Zing Went the Blings of My Heart

And so we come to the time of year when I quote Thomas Hardy's immortal words (written concerning November 5, as it happens); "Black chaos comes and the fettered gods of the earth say, 'Let there be light'"

Normally I quote this particular phrase some time in mid-October, when I realise that the Beaker Folk have snuck out and covered the Moot House with bling while I wasn't looking. But this year, they were all so excited by the 3,000 posts milestone that they forgot all about it.

Until this morning, when they awoke to find the sky an inky-black, a light rain falling and the cold in the air bringing the threat of winter. I came home this evening to find a subtle "adjustment" had been made to the demesne. There's dancing Rudolphs; dancing Santas; singing penguins chasing cuddly polar bears around the roof; animated bells flashing all over the place; white lights, green lights, red lights and those super-bright blue lights that make you think you're going to get a migraine shortly. The bill would be enormous, if the electric company wasn't paying us so much for the energy we put into the grid from the heat pump we drive from the bird bath.

Bit of a mistake in Big Meadow, though. It was a lovely, romantic thought of Shelvin and Argwurt, providing a lovely double-row of white lights leading up the Great House, to guide Santa on his way come the big day. But it's not turned out great. Easy-jet want their plane back, and I've no idea how we're going to get it off the soft ground with that short a runway.

The Devil Reads the Daily Mail

Shock and horror from the Daily Mail.

Turns out that a female member of the clergy is young and attractive.

I mean, how the heck did that happen? I'm pretty sure that, when the Church of England passed the vote for the ordination of women back in the 90s, the three concessions were as follows:

(a) Parishes would be allowed to opt out of women, and have flying bishops
(b) Any female clergy would have to look like they graduated from Girton** in the thirties
(c) To double the chances of them being frumpy, any female clergy would have to dress in paisley clerical shirts and flat heels*.

Nobody at the time mentioned the possibility of a Sally Hitchiner. If they had, there's no way the vote would have been passed. After all, one of the reasons that are raised against female clergy from time to time is that men, being weak and stupid, would be liable to fall in love with attractive female vicars. Because, obviously, that's never happened the other way round. Or even between those of the same chromosomal arrangement. So how dare Sally Hitchiner look sexy? That's not her job - she's supposed to make people long for heaven, by making this earthly realm appear mundane. Not be more attractive than the Z-list celebrities with which the Mail adorns the side bar of its website.

I think, at the end of the day, the following question from the Mail is the most important one:

"After all, would a ‘traditionalist’ wear Louboutin leopard print heels?

To which the only answer I can find is, "only on his day off."

---

*Not that there's anything wrong with female clergy in paisley shirts and flat heels, I hasten to add.
** Or those that graduated from Girton in the 30s.

Mixed Motives

In the light of yesterday's celebrations, I've taken a quick audit of the spiritual environment. Afraid to say I'm not really happy with what I've found.

To put it simply, I'm not sure that most Beaker People are really here for the spiritual encounter and experience of the Divine for which we strive.

Jabbro, for example, simply comes because we're the only fools that let him play a ukulele in public. Odric has a thing about post-modern architecture, so likes being in the Moot House. Burton, as is well known, is here because he loves to count and we needed a treasurer. While Gallifrey says her main motivation is a retro-chic desire to recreate the 60s, by drinking instant coffee out of Beryl crockery.

Among the leadership team, it's no better. Hnaef's often said to me that if it wasn't for his desire to smash the paternalist structures of post-secular Christendom, he'd stay in bed of a morning. Daphne mostly comes because it's the place in rural southern England most highly populated with Liverpool FC fans, and she feels at home. Young Keith only started attending when I told him I'd make him Chief Pyrotechnician. And Charlii pretends to the spiritual - but I reckon she realised her old job as a High Street Regeneration Consultant was just whistling in the wind.

So when I exclude all the lonely people that just want a chat, those who'd get bored otherwise and the one or two with a worrying fixation with lighting candles - and the poor deluded soul who thought a 21st-century religious organisation was just the place to meet men - there's only me left. And I'm only in it for the money.

It makes you wonder what sort of God we think would put up with a shower like us. Needy, uninterested, selfish beings - how's the Divine going to stoop down to encounter a bunch so completely interested solely in themselves? How would the Holy Fire ever burn in a place like this? Well, if it depends on people like us, it'll never happen.

