Pre-Christmas Syndrome

Just to let concerned Beaker People know, I'm OK.

After a quick check-up it's been confirmed that I'm suffering from pre-Christmas Church Leader syndrome. Better known as an overdose of mince pies.

I mean, give me a break. Everybody I've visited for the last three weeks has offered me a mince pie. Every meeting we've had has finished with mince pies. And, quite often, sherry. I tell you, I've drunk so much sherry recently that I reckon I could join the Church of England, no questions asked.

So please, if anyone offers me another mince pie (or sherry) over the next couple of weeks, please don't be offended if I turn green and run out the building. I've really, really had enough mince pies.

The Bells of Waiting Advent Ring

A real triumph this morning. "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" on hand-bells. And to achieve that when we were missing the C#, A and F was a real achievement. Next year we really must try it with a full set.

That was one of the best Pouring out of Beakers we've had in a while. And despite missing three of the crucial notes, it was still more tuneful than the Beaker Quire.

A Changing World

I was reading with interest, as I often do, the writings on Entangled States. A blog on the interface of religion and quantum physics is always good by me. But on this occasion what took my eye was this article on the collapse of the suburbs in the US.

And I read it with interest, wondering how British society would change as the world turns, IT becomes more pervasive and petrol ("gasoline" to our non-UK readers ("essence" to our Francophone readers)) becomes more expensive.

We're already seeing the results of the combination of superstores, high duty and the smoking ban on our pubs, as they close in droves. In towns that's not so disastrous but in the villages it's a nightmare - with the post office gone, the pub closed and no shops left in ages, there's just the church. And that may only be open once a month. Or, as in Farndish, even the church is redundant.

What's going to happen when we can no longer afford to drive to the shops whenever we realise we need to? The petrol price is already far higher than in the States. The day will come when the people of Farndish will decide they can't afford to drive across the county border to Irchester for their convenience shopping and a quick pint - or to Wellingborough or Rushden for their weekly shop. And what will the successors of Messrs Waite, Rose, Stockwell and Cohen do then?

Send their delivery drivers out to respond to Internet orders, probably. But no longer zig-zagging across the country - the price of diesel will be too high. They'll have to give villages weekly dates. But who will live in those villages? Presumably most will be working on the farm - as the cost of fuel goes up and makes the use of manual labour and horses more competitive again. Those that work in London and the other cities will move into the big towns and cluster round the railway stations again. The price of property in the new suburbs - car-friendly, inaccessible to trains, tubes and trams - will crash, as the sources of accessible work dry up. the middle-class will head into the towns while the poor - those whose time is less valuable so can spend more time working - will relocate on the fringes.  As cars abandon the roads, the cycles will inherit the earth, picking through the pot-holes that the council won't be bothered to fix.

Maybe they'll start to re-open the old railways stations - at least on lines that still exist. Roade, Husborne Crawley - too late for Dunstable, of course. But at least that may offer some lifelines to villages that would otherwise die without transport.

Just a thought, of course. Who knows, some of the renewable energy pipe-dreams may come to fruition, giving us all infinite mobility at cheap prices. Maybe. But at the moment, I can't see it.

A remembrance of maggots

In these sensitive days, the word "maggot" is the only one from that most glorious of the glorious lines in "Fairytale of New York" that I could include in the title of a blogpost.

I was reminded of Shane and Kirsty's finest moment when watching a Tesco advert that happily adopts the merry tune, while making sure we can't hear the words.

You can understand why. "Fairytale" starts in a NYPD drunk tank, where a dying alcoholic reflects that he won't make another Christmas. Which reminds me that, the other day in Tesco, I saw an advert for a confidential helpline for erectile disfunction right next to the one advertising 24 cans of Stella for £12. Know your market, I suppose.

The song goes on to mention maggots - not a great association for a food retailer, I'd suggest, and ends in a litany of hate between the two antagonists. The song is about the break-up of a disfunctional, drink and drug-addled relationship during the jollity of Christmas Eve in New York. Which, as a way to celebrate the Festive Season, seems very appropriate to me - after all, it was to redeem the brokenness in our lives that Jesus came. I'm not sure that's the association Tesco were thinking of, though.

Too early to look a lot like Christmas

We're in that period before Advent. A time of waiting for the time of waiting. A time of expectation, of longing, of hope and yet trepidation.

We're not necessarily in that time when I would have expected this evening's tea lights to be housed in Father Christmas light holders. Nor for the mulled-wine scented candles to have been broken out so early. Nor "Walking in the Air"and "A Spaceman Came Travelling" to be piped out of the Community speakers instead of Enya.

