Clearing out the Garage - the Archaeological Report

I'm pleased to release the official archaeological report from the excavation of the Beaker Garage. We had just three days to clear out the garage, prior to hoping to get a couple of cars parked in it in the New Year.

The initial excavation revealed the sort of things you expect on the top layer of a garage - empty cardboard boxes from various electrical devices, old car tyres, a couple of bikes someone was hoping to get round to fixing, and an old fridge-freezer that has been "on its way to the dump" for several years.

Just below the carrier bags that underlay this stratum, we found Burton's old Harley Davidson. He bought it during his second, "difficult", mid-life crisis, rode it once, was terrified and put it at the back of the garage to avoid temptation. He was so pleased he went off to ride it round the grounds.

As we dug down we found evidence of a tea light-using community, as evidenced by thousands of half-burnt tea lights and old matches. We suspect that they may have had a particular fondness for Mother Julian of Norwich, to judge by the number of hazelnuts they had piled up - certainly they weren't eating them. They also used a variety of sandstone, limestone and mud-stone pebbles in worship, leaving us to believe that these people may have been the origin of the traditional Beaker saga, "When Hnaef had a holiday in Dorset". A copy of "The Hymns of Sydney Carter" could be found in this layer with burn marks and a meat skewer driven into it, leading us to think it may have been ceremonially sacrificed.

Under an unexpected layer of Betamax videos - suggesting we were dealing with a community that habitually made the wrong choices - we uncovered a civilisation so incredibly old that they still thought that Filofaxes were a pretty neat idea. However the Filofax evidence was mixed up with some broken Go-Go Hamsters and a collection of Pokemon cards, leading us to think that what we were looking at was a previous, failed attempt to get the garage cleared. The evidence being so badly contaminated - we found a Spectrum 48K, a hula-hoop and a Rubik's Cube in the same layer at one point - we had to progress carefully using small trowels and brushes. The skull of Piltdown Man we found in this layer was almost certainly a fake, and there's certainly no way he would ever have used the Philips Radiogram.

So we are pleased that the evidence has been fully analysed. We have discovered that the garage has been in use continuously for anything up to 50 years, by a series of peoples who combined being incredibly profligate with the goods they used, with never wanting to thrown anything away just in case it came in handy. In deference to their sacred memory, we've loaded the lot up in a series of skips and sent it for landfill.

Meanwhile, we're very excited about the chance to use the garage for parking cars in, which we're pretty sure was their original purpose. And we're going to be parking those cars in the garage, just as soon as Hnaef has removed all the boxes, expanded polystyrene and old wrapping paper that he's parked in there "for a week or so, so I can get the front room clear after Christmas". And once Bernie has removed the old cooker that he's just cleared out to be replaced with his new exciting Beaker peat stove. And when we've worked out whether we can fix Burton's Harley, which he's just ridden into a tree. Thankfully, being Burton, he was only doing about 4mph at the time.

In fact, from where I'm standing, the garage looks just as bad as it did before we started. Maybe next year.

Never Mix Your Parables

This is just a thought. But when the sheep are separated from the goats, at which point do the wolves in sheep's clothing get spotted?

I suppose they might give themselves away in an eschatological game of "what big eyes you have, Lambkin? Or does St Peter have some kind of a scanner fitted to the Pearly Gates?

Another Parable of the Talents

An king went away on a journey. And before he went he called his servants to him. And unto one he gave five talents. And to the second he gave two talents. And to the third he gave one talent.

And he was away a long time. And when he returned, he called his servants to him. And the one who had received five talents said to him, "I have taken your five talents - and behold I have made them into five more talents." And the second came to him and said "Behold what I did with the two talents you gave me - I have earned two more talents".

And the third came to him and said "Frankly I couldn't see what I was going to achieve with just the one talent, so I borrowed a load of talents from a German bloke. And then I lent them to some Americans who wanted to buy their own Mobile homes. And then I borrowed a load more talents from the Chinese chap down the road. And I spent them on plasma TV screens and posh pasta. And behold I have no more talents, and the Americans can't pay me back and the Chinese man and the German bloke want their money back and there's nobody left to lend me any more talents.

