A Voice Crying in Ramah

Bhoomi Chauhan was due to fly home from India on an Air India plane to Gatwick in June. She was stuck in traffic and arrived after boarding bad closed. She begged to be let through but was told no.

The plane crashed just after take off, killing all but one passenger.

Bhoomi told the BBC “this is totally a miracle for me.” And of course you're glad for her that she survived. But immediately it begs questions about what about all the other passengers and crew who didn't get this miracle? If somehow God did save her why did God allow all the others to die? As Jesus said when a tower fell on some unfortunates - do you think these were more sinful than people who didn't have a tower fall on them?

The story of the Slaughter of the Innocents begs exactly this question. If God's angel can speak to the Magi, and to Joseph - why not to the parents of those children that weren't carried to safety?

No neat answers coming from here, I'm afraid. The story has echoes of the story of the first Joseph - he went down to Egypt after his brothers plotted to kill him, and because of that became a saviour of his family.  Also of the birth of Moses - Egypt is involved, the murder of baby boys. This time the part of Pharaoh is played by Herod the Great. Local little king, kept in power by Caesar. And once again only the main man - erm, baby - escapes.

The  kings have the same motive, in a way. In Exodus, the Egyptians are worried that the Hebrews will outnumber and replace them. Herod is worried this new baby is a threat to his succession - that Jesus will replace him and his family. Jesus and his family become refugees. Herod goes down on history as a baby-murderer. And the babies of Bethlehem are collateral in a power struggle. Matthew's Gospel pauses, brings in a couple of vaguely-appropriate lines from Jeremiah. And then the story moves on.

We can see this story repeated through history, from the Wasting of the North by William I through the chambers of Auschwitz to the repeated atrocities of Russia, the abuses of ISIS and the devastation of Gaza. In the eyes of the mighty, the weak are just collateral. As if they matter less, as if they have less value. But each human being is the centre of their own universe. And each life is infinitely precious to the one who made it. And still the mothers cry for their lost children.

And I don't understand why God saves Bhoomi from the plane crash, and Jesus from the tyrant, but not the others on the plane and not the Holy Innocents. I can see that somehow, even in Jesus's early days, the cross is looming.

And the tyrants will catch him there. The priests hanging onto their power, and the Roman governor scared of the people and of his boss. And he joins the Holy Innocents in his own violent death on the cross. Where God's holiness and immortality run into human death and weakness. And Jesus' goodness wins the day.

So I can't explain why one dies and one is miraculously, or co-incidentally saved. I hold onto the wonder that God became like us, and so we can be like God. That God died, and because of that we can live. That God was given up to the tyrants, and in apparently being defeated - threw them down. I hold onto the God that can turn a cross into an empty tomb.  And I can join the constant cry of the Hebrew people, and so many down the ages - "How long, O Lord?" 

And I know the day is coming when the Innocents are raised up. And the tyrants fear and flee. Where death is broken and life reigns. And those babies of Bethlehem, who died as the first martyrs for our Lord, will have their place as saints in glory.

The Hopes and Fears

 

“O Little Town of Bethlehem” has a wonderful line.

“The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight”.

This is a time when people celebrate, because at this turn in the year, in the norther hemisphere, imperceptibly at first, the days start to become longer.

But it’s dark as well. It’s a time for ghost stories. It’s a time for wondering what is lurking in the shadows.

It’s a time for fairytales and pantomimes.

It’s a time when the gap between this and other worlds seems more porous. A time when anything can happen. We say this is a time for children, but maybe that's because children see all things as possible in a way adults don't.

Even a time when God can come to earth.

A time when maybe, if you listen carefully, you can hear the angels sing.

When we remember that once in the shadows of our world, the light was born into the world.

That light was God’s messenger  to the world who says – I love you and will never leave you alone.

That light was God the Son himself, born as a human being so God knows what it means to be human.

That light shines in the darkness, and it never goes out. And darkness has never understood it, and can never overcome it.

Discovered: The "Q" Nativity

Theologians and archæologists alike have been stunned by a discovery which has turned the world of Biblical criticism upside down. And then also turned it inside out. Then spun it round a bit before turning it the right way round again, but flipped round by 90 degrees and at a bit of an angle.