If your Christmas starts in November then it can only celebrate the fat man with the red coat. Now there's nothing wrong with Santa, whatever Drayton Parslow may think. But a celebration of Christmas that starts early and focusses on getting what you want, now, is going to peak on December 25. By the 27th the Santa decorations are looking a bit tired and pointless, the stockings around the chimney purposeless. And I want Yule to last till Twelfth Night. You can call me old-fashioned if you like.

So can we please put the Santa light holders back into the Worship Room until a more suitable time. And the Christmas themed fleeces that have broken out in the Rainbow Room. And the penguins can go back into cold storage, too. I've haddock up to here with them.

A massive revival

What a strange morning. Praise would appear to be the only appropriate response. Apart, that is, from thanksgiving.

I was already looking forward to the first service of the newly-reconstituted Bogwulf Independent Funambulist Baptist Church. But when three score Beaker Folk appeared in the pews as well I did not understand what was going on.

However. I preached the sermon I had prepared - based on the message of John the Baptist. I told the congregation they were a brood of vipers, fit only for destruction. That only fear, repentance and grovelling could possibly see them dragged - if grace sufficient were provided - scorched but not aflame from the fearful infernal flames. I told them that the divine judgement was already upon them, and they were loathed with a heavenly loathing.

To the Funambulist Baptists, this was standard stuff, and they responded with contented nods. But the Beaker People in the congregation seemed quite happy. Afterwards, they told me that, however fearsome my preaching had been, it was still more cheerful than the Archdruid's current mood.

I must reconsider. Have I gone soft?

After the ordeal

Well, that was a specially depressing evening of Advent woe and despair. The Beaker Folk have mostly gone off to their rooms to contemplate the meaning of the Last Things that we have considered here this evening.
Apart from Young Keith and a few of his mates. They've gone off to the White Horse to drown their sorrows. Especially Young Keith who's had to pull a few strings with the constabulary even to be with us. He forgot which side he was meant to be on, Thursday evening. So he didn't even bother turning up to vote, took a wrong turn into Regent Street and ended up spending the night in Paddington Green. His cover, as being neither a Tory nor a Lib Dem, is blown. And the fact that Husborne Crawley isn't really a parliamentary constituency has come to the attention of the powers-that-be. So his political career would appear to be over, and I think we can forgive him having a couple of jars.

In retrospect I may have over-done it with tonight's music. "Everbody Hurts", "Nothing compares 2 U" and Tom Waits's "Lost in the Harbour" were likely to cause a certain depression to kick in.  The Smith's "Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me" was a downer as well. But oddly enough it was "Bright Eyes" that really seemed to push everyone over the edge.

In fact, as we left this evening, Marston remarked that the only thing that could have made it worse was if we'd all watched the X-factor.

Advent - continuing activities

A thoughtful and challenging evening lined up then.

First of all we will consider this post by the Maverick Philosopher on "Being dead and non-existent".

and then this one on the Epicurean Death Argument and Nihilism.

Lest this leave us in too light a mood, we will then watch the Newcastle-Liverpool game on ESPN. That should really help us to understand the concept of purgatory.

Dinner tonight is No-Spring Chicken with very little Thyme, to encourage us to think of how the hourglass is running out for all of us.

Then we will go out and look at the crescent moon, think of all the lovers that have met, wooed, cried and pledged eternal love under it down the centuries - and consider that they're all generally dead.

If we keep this up for another week, I reckon we will be in the perfect awaiting mood for Christmas. Don't you just love that feeling of doom and despondency?

The Great Advent Sit-in

Shirty Beaker Folk around the place overnight. They found out the free Pernod* party was postponed until the Winter Solstice, which I thought might be more suited to celebration rather than the pre-Solsticial spirit of grim foreboding I was hoping to inculcate . But now I've got about 30 revolting Beaker Folk barricaded into the Dining Room, singing "All we are saying is give Pastis a chance".

They seem to think that they are in some way involving themselves with the students' action across the country. But as far as I can see they are just demanding the right to drink themselves stupid for a period of time at someone else's expense. And the protesting Beaker People aren't much better.

* Other anise-related drinks also readily available. Consume in moderation.

An Advent thought

Notice for all Beaker People.
I'm sorry if you've all had a traumatic time. But I do think it was worth it.