Advent Moaning Starts Earlier Every Year

It's just a suspicion I've had. But I reckon this year, it was even earlier than ever.

Just how early can you complain that it's Advent, not Christmas?

Every year, people complain that the shops have Christmas stock earlier every year. But do you know, thinking back to the mid-80s I'm pretty sure Sainsbury's were getting the crackers in, in early August. And I reckon that, if you did some historical research, you'd find nothing's changed. There's a kind of chronological terminus - you can't put out the Xmas gear until you've covered off the Summer Season. And logically there's no way that anyone will ever get to the point where they're putting out the Xmas stuff in April.

So using some figures I've totally made up, I can definitively prove what I've always suspected. It's not that Christmas starts earlier in the shops each year - it's our memories of when the Christmas stuff arrived, that gets later the further you go back.

So, the date you remember Xmas starting in the shops this year is a constant. It's 12 August, and has been right back to the point where the UK started to shake off post-war austerity. But the date you remember Xmas starting, gets later the further you go back. In twenty years' time, I'll probably remember Xmas this year starting in the shops on Boxing Day.

So next time someone tells you that the shops are responsible for Christmas getting earlier, tell them you saw a graph on the Internet that said they were wrong. They can't argue with that. After all, that's real research.

The 3,000th Post

The dawn breaks, red but cold, over Husborne Crawley. The Beaker People, dressed as Morris Folk, are dancing in a ring, with hankies, bells, pigs' bladders, scrofula, etc.

Archdruid:  3,000 Not out!

All: It's been a good innings!

Archdruid: What can one do properly to celebrate 3,000 blog posts?

Charlii: Retire and let someone younger and more competent do the job!

Thomas Hardy (for it is he):

I LOOK into my glass,   And view my wasting skin, And say, “Would God it came to pass   My heart had shrunk as thin!”

Archdruid: Fie on you for trying to bring me down, Tommy H! (Beats famous British poet with a cricket bat)

Hymn: "I will survive"

Archdruid: Bring on the Walls!

An army of Max Walls march through the frosty meadow and off into the Moot House. Six saintly, shrouded men follow them, carrying cricket bats, hazelnuts and pictures of Mother Julian. Apes, elephants and peacocks proceed in a strict March time. Flags are unfurled, banners waved and voices raised. Fireworks are let off, smashing into the Great House and setting fire to the Doily Shed.

All: Ooh! Classy!

Archdruid: Be not afraid. The Isle is full of Noises! Behold where the light of infinity breaks in upon us!

All: Nah, that's just Burton's torch. He don't like the dark.

Michael Caine: Not a lot of people know that...

Archdruid: OK then, let's face the music and dance!

Clog dancing breaks out. Boomerangs are thrown. Chinese lanterns are banned for Health and Safety reasons, while a quire of children sings "World in Union".  Confetti is chucked around the place. Flowers are worn in the hair (except for Burton Dasset, who may staple them to his scalp).

Drayton Parslow: Stop it now! This is very silly! And a little bit pagan.

The Beaker People throw pebbles at Drayton.

The Lighting of the Tea Lights 

Archdruid: As the light of a thousand setting suns, so is the light of three thousand tea lights. And so we light a tea light for each post.

All: Eileen, you having a laugh? That's gonna take hours.

Archdruid: OK, one each?

All: It's a deal.

Tea lights are lit. The Worship Focus is wrapped in voile.

Young Keith: And now, after weeks of special training - it's the Liturgical Procession of the Penguins!

Enter the "Little Sisters of the Holy Herring", the Community's enclosed order of penguins. At the sight of tap-dancing penguins, the Community is suddenly surrounded by animal rights officers and people hoping to get a video on "You've Been Framed".

Aliens from the planet Golgafrincham race around the Moot House, firing stun-rays at the trapeze artists. The mimes look on, impassively.

Archdruid: As we celebrate our 3,000th post, we welcome our Ecumenical Friends - the Guinea Pig Worshippers of Stewartby!

Great Guinea Pig: Look Eileen, we're here to support you. But we're not bringing the guinea pigs. Not after last time, when you lot ate them. There's limits to tolerance. In fact, I feel pretty nervous just being here. I'm off now. As we say in our liturgical language, "Phweep phweep whe-whe-whoo."