For centuries, source critics have hypothesized a document, "Q". Which isn't about some bloke inventing a fountain pen that fires poison darts, but is in fact a source document that the gospels of Saint Luke and Saint Matthew share, independently of Mark's Gospel. It stands for the German for "made up stuff because I get a grant". 

But everyone thought that, if discovered, "Q" would just contain Jesus's teaching.

In fact, in the rocky rocks of the desert near Alexandria, a lucky tourist spotted a goat digging up a parchment scroll, written in Aramaic, and hidden for centuries. It contains, as well as many of Jesus' sayings, a complete account of the nativity.

Professor Sol E Fidian, of the University of Detroit, said, "It's a world-changing discovery. In its description of the birth narrative of Jesus in full, including the Magi, shepherds, angels, donkey and so on, it suggests that - until now - the closest published account to the original has been in primary school nativity plays. Although we are unsure of the depiction in Q of a character called "the Little Drummer Boy". Is he a syncretistic borrowing of Pan into the story? Or a real person, subsequently ignored by the evangelists but remembered by St Bing of Crosby and St David of Bowie?"

Of course, some doubts remain. For instance, the verses that say, "and she laid him in a manger, in a stable, because there was a rotten innkeeper who wouldn't let them stay there even though he had a spare room. Whatever Ian Paul says." 

Although the scroll has caused great controversy, the feature which is being considered proof of its provenance is a scribbled note in koine Greek, in the margin.  It says, "Luke - you focus on the shepherds. I'll stick to the 8 Wise Men. Matt." 

Liturgy of the First Sunrise after the Winter Solstice

 Archdruid: Peace be with you

All: And also with you.

Archdruid: Behold the new sun arises!

All: We can't see anything.

Archdruid: Between the uprights of the great Trilithon of Duckhenge? Can you see a slight patch of less gray?

All: No.

Archdruid: Fair enough. Mild for the time of year, though.

All: Soon be Christmas.

Archdruid: May the solstice sun ever rise up in your firmament.

All: And also up your firmament.

Liturgy for the Church Office Printer Going on a Go-Slow at Just the Wrong Time

Keith: Woe is me. For the office printer has gone on a go-slow at just the wrong time.

All: Have you printed out the Solemn Ritual for the Winter Solstice, which starts at 3pm?

Keith: I have not.

All: Have you printed out the Waving Goodbye to the Sun Liturgy, which starts at 4 pm?

Keith: I have not. For they have both spooled but are printing at the speed of light ale.

All: And have you printed out the Cool Yule Carol Service for tomorrow?

Keith: Clearly not.

All: And what about the Christmas Eve Midnight Endurathon?

Keith: Clearly not.

All: Have you reinstalled drivers?

Keith: I have reinstalled drivers.

All: Have you cleared all data and configuration from the printer, and reset from scratch?

Keith: I have cleared all data and configuration from the printer, and reset from scratch.

All: Have you run the Windows troubleshooters but found they have been deprecated?

Keith: I have run the Windows troubleshooters and lo, they have been deprecated.

All: Have you switched off and on the printer?

Keith: I have switched off and on the printer.

All: And the computer?

Keith: And the computer.

All: And then done it the other way round? 

Keith: Yes. And the other way round.

All: And both together? 

Keith: What are you, my mother?

All: Just trying to help.

Keith: I have tried everything I can think of. Even Google AI, which told me to set fire to the keyboard.

All: And did that help?

Keith: Are you sure you're not my mother? Of course it wouldn't help.

All: What about the modem router?

Keith: I have not done anything to the modem router....

Here Keith may switch off the modem router, and leave it for a minute before restarting.

The Archdruid may enter at this point.

Archdruid: Here!  I've just been kicked out of  my game of "Peak"! What's going on?

All: It was him.

Keith: The printer's started going properly! 

All: Glad we could help.

Dismissal 

Archdruid: Can you all please get out of my office? Keith, we need a word about priorities.

St Kirsty's Day (25th anniversary)

Went to London yesterday, as it was the Eve of St Kirsty. Went to Kirsty MacColl's bench in Soho Square. Been re-oiled since our last pilgrimage. 