I wanted you to see the stars. The light of some of them left them thousands of years ago - if you had a decent telescope that could even be millions. The light from the Andromeda Spiral set off in this direction about the time that Homo diverged from Australopithecus.   Before the first original Beaker Person erected the first trilithon at Stonehenge (with a couple of hundred mates) the light had left some of the stars in our own galaxy. There are stars that have been dead for thousands or even millions of years, that we can see through a telescope. And just think of the gaps between the stars, home of a little dust, yet at a measurably non-zero (in Kelvin) temperature.

I was trying to explain that, however it may appear, the universe does not in fact revolve around you. Gravitational theory is pretty clear about that. You are monkeys clinging to a rock orbiting a small dying ball of gas in a fantastically large, fantastically doomed universe. I was hoping to give you a grasp of this fantastic, yet sobering thought.

Now can you please all get off the floor and stop whimpering? You're immensely important really despite appearances. That's the whole point. Oh, and the noise is keeping me awake.

Advent kicks in

That's it. After this morning's "eureka" moment, when I suddenly realised that the constant search for shallow consolation can never bring true joy, I've been pondering all day. And I realised that we really need to have a proper Advent season for Yule to make sense. You could call that a kind of epiphany, but that would only be confusing the calendar even further.

Anyway, the result is that I've decided that the season of Greater Bling, wherein we tried to illuminate every square inch of the Great House and grounds, is hereby suspended. I have removed the electrical supplies from all LED icicles, dancing penguins, juggling Father Christmases, flashing hedge decorations and animated glowing Simon Cowells. The tree is back in the cupboard, the crackers and in the drawers,the Xmas dinner is suspended until 25 December and reduced from daily for six weeks to the twelve days of Christmas.

Now you can all light one - one, notice - regulation-size, unscented tea light and contemplate the Things that are to come. Whatever they may be. We need a bit of seriousness round here.

This edict will continue until Christmas Eve, or I change my mind again.

In other news, the Community Wombles won't be playing a section of hits from the 1970s on Boxing Day as previously advertised. It turns out they're incapable of actually playing the guitars and saxaphone. Tobermory tells me that in fact they were just miming on Top of the Pops all those years ago. I'm shocked and saddened - a childhood illusion shattered.

Glad tidings and goodwill

The music feed piped through the Great House has now been officially tweaked to 100% Festive. We are using traditional incense-scented tea lights.  The aroma of the wine being mulled in the kitchen is being piped through the heating vents - which isn't interfering with the central heating, as we've switched it off to save money. Outside the hoar frost hangs beautifully on the hedgerows, the pigeons shiver in the naked trees and the rime is on the spray. When there is no cricket to watch, the DVD in the Room of Viewing is permanently on "It's a Wonderful Life". The dancing penguins and inflatable illuminated snowmen line the drive in perfect order. It is a perfectly Christmassy scene. And yet the Christmas spirit is not filling in my heart.

Afar off in St Bogwulf's Chapel I can already hear the thumps and shouts of pain, as Drayton once again attempts to learn to walk a tight-rope. For Drayton there is a hope. At the end of the pain and failure, there will be success. Or, at any rate, he can give up trying to walk on tight-ropes and the pain will stop. He has a purpose - a direction. Whereas here in the Great House we have no such direction. The days they turn into years, and still no tomorrow appears. Every day is lived in a perpetual "now" where the aim is to conjure up feelings of gladness, satisfaction, even - dare I say it - complacency. With no dragons to slay, no battles to fight, no races to run, we are free to live in the Moment - but can we stay there? Is the Moment worth living in?

Enough for now of this maudlin thinking. The Pouring out of Beakers is cancelled again and restlessness has broken out in the dining room. I must go and stop the porridge-fight and then I really must get somebody to clean out the Womble enclosure. You'd think of all animals they would be good at keeping their own living-quarters tidy, but they're the most awful messy pigs in their own back yards.

Advent Sunday and Dualism

I love Advent. And what a fantastic Advent Party we have planned for this afternoon. Our favourite Fancy Dress theme - "come as your favourite womble". I'm planning to be that little-known  female womble with the more famous husband, Orinoco Flo.

Dualism is one of the things we set ourselves against when we formed the Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley - inasmuch as we assumed any actual doctrines at all. Why, we asked, divide up the way we are in religion, from the way we are in real life? At this time of year, there's bling breaking out all over, the first Christmas meals are being planned, and the TV channels are already starting to show Christmas-related programmes. I leave aside the honourable exception of UK Gold, which is as capable of showing a Last of the Summer Wine Christmas special in July as at any other time of the year. And yet churches go into a kind of expectant mourning. Purple vestments, purple drapings, purple on the lectern, it's all a feast of purple, while the worshippers think of Death, Judgement and The Last Things. In these circumstances, where you can be expecting the Fall of Babylon one minute and tucking into a mince pie the next, cognitive dissonance is bound to ensue.

