Modern Lenten Traditions

I've realised I've been so busy with forging new traditions that I can't remember how the old ones work.

Is it that you have to eat a Hot Cross Bun every day in Lent?  Or do you stop and start eating Easter Eggs after Palm Sunday?

Other faith-driven cars

Shamelessly ripping off an idea from the Maverick Philosopher, can we suggest:

Ford Anglican: Fitted with a steering wheel in the centre of the car, so everyone can try to drive it.  In practice, it weaves about a bit but stays more-or-less in the middle of the road.

Mazda Methodist: Propelled by a "warmed" heart".  Can still be restarted but sometimes appears to have conked out.

Triumph Televangelist: Fitted with a credit card reader.  Every time you give, you get just a bit closer to your destination.

Fiat Ordinariate: Designed for driving across the Tiber.  We wait to see whether it just gets halfway, or whether it gets there, turns round and comes back.

Rover's Witness: This small urban car is specially designed for very short journeys - from one house to the next.  Also suitable for making quick getaways.

Daihatsu Unitarian: Remarkably tolerant, you can put petrol, diesel, banana oil or chip fat in the tank.  Runs equally well on each, but the SatNav is never really sure about the vehicle's destination.

and just remembered that old favourite...

Austin Ekklesia - The steering is fixed so it constantly goes left.

On the number 40

40 - days and nights of rain for Noah
40 - days on the mountain for Moses
40 - days of spying the
40 - years in the desert for Israel
40 - days on the run to Horeb for Elijah
40 - days in the desert for Jesus

40 - as many fingers and toes as you'd normally expect on two people.
40 - as many noses as Tycho Brahe and 40 of his best friends.
40 - the number life begins at.  Or so they say.

40 - the atomic number of Zirconium
40 - one more than the recommended number of lashes
40 - not quite enough winks

40 - with WD, handy for unsticking stuff
40 - the number of Thieves
40 - What went after "UB" in the Bedfordshire dole offices in the 1980s
40 - An M that takes you from London to Oxford.
40 - The atomic weight of a radioactive isotope of Potassium

Burton's Worship Meter - Wesleyans

Dear Readers - I have had such an exciting day!

As part of my education in the Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley - what the Archdruid calls my "indoctrination" - she has allowed me to write my thesis on Worship Dynamics.

I have developed a method of assessing the spiritual involvement and emotional engagement of worshippers by using the Spurgeonometer. This simple technical device returns a measure of Spiritual Temperature, which is expressed in Spurgeons. 1 Spurgeon is equivalent to listening to a a preacher telling you about the funny thing they said to someone on holiday, or to an extended reading from Numbers on a cold morning in February when the heating's broken. While at the middle of a period of Pentecostal praise 'n' worship, or for the elevation of the host at a Papal Mass, we would anticipate readings of up to 2 or 3 kiloSpurgeons.

However you need to monitor the part of a worshipper's body most involved in their form of worship. Curiously this turns out to be different parts of the bodies of different traditions. For example, for Liberals it has to be used on the head. For Pentecostals it monitors the heart. For Methodists, you get the best results from the vocal chords. While for Anglicans, you simply put the device in their pocket. Mind you, in that case you don't get a read-out.

I hope to be developing various graphs over the next few weeks - at least when the Archdruid lets me out. But I am glad to have produced my first experimental output this morning, from a local Methodist church. I hope you find it illuminating.

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Technical Notes: the output on the graph below is in Spurgeons. For those of American extraction who don't use "Imperial" measures, a Spurgeon is equivalent to 0.4 milliWimbers.

Psalm 109 to the tune of Wiltshire, as improved by Thomas Hardy

After a troubling psalm yesterday, another one today.  The worship "space" is always very important, and this liturgy is set in the Dree Mariners' Inn, one of the second-ranking of the inns of a south-western market town, and each member of the choir is provided with precisely one-half of a pint of the local ale.
I won't comment much except to say that it seems to me that Michael Henchard has a very firm understanding of the what the Psalmist meant, and that the choir could represent all of us who who regard some parts of the Psalms as not being meant for singing.
A view with which, I have to say, Hnaef tends to disagree.  His favourite being the 39th verse of the 106th psalm in the BCP - "Thus were they stained with their own works, * and went a whoring with their own inventions."