It wasn't empty. But after we sent Burton in, to ask the inhabitants their opinion on the use of Javascript, it was. Which is as it should be.

25 years. Kirsty never got the justice she should have. Because even if you're a successful and talented rock star, you can't win against the powerful on their own patch. Just ask those that mourn the Hillsborough 97.

Still, as the Good Book says, 

"He has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,

and has lifted up the humble.

He has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich He has sent away empty."

One day. One day.

An empty bench in Soho Square. If you'd have come, you'd have found me there. 

Still, the pigeons were shivering in the naked trees. Some things never change.

Tice Grenfell goes to School-Church

Richard Tice suggests children with special needs be taught in "redundant churches" that are "only used one day a week" (ie non-redundant churches).

"Now then children. Welcome to your new school here at St Bernard's. And isn't it exciting! No, Bryony, you can't have the heating on. If we started heating the building, it would cost far more than sending you to school in taxis.

Who is making that shivering noise? 

Please stop it, Neville.

No, Evangeline. You can't play in the churchyard. Not after what you dug up last time.

Hazel, why aren't you playing with your plasticine?

Well, if it's frozen, chew it to warm it up. Like Kelsey there.

George, please get out of the font.

No, Amstel. You can't go to the toilet. There aren't any toilets.

Who's playing castanets? Oh -Jocasta, your teeth are chattering. Please stop it.

That's a lovely painting, Nigel. All those union jacks. But why are they upside down?

Oh, they're just like Daddy's one. 

Please don't lean on the rood screen, Mabel. We're not convinced it's that stable. And stop eating the woodworm.

Edna, I know it's cold. But please don't hug Jeremy quite that hard.

George. Please come down from the pulpit.

Yes, Arachne. That is a very big book on that eagle. It's called a Bible.

No, you shouldn't have dropped it on Gerald like that.

Please don't run, Corona. You know... Yes. You have skinned your knees. That stone floor is very hard. 

I don't care what your father says. The Archdeacon has refused permission for a carpet.

Cadenza. Be an angel and come down from the reredos.

Yes, I know there are angels on the reredos. But you'd be better as an earth-bound angel.

Rowan, please stay out of the bell tower.

Rowan, please stay away from those ropes.

Rowan, please don't touch that rope.

Rowan, please don't pull that rope.

George, please come down from that ladder and bring it over here. Quickly."

Lines on the Fall of the Spey Viaduct with thanks to William McGonagall

'Twas in the year two thousand and twenty five 

When some people in Scotland were lucky to be alive

For part of a former railway bridge fell into the silvery river Spey 

Which is in the fine Scottish county of Moray.

Which fall is remembered to this very day.

Because it happened yesterday. 

The Spey Viaduct is a bridge near the town of Garmouth

Which is a long journey from Great Yarmouth

And more so since the railway was closed by Dr Beeching 

An act whose folly does not require any preaching.

But instead now there is the walking and cycling route, the Speyside Way 

Which runs from the Cairngorms to Buckie in Moray.

Or did, before the police closed the former railway bridge which went agley 

And whose girder fell into the waters of the silvery River Spey.

But we must thank the Lord that no cyclists or walkers were tumbled

From the bridge when the girder first rumbled

And fell into the silvery River Spey 

Which is in the fine Scottish county of Moray.

The Artificial Intelligence Church Office

Inspired by a phone call to Lincolnshire County Council, and this Independent article 

'Thanks for calling Saint Midge's. I am "Midglet", your Artificial Church Office Manager. Please ask me any question and I'll help direct it the right way.'

'My mother has died. She wanted to be buried at St Midge's. But she named my brother as the executor, and he wants to go for an unaccompanied funeral and then we can keep the money. I'm very conflicted.'

'Thanks for your query. It's always good to celebrate a baptism. Normally we prefer to conduct them during the main service on Sunday. But we can make alternative arrangements. Please fill in the form online at www.stmidgesonthewater.co.uk.'

'No. My mother has died and I have a tricky situation. Can you help?'

'It sounds like you are asking when the Midnight Mass is. Well, we are a proudly forward-looking church, so we prefer to call it, 'Nativityrama', and hold it at 4pm on the Sunday before Christmas so we don't have to mess up our Christmas schedules with services. We look forward to seeing you there. Or you can catch up on the St Midge's +1 channel or YouTube.'