So we say, there may be trouble ahead. It may be -6C in the shade. The snow is falling, snow on snow (although just a few flakes so far, to be honest). So let's face the music and dance. Others may sneer at our Advent Jellies, Advent Champagne and Advent Cakes. Not to mention the mince pies, which will start to be eaten today and cease round about Christmas Eve - when we will switch, as night fades into day, to Hot Cross Buns and Cadbury's Creme Eggs. Yes, they may sneer. But at least we are true to ourselves. We look at the dark and say "stuff it, we're lighting the Giant Snowman". We put on our lemon-yellow hi-viz, switch on the Ultra Violet disco lights, let the strobe light up the dawn, and defy the darkness to do its worst. And through it all, we are true to ourselves.

So Happy Advent. We'll have one for you. Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1999. And we're gonna do it because we have integrity.

Bling

That's a fantastic display of bling we've got up now. The reindeer look superb, the penguins are dancing, the icicles are dangling and the illuminated wind chimes are binging out an Amin⁶ chord, leaving the rabbits in the Orchard ever so slightly on edge the whole time as they wait for it to resolve.

There are some that say we've put it all up a little early. But I say yah phooey.

It's cold. It's dark. And we've got one bunch of politicians telling us how harsh the cuts will be because it makes them look hard, and in four years time they can say they got us through it. And the other bunch of politicians telling us how harsh the cuts will be to show us how nice they are, and nasty the other lot are. And if politicians or churchpeople or anybody else says anything about anything, a bunch of joyless jobsworths analyse every word to see who they can find that they can claim might have been offended.

So I say let port-soaked Tories say stupid stuff. That's what they're there for. Let Socialists wear duffel coats and wave the red flag and hate the rich. That's what they're meant to be for. Let's let a thousand tea lights blaze and a million blue LEDs flare into the cloudless frozen skies. Let's bling in the new.

But can we leave that giant illuminated Snowman till tomorrow? If we light it early we're missing the whole point of Advent.

All the special Sundays

It was Catriona's blog, rightly and reasonably marking a special Sunday, that caused all the trouble. You see, the Beaker People knew about Easter Sunday and Palm Sunday but didn't realise that so many Sundays are "special" - Healthcare Sunday, Bible Sunday and so on.
They felt a bit left out.  So they demanded their own set. So what are you to do?  Stick to my firm principle, that's what - always allow democracy to rule on things that don't really matter (I stole the idea from the European Union, if truth be told). And Catriona's right, we're dead good at remembering doctors and nurses (and, I would add, missionaries, clergy and teachers) - but we forget the others.  Here, therefore, are the special Beaker Sundays for the next year.  You can feel free to use them if you like.