---

"Hang Samuel Wakely's tune, as improved by thee!" said Henchard. "Chuck across one of your psalters—old Wiltshire is the only tune worth singing—the psalm-tune that would make my blood ebb and flow like the sea when I was a steady chap. I'll find some words to fit en."
He took one of the psalters and began turning over the leaves. Chancing to look out of the window at that moment he saw a flock of people passing by, and perceived them to be the congregation of the upper church, now just dismissed, their sermon having been a longer one than that the lower parish was favoured with.
Among the rest of the leading inhabitants walked Mr. Councillor Farfrae with Lucetta upon his arm, the observed and imitated of all the smaller tradesmen's womankind. Henchard's mouth changed a little, and he continued to turn over the leaves. "Now then," he said, "Psalm the Hundred-and-Ninth, to the tune of Wiltshire: verses ten to fifteen. I gi'e ye the words"

 "His seed shall orphans be, his wife
 A widow plunged in grief;
 His vagrant children beg their bread
 Where none can give relief.

 His ill-got riches shall be made
 To usurers a prey;
 The fruit of all his toil shall be
 By strangers borne away.

 None shall be found that to his wants
 Their mercy will extend,
 Or to his helpless orphan seed
 The least assistance lend.

 A swift destruction soon shall seize
 On his unhappy race;
 And the next age his hated name
 Shall utterly deface."

 "I know the Psa'am—I know the Psa'am!" said the leader hastily; "but I would as lief not sing it. 'Twasn't made for singing. We chose it once when the gipsy stole the pa'son's mare, thinking to please him, but pa'son were quite upset. Whatever Servant David were thinking about when he made a Psalm that nobody can sing without disgracing himself, I can't fathom! Now then, the Fourth Psalm, to Samuel Wakely's tune, as improved by me."
 "'Od seize your sauce—I tell ye to sing the Hundred-and-Ninth to Wiltshire, and sing it you shall!" roared Henchard. "Not a single one of all the droning crew of ye goes out of this room till that Psalm is sung!" He slipped off the table, seized the poker, and going to the door placed his back against it. "Now then, go ahead, if you don't wish to have your cust pates broke!"
"Don't 'ee, don't'ee take on so!—As 'tis the Sabbath-day, and 'tis Servant David's words and not ours, perhaps we don't mind for once, hey?" said one of the terrified choir, looking round upon the rest. So the instruments were tuned and the comminatory verses sung.
 "Thank ye, thank ye," said Henchard in a softened voice, his eyes growing downcast, and his manner that of a man much moved by the strains. "Don't you blame David," he went on in low tones, shaking his head without raising his eyes. "He knew what he was about when he wrote that!... If I could afford it, be hanged if I wouldn't keep a church choir at my own expense to play and sing to me at these low, dark times of my life. But the bitter thing is, that when I was rich I didn't need what I could have, and now I be poor I can't have what I need!"

Multi-Tasking

It's not really my way. I don't like to complain. But I've had to have a word with the Archdruid.

Because alternative worship requires a lot of re-arranging the furniture of the worship space, all the Beaker Folk spend a lot of time moving chairs around.
Gentle Readers, I have no problem moving chairs. I do it all the time. I enjoy moving chairs Sometimes when we have plenty of time, and no particular need for a specific arrangement of chairs, I like to be creative and arrange the chairs as an homage to significant sacred locations - for example, one day we laid them out in the same way as All Souls' Langham Place, the next it was King's College Cambridge, and then the following day we laid them out in the manner of an Intercity 125.

But I can't help but notice that Myfanwy never helps. She just walks around the outside of the Moot House while this is all going on, praying in unknown tongues.

So I brought it up with the Archdruid. I asked why are we all doing the donkey work and Myfanwy's just wandering about praying. And she said Myfanwy had explained all about it. She's making an important contribution - she's clearing the spiritual air - making a spiritual space where only the Good can be and baleful influences are excluded. Which is all very well. I think this is very noble of her, and obviously of great spiritual benefit.

But I still think she could stick a few chairs out while she's at it.

No wry smile here

I was just about to write this for the Lenten theme when I noticed Clayboy's reference to the "wry smile" about the weirdness of religion on this site.
Which is ironic because there's no wry smile this morning.
Inspired by this from Ship of Fools, in turn h/t to Yewtree .
Three links and no story.  Not surprising.  Stalling.  Always stall when panicking.

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The reading is from Ps 137:9 and reads as follows:
           How blessed will be the one who seizes and dashes your little ones against the rock.
This is a line from the Psalms.  The Hymn Book of the people of Israel - and of good Protestants up to at least the 19th century.  Jesus's hymn book.  The "you" are the people of Babylon, whose children the psalmist wants to smash against a rock.  What on earth is going on here?


