternally ethereal form.
When the heating goes ten minutes before the Old Age Warm Space for the Even More Vulnerable, and the central heating steward is in Bulgaria? That's Malclergia, shoving some dirt in the kerosene.
When at 5am on your day off, someone phones you up screaming that he needs to talk to a clergy in person, now, because he's discovered the vortex that leads to Hades - and you must get to see him immediately - and then you find out he's in another county, and the church just happens to have the same patron saint - that's Malclergia, guiding his eyes to the wrong line on the Google results.
When you're on the beach in Tenerife, and your son who's manse-sitting phones your personal number to tell you that they're all locked out the church and the only person who still knew the combination to the key-safe has just banged his head and can't remember numbers anymore - that was Malclergia swinging a piece of lead piping.
When there's a knock at the door, and you hide under the couch, but you can see through your Ring doorbell that it's Mavis, and you leave her there for three hours, but she just knocks every five minutes, and then you're desperate for the loo - but the downstairs loo is the other side of the glass front door - so you give up and answer it and make some excuse of being in the back garden - then she says she knows it's your day off, but it'll only take a minute - then spends two hours asking what flowers will be appropriate for her niece's wedding - in a different church, in a different time zone - Mavis may well be personally possessed by Malclergia.
When it's discovered that the treasurer has withdrawn all the money from the fabric fund and put it on the second favourite in the 4.30 at York, as a way of kick-starting the roof replacement project - Malclergia was the one encouraging the mole that dug the hill that tripped "Bernard's Delight" in the home straight.
Malclergia, the Destroyer of Rest Days. Watch out for her. She knows just when you're starting your second drink in the White Horse. She knows the exact moment just before you set off on holiday. She draws her energy from clergy tears. And she never sleeps.
Wednesday, 7 May 2025
The Bible: You've Gotta have Standards
American Standard Version
Revised Standard Version
New Revised Standard Version
New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition
Revised New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition
Revised New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition Revisited
Revised New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition Revisited: a New Hope
Amended Revised New Revised Standard Version Improved Updated Edition Revisited: a New Hope
Amended Revised New Revised Standard Version Improved Updated Edition Revisited: a New Hope with Hyaluronic Acid
Thursday, 1 May 2025
Wickless Wicker Person
Not the greatest Beltane, I'll be honest.
We were all set to go live with the biggest Wicker Person we'd ever built. The excitement was building.
Suitable amounts of gunpowder and unspecified home-made explosives packed into its willowy frame.
And then the words you don't want to hear.
"Fire Hazard".
Apparently with no rain in the last fortnight, setting fire to large amounts of dried pallet wood with attached improvised devices was not considered appropriate. "Could have wiped out Marston Gate Business Park" I was told. Like that was in some way an issue.
But hey ho. We baked our potatoes in the air fryers, lit battery-powered tea lights.
And, in homage (or omarge) to Sir Christopher Lee, we played darts with a picture of Edward Woodward.
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Just not the same |
I bet the Celts did it better.
Friday, 25 April 2025
Faculty for the Creation of a Storage Room for all the Things we Can't Face Raising Faculties For the Removal Of
Sunday, 20 April 2025
Calling Bunny 17, your time is up
Don't use an area the size of a football pitch for your Easter Egg Hunt.
All the Little Pebbles went out on the Big Meadow at 3 pm yesterday, eager to fill the Holy Saturday void with sugar highs and chocolatey excitement.
Purswill is still out there.
It's been twenty-five hours now. He knows there are more eggs out there.
And with all that sugar and caffeine in him, nobody can catch him. We can see him scuttling around, but he's like the Duracell Bunny.
I mean, it's not really a safeguarding issue. He's forty-seven, and can look after himself. I've got no idea how he obtained. a set of the official bunny ears to enter the competition.
He's just getting really annoying.
Saturday, 19 April 2025
Seemed like Nonsense
“But they did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense.” (Luke 24:11)
Well, it is nonsense, isn’t it?
The idea that a man who has been killed by the Romans – experts at killing people – whose death has been checked by a Centurion – who before crucifixion suffered a flogging that was often severe enough to kill people….
The idea that this dead man would rise was nonsense.
And of course – the message came from women. And who would listen to women?
Apart from Luke, of course. Who paid attention to the women in Jesus’s story throughout. Surprising to be honest that there’s not some group somewhere trying to remove Luke’s Gospel and Acts from the Bible on the grounds that he’s the Woke Physician, not the Blessed Physician. And now it’s the whole group of women who’d been to the tomb – led, of course, by Mary Magdalene - who come back with the news. Luke has shown us women as prophets: the Blessed Virgin Mary, Elizabeth, Anna – now he shows us women as apostles – sent out from the tomb to give the apostles the good news.
And I believe that nonsense that the women brought to the apostles, today. Yes, of course it’s impossible. But then it wouldn’t be worth telling if it weren’t impossible. It wouldn’t make any difference if it weren’t impossible. It wouldn’t be a miracle if it weren’t impossible. If Jesus weren’t raised from the dead, as Paul says – what would the point be?
But on the basis of those women, then of those apostles, of the weird inconsistencies within the Gospel resurrection accounts even while they are so consistent in what really matters – on basis of the message of the church, of the mere existence of a church that should have ceased to exist when Jesus died, and on the work of the Holy Spirit within my heart – this is what I believe. That Mary Magdalene and all the rest went to a tomb, found it empty, told the apostles – and the apostles then had it proved to them that it was true.