Archdruid: Behold the sinking moon - already just a quarter full!

Moon Gibbon People: Aaaagh!  The Gibbon cometh! The Gibbon cometh!

Hymn: Soho Square

Hnaef:  I'm glad our 3,000th post coincided with the end of I'm a Celebrity. Eating bugs, shocking living conditions, incomprehensible tasks - it reminded me of school.

The Mariachi Band appears, playing "March of the Movies". The President of Ambrosia takes the salute.

Archdruid: Behold! The light of infinity breaks in upon us again!

Daphne Hnaef: Nope, that's the Moot House, Eileen.

The Max Walls have set the Moot House on fire by unwise use of tea lights. Enter Beaker Folk, bearing CO2 cylinders, Beakers, pails and kettles of water.

Hymn: Let the flame burn brighter

Badgers invade the Moot House, chasing stray Beaker Folk and a passing Gelf. 

Sermon

Archdruid: At the end of the day, I'd like to think you're all people I'd rather not meet again. But, since 3,000 posts is just a numerical curiosity rather than really the beginning or end of anything, and I've still got to live with you all, I won't say that. It's been real, and you've all been here. Except when you've not. God bless you all. Burton - take the collection.

Dismissal

Archdruid: Clear off. I can't stand the sight of you all.

All: And also with you.

The Piper at the Gates of Dawn arrives with Herne the Hunter; Pan; the Environment Director of Central Beds Council; and Cerunnos. Realising they're missed the fun, they wander off, fighting over who is the original and who the degenerate folk-memories.

Creationist Accounting

According to the BBC, Free Schools will lose funding if they don't teach the Theory of Evolution.

Which is good news for the "Little Pebbles" Beaker Academy. We're going to teach the Theory of Evolution, just as Prof Dawkins intended.

We're also going to teach the Phlogiston Theory, Spontaneous Generation, a Flat Earth, that π is 3, that there are only four elements (plus phlogiston, of course), that unicorns can be trained by virgins, and that dolphins are telekinetic. If the only theory we have to teach right is Evolution, we might as well have some fun with the rest. After all, it's not like it's going to cost us anything.

Adventicide

Adventicide (n) - A church trying to get with the Modern World by celebrating Christmas too early. Having your cake and eating it. Death by tinsel and small candles.

Advent Eve

If you listen very carefully, all over the land can be heard the sounds of music groups trying to remember how to play "From the Squalor of a Borrowed Stable". And so the social networks of the Western World go quiet, as religious ministers retire from Facebook, Twitter and even Blogger, to contemplate the big sermon of the year.

Christmas sermons are easy. You just stand up and say how great it all is. Particularly if it's Midnight Mass, nobody's going to worry anyway- everybody's generally happy and/or tipsy. You know it's the big gig of the year, but somehow it doesn't really matter if you're a bit off form - nobody's going to notice. It's a bit like Liverpool making it to the FA Cup final (it does happen occasionally) only to find they're playing the Westoning Wombles.

And on Easter Sunday - the news is so big, so great, so earth-shattering, that even the most miserable of liberals can't help but get excited, and reflect that something special is being discussed here. You're always on a roll at Easter.

But Advent Sunday - that's the big gig. That balance of expectation and challenge. That now-and-not-yet-ness. That need to start to crank up the excitement, without realising the eschatology just yet. The pulling together of hope, fear, joy and death. Cradle and grave. The first things, the last things and the big things.

And so they will scribe away into the night - balancing the joy and the waiting. It's a real challenge. They'll have put twenty hours' work in each, by the end. But it will be worth it tomorrow morning when, as their congregations shiver out into the Advent chill under a steel-gray sky, they hear those long-awaiting words.

"Nice sermon, Vicar*!"

---

Other religious titles are available. The Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley are not an equal-opportunities employer.

Of the making of Blogs there is no end

Two quick blog plugs. Firstly, follow my good friends Rector Chick and Fr Koala as they fall into an Advent Adventure... 

David Keen was very kind to us early on in our journey towards 3,000 posts. He took a blogcation, but couldn't leave it alone. By a coincidence, he is celebrating 2,000 blog posts today.

Church Seating Strategy - Know the Terrain

Dear Readers, I have written in the past about the different ways in which churches have laid out their seating.