24 October 2010	Apple Sunday - when we remember all the special people that grow apples or make cider.
31 October 2010	"Out in the evening Sunday"
07 November 2010	Street sweepers' Sunday
14 November 2010	Fish & Chips Sunday, when we give thanks generally for all takeaway food
21 November 2010	People from Kettering Sunday, when we remember those less fortunate than ourselves
28 November 2010	Help a Hedgehog Sunday
05 December 2010	Fear and Trembling Sunday
12 December 2010	Last Judgement Sunday
19 December 2010	Let's give up on Advent and sing some Carols Sunday
26 December 2010	Skip the Service it's the Sales Sunday
02 January 2011	Back to work tomorrow Sunday
09 January 2011	Black Sunday (also known as "eight months till we get a holiday" Sunday)
16 January 2011	Supermarket Assistants' Day
23 January 2011	Post-it Notes Sunday, when we remember the gift of stationery
30 January 2011	Train drivers' Sunday (cancelled due to weekend engineering works)
06 February 2011	A day of prayer for TV Presenters who have no discernible talent
13 February 2011	Looking meaningfully at the cards in Tesco Express Sunday
20 February 2011	Still regarding our husbands in icy Silence Sunday
27 February 2011	Web developers' Sunday, when we give thanks for all the people, who with little reward, write websites
06 March 2011	U2 Sunday
13 March 2011	Rabbit and Guinea Pigs Sunday
20 March 2011	Tambourine Sunday (book a day off)
27 March 2011	Clown Sunday (a day of terror and/or embarrassment if any of our friends turn up)
03 April 2011	Chancellor of the Exchequer Sunday
10 April 2011	Stewardship Sunday, when the bloke in the suit comes round to tell us we're all doomed
17 April 2011	Palm Sunday
24 April 2011	Easter
01 May 2011	Dance around the Maypole in a pre-Victorian, Fertility Festival kind of way until the Police intervene Sunday
08 May 2011	People who maintain telegraph poles Sunday
15 May 2011	Eurovision Sunday (except Slovenia)
22 May 2011	Come to Church on a pogo stick Sunday
29 May 2011	Hospital visiting Sunday
05 June 2011	Dairy and related Bovine industries Sunday
12 June 2011	Day of prayer for people called Christian and Unity
19 June 2011	First nice day of the year, let's slink off to Sunny Hunny* Sunday
26 June 2011	Playing the banjo badly Sunday
03 July 2011	Short-sighted airline pilot's Benevolent Sunday
10 July 2011	People who live in Droitwich Sunday
17 July 2011	Biro manufacturers' Sunday
24 July 2011	First week of the holidays Sunday (congregation reduced to 4)
31 July 2011	County Cricket 2nd XI players' Sunday
07 August 2011	Garfield cartoon Sunday
14 August 2011	Be nice to an atheist, however repulsive you may find their anorak, Sunday
21 August 2011	Waiters and Waitresses Sunday
28 August 2011	Greenbelt Sunday
04 September 2011	Leylandii Sunday
11 September 2011	People who drive fork lifts and other warehouse workers' Sunday
18 September 2011	Ford Super-Sunday
25 September 2011	Nights are drawing in Sunday
02 October 2011	School cleaners Sunday
09 October 2011	Judy Garland day
16 October 2011	Harvest Festival
23 October 2011	Postal delivery people's Sunday

* Hunstanton, for those that don't know.

Things John the Baptist probably never said

As we nudge nervously through Advent, the light dies day by day.* And as the Northern Hemisphere plunges into darkness we consider that most challenging of prophets - John the Baptist. Probably a Beaker Person, judging by the hairstyle, awkward manner, general poor clothes sense and love of the outdoors. Not to mention all those pictures where he's pouring out water on Jesus.
Man of mystery, man of bravery, man of faith - even when tempted at the end. And this morning we held the annual "Things John the Baptist Probably Never Said" workshop.  An event that always ends with us a bit light-headed on whiteboard marker pens.  John the Baptist would not have approved.

This year's suggestions:

"Of course, I could be wrong."
"No, really - you're fine as you are."
"Yes, it's a cheeky little Merlot and I think you'd be amused by its impertinence."
"I'd like to talk about that pension plan."
"Tact and negotiation.  They're what get things done."
"You know, there probably is another side to that."
"I reckon God's not too worried about what we actually do...  It's sincerity that's important."
"You know what, Caiaphas - I reckon we can find some common ground here."
"Medium-rare with a Chasseur sauce, please."
"But what does it matter as long as you're happy?"
"Your sister-in-law?  Well, I would..."
"But let's talk about me for a change."

*I realise this will not ring true with our Australian and Kiwi readers, of whom we have a few. It's never occurred to me before - in the North at least we have a celebration in the midst of the darkness. What do you all do during June and July? Just hide under the blankets?

John the Baptist - a revisionist approach

The recent discovery of the Gnostic "Gospel of Kenneth" has revolutionised our view of John the Baptist.  While the canonical Gospels show him as austere and possibly a little driven, Kenneth shows us John's softer side.

John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “Welcome, spiritual seekers!  I just want to ensure you're all with me here in creating a "safe space".  Now, we're going to be doing some very intense looking at ourselves here as we ask the question "did Abraham deserve us as his descendants?  What with him being a patriarchal tyrant who wanted to kill his own son to assuage the blood-lust of a cthonic sky-deity and all that.  Even now the yellow ribbons are tied around the bases of the trees to welcome you to your spiritual home; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is encouraged to accept that, deep down, it produces fruit that it just hasn't noticed up to now.” And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?”  In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats should really look into whether they need a third, because this year's colour is very definitely turquoise.  And whoever has food should bring it along at lunch and share it with others who also have food.”  Even tax collectors came, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.  But be assured that the amount prescribed will cover essential services and Tea-bag diversity advisors in Haringey.  But, hey - I'm not here to judge - I'm here to help you come to terms with your greed and rapacity.”  Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not rush to the press claiming you have insufficient equipment.  If you don't have body armour then keep your heads down.  And be satisfied with your wages.  Don't you know there's a recession on?”