Two stereotypes: "Gentle Jesus Meek and Mild" or Dawkins's Mad God who kills people that hate him.  Dawks definitely appears to be on the side of the angels here, if you'll excuse the expression.


How can the Word of God recommend infanticide as a means of dealing with your enemies?  What are we supposed to do with this?


I guess there's a view that goes like this:
You're in a foreign country.  You've been thrown out of your native land.  Women have been raped by the invading armies.  The Royal Family has been murdered, or has gone over and collaborated.  Your prophet, Jeremiah, has headed off to Egypt with the real wallies.  You Temple is wrecked, the king of Babylon is using the Temple treasures as a tea set.  Maybe your family has been killed; or your son died in the battles around the City.  And you're asked to sing a song in a strange land.

It's 60 years now since the threat of an invasion of British soil.  It's 150 or so since the Americans last knew a war on their mainland (although I suspect members of the Native American and/or First Nations might disagree even with that).  The trouble our families suffered in World War II in Britain is mostly now a matter of distant memory.  What would we do?  How would you feel?  We - even in Britain, just 20 miles away from what was enemy-held territory - can't really remember.


You could be pious - you could mouth the words of peace while inside you seeth.  You could keep your peace through gritted teeth.  If God asked you what you thought you could say "bless them".


Or you could tell the truth. This is above all a true writing.  The writer  says what the writer feels.  Something that came from the heart.  And maybe in being written down and sung it was kind of sublimated from being a call to physical action.  I don't know.  But it's bloody honest.
You don't justify genocide.  The Jewish people above all know that.  But the Psalm is a human writing.  If they're anything, they're true to life.  The Psalms reflect the ups and downs, the loves and hates of real human beings and their real experiences.   Obviously, I'm not going to suggest murdering your enemies.  We don't do that these days - we destroy their reputations online instead.  But I've never lived through the experiences those Exiles knew and I'm not going to judge them on that basis.


But I am going to wonder - why did Ship of Fools readers, intelligent and charming to a man and woman as they are, decide this verse wasn't as bad as St Paul saying women shouldn't have authority over men?  Since when was sexism worse than infanticide?

Fun with Foxes

Thankfully we didn't have real chicks and hens for today's "mother and chicks" religious tableau.
But who would have thought so many Beaker People were so scared of foxes?
Not even foxes - just one fox.  And apparently he only wandered in looking for a pint of strong ale.
It seemed a bit rough, just casting him back into the wilderness.  But as he went out, the seventeen of our Folk who were left standing on the Archdruid's throne chair were able to get back down in safety.

That nagging feeling

I've just realised what was wrong with Chesney and Morwenna's Ceremony last night.
Flowers?  In Lent?  They should have been using cactuses.

On charitable giving

Strange to be issuing a post at this time, but we've only just retrieved Marston from the shopping centre.

During Lent, Marston has given up paying for parking in Central Milton Keynes.  And he decided to give the money he'd saved this way to charity.

But he also remembered that there was something in the Good Book about not doing good so others think you're good - even yourself.

Due to a combination of poor recall, an amazingly poor hemispherical co-ordination and stunning literalism, Marston managed to get his right foot not to know what his left hand was doing.  With the result that he was unable to drive his car - just sat there in a state of motor-nerve turmoil and hemispherical confusion.  It may be the only case we've heard of where a driver was clamped while sitting in his car crying, with his head on the steering wheel.  Eventually even the car clampers took pity on him - incredible as that may sound - and we were able to mount a rescue from the pound.  But at least he doesn't have to worry about what to do with all the money he's saved.  The clampers have seen to that.

Let's Face the Music and Liturgical Dance (VI)

Thanks to Chesney Wold, our authentically Cornish Beaker Person, and his wife Morwena, for this afternoon's Cornish Floral Hate Dance.
Morwena skipped around the Moot House with a rose between her teeth,, scattering lilies around the place.  She was interpreting Chesney's rendition of 1950s show tunes.  The perfect fusion of worship and art, in my opinion,

Eventually, almost without us noticing it, the music segued from "You'll Never Walk Alone" into the Penzance Hate Song.  The Beaker Folk joined in the Dance of Hate.  They were encouraged to stamp on the moon-shapes in the floor with their steel-toe-capped boots, pretending they were the heads of the evil Corded Ware Folk of Water Eaton.  Eventually at the point where they achieved oneness  with the Hate, they stomped out into Big Meadow and ripped up a fence to "tool up", as I believe it's called, before heading off to Fenny for a fight.

In many ways a very moving ceremony, but there's something there I can't quite regard as valid in worship.  Something I can't put my finger on.