'Can I speak to the vicar please?'

'As a worship centre that is part of the "Network Network" network of networks, we don't actually allow the ministers at St Midge's to talk to human beings face to face. They might express uncontrolled opinions or even emotions, which individual thought is completely at odds with the sanitised images you see on the notice board. If you leave a number, I could arrange for the central ministry team to ignore your message until we're all dead.

Or, of course, Jesus might come back. We mustn't forget that possibility.'

'Can I speak to a human being please? About my mother's funeral - maybe we could just have some prayers when the cremation is scheduled?'

'It sounds like you want to talk to your deceased mother.

'No, I ...'

'As a Bible-believing church, we do of course believe this is a sin that will damn you to hell forever.

But as I'm an AI chatbot residing in the cloud, I can transfer you to another bot that will pretend to be your mother. Just don't tell anyone I sent you. Please press 1 to continue, 2 to make a gift-aid donation, or 3 to hear about the Seventeen Steps to being a good tithing Christian.'

You'll be amazed at this simple Clickbait Remedy

So this headline annoyed me.

I'm sure North Yorkshire Live's online sub-editor, or whichever form of Artificial Unintelligence has replaced the sub-editor, thinks this is genius.

It has all the keywords to bring out out the rightwing bots, the tankie Trots, and James Delingpole. The trillion conspiracy bots and the conspiracy theorists who, weirdly, can't work out that the Facebook account called MagatillIdie99 with an avatar that is an upside down union jack and has no friends is in fact a fake.

It's odd, because they're dead good at spotting the conspiracy that mRNA vaccines are being spread across the world in the vapour trails of Boeing 737s. Changing all our genes so we turn orange.

So here we are. A virus spreading. Masks to be worn. Everyone must get a vaccine. Everyone piling on to call everyone else a fool. Including me in this blog of course. All it needs is to mention that John Jackson Serocold, vicar of Helpston, "died suddenly" and you've got a full house of click bait.

Now here's the thing. I used to be a flu researcher, in the former Oxford University Department of Mind Control and Zoology.

And flu is a funny virus. Funny peculiar not ha ha. I had a nice little graph with the name deaths.dat. 

And what that graph showed is that deaths from flu each year vary from loads and loads, almost apocalyptically loads, to not many.

The 1918-19 Spanish Flu (which originated in the USA) killed more people than the actual Great War. I know of a war grave in an English graveyard, of a man who came home from the Western Front and attended his mother's funeral. From flu. And then died of flu himself.

And the  there was nothing for a couple of decades, and then another pandemic. Nothing for a couple of decades then another. Flu lurks quietly like the sentient beast it clearly isn't. Then there's a genetic shift and the world is again plunged into pandemic.

 Because our immune systems can't recognise the virus's newly morphed antigens, it spreads more quickly and is more serious.

Eventually everyone has had it and either died or not. Which is herd immunity, I suppose. 

Most healthy young people resist well - 1918 being the terrible exception when the virus seems to have kicked off terrible immune over-responses in the young, with people drowning in their own blood as their lungs were attacked by their own immune systems. I'm not putting you off your muesli am I?

But people with serious conditions, such as kidney disease, are far more susceptible. People of advanced age likewise. Which is why these people get their free jabs.

And of course even if you're fit and young, flu can put you off work for a fortnight. Which is why many retailers and the NHS often actually pay for jabs for any employees that want them. And have done for ages, without any mind contol effects or mysterious cancers.

 Because it may be heroic to drag yourself in looking like you're at death's door and infecting Mabel who has a heart condition but is looking forward to retiring next month. But you're no bloody use and you put the customers off, coughing and spluttering all over the baked good like the evolutionary success you think you are.

And the headline's not true. The article actually says everyone who is eligible for the flu vaccine. The vulnerable. The ones that might be seriously affected, or might die.

Not you, you pinnacle of evolutionary perfection, who hasn't been exposed to a virus since 2018 because you've only left your desk in your bedroom to go to the toilet in all that time. You'll be fine.