So the king took the talents from the first servant, and from the second. And he gave them to the German bloke because his loan was due in first. And then he went to the Chinese bloke and asked if he could lend him any money, but it was looking a bit iffy. And so the king had to leave his country again. And the German bloke appointed the third servant - the one who had borrowed all the talents - as the new Prime Minister. And there was a great weeping and gnashing of teeth.

The Story of the Workers in the Orchard

So I've had some whingeing from the Apple-Picking Detail.

Some people have been out picking apples in the Orchard since first light this morning. And their backs are aching - and so are some of their heads, where shaking the trees with insufficient bonce-protection resulted in bruises, contusions and concussion.

But some people went out at lunchtime, and only picked until it got too dark to dodge the falling apples.

And others nipped out after work, and picked a few apples in their spare time.

And now I've got complaints because you were all treated the same.

Well what other than "nothing" were you all expecting to receive? For goodness' sake; what do you think this is, a parable?

Mustard Seeds and Tares

Drayton is still fuming over the potato cakes. And I must say, so am I. We've run out of waxed paper and had to start wrapping the Ginger Nuts in tin foil, and that's really losing that homely touch I was hoping for.

But he's a strange character, Drayton. He decided, at the start of the spring, to act out a living parable in his garden. So he mixed up a mixture of mustard seed and a load of poppy seeds, and planted them all in the vegetable patch. He told me that he was going to let them grow as a reminder that, though the poppies grow up amongst the mustard trees (which become as tall as trees and the birds of the air come and shelter in them) he would leave the poppies to grow amongst them - even though they are weeds - and only at harvest time would he sort the mustard from the poppies, and burn the poppies on the fire.

This was wrong on so many levels.

For one thing, the white mustard isn't so tall the birds can shelter in it. Frankly a budgie would have trouble finding a perch. And for the other, the mustard's an ugly plant.

And the poppies are blooming now, and look absolutely lovely. So Marjory's on at Drayton to root up the mustard so she can enjoy the poppies without "those useless oil-seed rape looking things" spoiling the view. Drayton's trying to explain to her that the mustard must remain until the end of the summer, when he will burn the poppies in the fire and gather the mustard into barns. Marjory's asking him what he thinks he's going to do with a load of tatty brassica plants anyway? And the kids keep nipping over the fence trying to work out which part of the plants to squeeze to get the mustard out. There's a rumour going round that you can get it by squeezing the tap roots very hard, so to add to Drayton's worries there are now dead mustard plants (or, in Drayton's word, "trees" lying all over his backyard). That'll teach him to mix his parables.

Sowing Seed

Our MoSCoW (Must/Should/Could Worship) analysis for tomorrow has unexpectedly thrown "a sermon" up as a strong "Could". And so I thought I'd do a little preparation, through the excellent "Text this week". I actually got the recommendation for this site from Drayton Parslow. Well, when I say recommendation - he said there was no real godly discipline over the links on the site, and they allowed all sorts of liberals to provide suggestions. So I adopted much the same method as when I needed a good solicitor - I used the one Drayton's first wife had employed.

But I'm a little concerned over the choice of texts that the Common Lectionary has put together for tomorrow. The Gospel is the Parable of the Sower and the Seed, and the New Testament reading is Romans 8.

Obviously no problem with the Epistle reading itself - a powerful exposition of salvation and resurrection to come:

"There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death....But if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you."

But I'm thinking of this canonically. If my Beaker Folk stay awake through both those readings, they're going to decide that they're the good seed who are now growing to eternal life. And they're gonna be shouting "we want to be those seeds for you, Lord!" Then they'll light a tea light, kick off their shoes and settle in for a nice quiet life of blessedness.

But where's the hundredfold return on that? Or, from my perspective, the knock-on sales? If the existing Beaker Folk were high-yield customers, that would be great. If they were. But I need a better marketing - sorry, evangelism - strategy than that.

It may get me hauled up before the Big Lectionary Committee, but I'm gonna say it. I think they should have teamed up the Sower with Romans 10 -
"'Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.' But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, 'How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!'"

That's a better match. Now they've got some imperative. Now they know they've gotta get out and sow. And maybe I'll get my hundredfolk return.