And so everything has changed. There is a purpose to this world beyond the world we see. There is a purpose to our lives deeper than the lives we live. Death is not all there is, and we are called by our loving Saviour to follow him – through the death he died like we all do – into the life that he offers. That new life starts now – and goes through death and on in God’s love into eternity.
It's nonsense isn’t it? But it’s beautiful, powerful nonsense. It’s nonsense that makes sense of this life – and makes promises for the next.
And I believe it’s true.
Wednesday, 12 March 2025
The Long Ash Wednesday
Wednesday, 5 March 2025
Giving thanks for Bald People on Ash Wednesday
Monday, 3 March 2025
Amazing Grace for Pedants
Sunday, 9 February 2025
Saint Paul Pops Home
Sunday, 2 February 2025
Candlemas
Friday, 31 January 2025
Celebrations for 5 Years of Brexit
I've been absolutely overwhelmed by demands from a Mrs Trellis of North Crawley, asking me what we are going to do to mark today's auspicious anniversary. And though I generally regard it as the single most damaging self-inflicted wound by a country since the island of Zanzibar declared war on the British Empire, I am by nature a democrat. And the people have spoken.
So the schedule for celebrating five years of Brexit this afternoon will go as follows:
1 pm - Playing of "Land of Hope and Glory"
1.01 pm - Reading out of all Brexit Benefits
1.02 pm - Going to the pub
Wednesday, 29 January 2025
Unifauns on the Lawn
Please could all Beaker Folk be careful around the main lawn. There's a small herd of unifauns grazing there.
We're really pleased to have the wild unifauns here. As such an endangered species - they've never quite found quite the right countryside to inhabit - there have been many failed attempts to breed them in captivity. But here on the edge of the greensand ridge, they get that combination of well-drained heath and boggy lowland that they crave.
Please if you meet a unifaun, walk straight past it. They don't like eye contact, and they will run away quite recklessly, crashing into hedges, walls, and sheep, if you panic them
Please keep squonks on leads.
Saturday, 11 January 2025
Death of Thomas Hardy (1928)
Yokel 1: I see that Thomas Hardy have gone 'n died.
Yokel 2: 97 years ago, aye.
Yokel 1: Spose in 3 years, the Thomas Hardy Society will have a big memorial?
Yokel 2: Spose they will, aye.
Yokel 1: Shall us get down to Peter's Finger in Mixen Lane? I hear their latest brew is a pretty drop o' tipple.
Yokel 2: Aye, after I've made these souvenirs.
Yokel 1: Souvenirs, Abel?
Yokel 2: Thomas Hardy 100 years medals, pots, shawls, tea lights, drip maps, dinosaurs, replica tombstones, model cats, little tiny Wessex the Dog to the Households, women being hanged...
Yokel 1: Thou dost reckon th'art goin' to cash in, Abel?
Yokel 2: That I do, Cain. That I do.
Yokel 1: See ye leanin' over the rail later?
Yokel 2: I' faith. I'll bring a straw.
Thursday, 9 January 2025
The Nightmare After Christmas III
Wednesday, 8 January 2025
The Nightmare After Christmas II
My post-festive break continues.
I've taken to checking my emails just in case an emergency comes up. I don't know why it should. Nothing ever has.
I thought I'd walk round in case anyone needed spiritual guidance. But everyone taps the side of their noses to show they know the rules, and talks to me about football. Which, given Liverpool's position in the league, isn't so bad. But nobody wants to share any crises with me.
I'm starting to realise why vicars in the Church of England never really retire - just keep coming back in increasingly lower-paid roles.
Maybe I could reorganise the Beaker Common Prayer books in the Moot House.
That's not really work, is it?
Tuesday, 7 January 2025
The Nightmare After Christmas
Second day genuinely off after all the Yule and Christmas activities.
Day one was fine. Just laying around drinking gin and watching the Last of the Summer Wine CDs that Keith bought me for Christmas.
Day two is rather different.
First up, I've already watched as far as the Seymour years. And I don't need to listen to any more comedy Northern accents.
And I like to deliver things. Occasions, ceremonies, studies, meditations.
Just not delivering is very challenging. I tried reading a book but they're so... booky.
Maybe I could just do a rota?
Monday, 6 January 2025
Burning the Greens
Apologies for the lack of posting over the Festive Period - such a lot of activity, what with celebrating all the ancient Pagan festivals and the Christian ones.
But we emerge from the tinsel, turkey, and trauma to the wonders of Epiphany and Orthodox Christmas Eve, when we start all over again for another 12 days. It's a short life but a merry one, being a Beaker Person.
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There go the baubles |
Last night, Dragmir was inspired to recreate the ancient tradition of "Burning the Greens". Thomas Hardy wrote about it in his deeply sad poem, "Burning the Holly":
" But we still burn the holly
On Twelfth Night; burn the holly
As people do: the holly,
Ivy, and mistletoe."
And you may think burning the dried-up evergreen decs isn't such an environmentally-friendly thing to do.
But I can tell you, it was even worse when Dragmir set fire to all the tinsel, plastic trees, and fairy lights. Things were still exploding in the skip well into the early hours.
Some old traditions can be brought up to date.
Maybe not this one.