But I am aware that this merely gives you academic information - neutral and mostly impersonal. Now, Eileen has once again been encouraging me to develop my inter-personal skills. To be exact, she said,
"Burton, you're a personality-free zone. You're a charmless slug with all the empathy of a slug."

So I have tried to take people's personalities into account a little, in developing the seating plan thesis and focusing not on the seats - but on the people that sit in them.

It is clear to me that in choosing where in church to sit, you need to understand the terrain. Let us take as an example what we might call the "Chapel Configuration". The building fills up from a door at the back:

Chapel Configuration

It is pretty clear that seated at "A" is a foolish person. Although they think they're safely back from the preacher, they are right next to the door. This means that people wanting to sit right in the back corner will tread on their feet. Worse, they will receive detailed attention from the people taking the collection. Make no mistake - sitting at "A" adds 104% to the average amount given. And on top of all that, you're running the risk of a draft from the foyer.

Position "B" is, if anything, even sillier. You may think sitting on the front row shows keenness. But you're right in the ministerial firing line. If the minister is stuck for an illustrative tale, or goes a bit "off-piste" on the sermon, you may find episodes from your life suddenly being resurrected in front of - oh, seven or even eight other people.

Position "C" is clever, but risky. You're taking the chance that the minister doesn't have fantastic peripheral vision. If he is old enough to have served in the Burmese jungle, there is a chance that if you move slightly, he will mistake you for a sniper, and throw that four-stone Church Bible at you.

Position "D" is always a safe bet. You can see what's going on, and there is no danger of a surprise attack. But if you have any real desire to hear anything you probably need to sit at Position "E" - my personal favourite. You have the defence of a side-wall, you can hear the sermon, but the average minister is too short-sighted to recognise you at this distance. And you are far enough away from the aisle that you could put nothing at all in the collection without anyone knowing.

So much for the "Chapel Configuration". But what about if you are in an old-fashioned Anglican Church? Here, the opportunities for cover are much greater, due to the socking great pillars about the place. There are often stray eagle-shaped lecterns, massive family monuments and even the odd chorister to hide behind if need be.
The configuration below is based on a church with a door in the "South" wall. For churches where people come in from the "North", reverse all directions. If you've come in by abseiling down the wall, you've probably had the lead nicked again.

Church of England Configuration

So here, "A" is a fantastic position. You have plenty of cover, but still have sight-lines to the minister, and to the door. If anyone you want to avoid comes in, you can simply duck back behind the pillar.

"B" combines being too near the front, with no view whatsoever. Best suited to people with mild hearing difficulties and unattractive clergy.

"C" is, once again, at real danger from the people taking collections. You're also too near the Church Wardens, should you fancy starting something.

"D" - is the perfect place for a frost-resistant extrovert, whose only interest in life is grabbing people as they come in and giving them irrelevant gossip and advice. While "E" is very clever. Anybody entering the church is going to walk straight past "D", then tuck in somewhere safe towards the middle - not take a sharp left and come to invade E's personal space. 

Don't be suicidal and go for "F". Sure, you've got a good view and your own chair. But the organist is going to be livid.

Finally, let's move to the "Pseudo-new-age" or "Beaker" fashion.

No place to hide

The whole ethos of "in the round" is that you can't get away. Under the pretence that "we're all equal and part of God's family," you will be forced to make eye contact, and under severe threat of having to hold hands during the blessing at the end.

For the average male accountant, there is only one decent strategy in these circumstances. You will have to hide under the Worship Focus Table. You may suffer from cramp, you will not be able to join in the singing and responses, and you will see very little of what goes on.

But at least you won't have to make eye-contact.

A Moderate Religion

I've been pondering the concept of "moderate" in descriptions of church tradition.

So let's consider the view of the average "moderate" Christian in the box pew, or sitting on a steel-framed chair or Beaker Beanbag (available for £30 in a range of liturgical colours).

They will generally believe that the person they follow died, but was subsequently alive again: that he intervenes directly in their lives, occupations and even thoughts today.

They believe that he expects them to be nice even to people they don't like; to wish good to those that wish them harm; and to consider all things in the world unimportant, except as viewed through him. They are to hold money lightly, and to see possessions as dust.

They're repeated failures on the previous points, of course. But they believe that when they do get it wrong, their perfect, all-consuming, moral fire of a God says "OK - let's try it again. But together, this time.

Thank goodness they're only moderates.