I have a simple remedy for a clickbait headlinee like this. I block the Facebook group that's published it. If we all did, then South Croydon Action, Inner Epping Chronicle and the Husborne Crawley Bugle could just be left to the bots and Trevor from Hartlepool, who thinks he's safe from flu because he's got lizard genes. And maybe one day - you may say I'm a dreamer - these rubbish little local pages will either close down or simply tell us the truth.

At least we can hope.

Middle Class Whamageddon

It's a different kind of Advent with the Beaker Folk.

For the deeply SAD afflicted, and people who are just a bit obsessed with George Michael, the "Xmas Zone" plays Last Christmas all year round. Any  time you need a festive pick-me-up, the Xmas  Zone has chunky sweaters, a slight nip in the air, a fire to gather around and Wham. And in case you were wondering, we use the waste heat from the fire to drive the air-conditioning that leaves you in perfect Christmassy spirit all year round.

So Whamageddon holds no fear for Beaker Folk. In essence we are in Whamhalla all year round, whenever we drop into the Christmas Zone. Which, frankly, is quite often. Who wouldn't want to be in a Whammy Wonderland on a gray October day, or when the heat all gets too much in July? 

The Gathering of the Whams

Although we had a different Christmas experience the other week, when Keith thought he'd be clever and suddenly we had an interstitial Pretenders experience.

Ho, Ho, and thrice Ho

I tell you, the children were not happy.

So anyway. In the absence of any real Wham menace, we play a different game. Ola Gjeilogeddon. The first time you hear his The First Nowell on or after December 1st, you're out.

It's trickier than you think. In this post-structural, neo-progressive commune, where Enya's Winter Songs can come at you from all angles - you may think you're just walking in an Enya Wonderland when suddenly, Wham! Or rather, not Wham. Ola. Turns out you were actually listening to "easy winter listening" on shuffle. And you're in Olageddon. 

Even worse today. I was shopping in Waitrose. Came out to the car park  and some denizen of Milton Keynes had "Winter Songs" on in the car. And as if by magic - Gjeilohalla. 

So that's it for this year. I got so annoyed, I played The First Nowell  over the community PA, so everyone was out. Petty, I know. But people need a little woe in Advent. It's good for the soul. Mine, not theirs. But of course - you know who won Gjeilogeddon?

That's right. The people listening to Last Christmas in the Xmas Zone. Oh the irony.

Ever Hearing but Never Understanding

I appear to have caused a bit of an upset. 

My own fault. Although we let Drayton Parslow and his Funambulist Baptists use the St Bogwulf Chapel as their worship centre, I do insist that it is kept as my 8-greats grandad had it. A quiet little chapel in the grounds of a minor stately home, with a tortoise stove as approved by John Betjeman, box pews, and a triple-decker pulpit. This was before my family moved across to the Very Primitive Methodists, and started worshipping in a tin hut in a layby. And I let Drayton off the tightropes, without which his little flock would struggle to justify their name.

Anyway, I asked whether Dariush Runnymeade, who's one of Drayton's flock, was able to move his car. It was on our drive and I don't like Baptist cars cluttering up our manicured gravel. And Mrs Runnymeade told me he couldn't, as he was on the beer.

Well I lost it. I told her I wasn't having scruffy Baptists getting in the way of my Lexus - it looks so much cheaper when there's a Seat Mii parked next to it. And the cheek of it, parking his car up on my drive so he could get plastered and then get get a lift in to collect it - so a day's free parking.

And Funambulist Baptists above all aren't supposed to drink - it's too dangerous, what with them being up on those tightropes. So I asked Mrs Runnymeade what did she suppose was going on? Dariush was bringing the sect into disrepute.

Drayton's been round.  Turns out Dariush was "on the bier". In Bogwulf Chapel.

My thoughts are with Mrs Runnymeade at this difficult time. And I will be revoking the parking fine.

Can You Dig It

I'm afraid Keith has been banned from leading Circle Time at the Little Pebbles group.

It's a simple little time, a calming time at the end of the school day. A prayer, a song, and an uplifting story. 

We've had to explain to Keith that the answer to the question "Who put the colours in the rainbow? Who put the salt into the sea?" is not "Shaft".