I think the Sower sheds a little light on the Church of England wedding fees debate as well. The Sower cast his seed to the wind, and it fell where it fell. Today, we have a variety of tools at hand to be more scientific. Where the soil's good we can use a precision seed drill. Where there are weeds we can use organic methods to remove them. And when that fails, there's glyphosate. Where the soil's rocky we can use a dirty great mechanized plough to break it up. And where it lands on the path, we can throw the "Public Byway" sign in a ditch and let the seed grow on undisturbed.

But the proposals on wedding fees are the equivalent of declaring that all fields are a light, sandy loam - and then issuing every farmer with a rake.

The story of the Blind People and the Elephant

So six blind people (they used to be men, but I guess I'd better get this story up to date) went along to investigate an elephant.

And the first bashed into its side. And declared that the elephant was like a wall.
And the second grabbed its tusk. And announced that in his/her opinion an elephant was like a spear.
And the third pulled its tail. And said that an elephant was like a rope.
And the fourth grabbed its ear, and said it was more like a fan.
And the fifth, feeling its trunk, said an elephant was a kind of snake.
And I can't remember what the sixth thought, but it was something amusing caused by a misapprehension of the size and complexity of elephants.

And the narrator of the story went off feeling very pleased with himself. Because by telling this story he'd proved how much cleverer he was than a bunch of imaginary blind people annoying an elephant. And that while those blind people had just a glimpse of the truth, he knew all of it.

And as he wandered along on his smug little way, he was tragically crushed when an elephant fell out of a tree and landed on him.

MORAL: There's more to elephants than you imagine. The sneaky beggars.

The Importunate Widow (Luke 18:1-8)

This morning's sermon was won with much struggle and soul-searching. For indeed, I read "importunate widow" as "unfortunate widow", assuming they meant the same thing. And I wrote a scathing sermon on the concept of "good" and "bad" luck - explaining how there is no such thing as luck on the earth, but rather that God gives his blessings to the good and his rebukes unto the naughty, for their education and edification.
Except where he gives blessings to the naughty and rebuketh the good - for he is an almighty God and this seems to be the case occasionally - except wherein we wait for him to reverse his decision, nigh unto the Lib Dem view on tuition fees.

But no - it turns out that in fact "importunate" means "being by nature importuning" - and not like those ladies in Leicester, that evening when I tried to find Baptist Bob. But constantly asking for help. Constantly bothering God. Coming before him in prayer and laying before him your needs - be they for a Mercedes Benz, or a colour TV, or a night on the town. Although my requirements are somewhat more modest and yet godly- being that the congregation here at Bogwulf Baptist should grow.

And I believe that my prayers have been answered in dramatic way. For truly our numbers here have doubled.
It's lovely to have you here, Mother. So kind of you to stay for the weekend.

Alternative parables - the Wheat and the Weeds

So there was a farmer who planted a field of wheat.  But in the night, his enemy came and scattered weed seeds through his field.  Odd behaviour, I'll grant you.  But you know what enemies are like.  They do odd stuff when you're not looking.
So when the farmer went to his field to see the wheat growing, he found that there were weeds growing in the wheat field.  And his workers said, "shall we pull out the weeds?"
And the farmer said, "No.  For lo, the wheat is genetically modified."  And he went out with his tractor and sprayed the field with glyphosate.  And the weeds withered even like unto a genuine human emotion in the Big Brother house dying in the night.  But the wheat stood untouched.  And the farmer was pleased, for he had his pristine field full of perfect, flawless wheat again.  But all the bees perished.  And the wheat stood alone in the land and was gathered into its barn in due course.

Moral: Some weeds are pretty.  And fields that only have wheat in them are really boring, aren't they?

The Alternative Parable of the Good Samaritan

A keen walker was travelling on a trip from Milton Keynes to Bedford, but he fell among Millwall supporters. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him up, and left him half dead beside the road. 


By chance a priest came along. And the priest rushed to the traveller's side of the road.  But being an Anglican priest, he had no money and could only offer sympathy.   And a female vicar walked over and looked at him lying there, and she asked him how he related to being beaten up and lying there half dead, and shared his pain.  Then left him there.


Then a despised Accident Claims salesman came by, and advised him how to claim compensation.  But when the claim went to court, he found that all the money they won went to the Accident Claims company, and none to the poor traveller.
And the Millwall supporters beat him up again outside the court for his trouble.


MORAL - don't go to Bedford.  It's not worth it.