Meeting Our Waterloo

Still trying to sort out the mess from yesterday evening's guest preacher.

What is it with visitors? I guess it must be something to do with the lack of accountability, and being able to create your own persona free from people who actually know what you're like. Starting with "My name's Mrs Archibald, but you can call me Juli" had a certain direct familiarity about it which startled some people. Startled me even more, since his name's Arnold Grainne.

Then this thing about getting people to turn round to talk to the ones next to them - why do people ever do that? He told us all to discuss the worst thing that had happened last week, and the best. We all agreed the worst thing was being made to talk to the people next to us, and the best was that he would go away shortly.

And then the sermon itself - a discourse on "The Christian Pilgrimage", illustrated through the medium of Abba. Now, quoting the works of the Swedish Supertroupers would have been one thing. Maybe playing snatches of their songs would have been OK. But singing them, backed by a karaoke machine? However I do now know that the Lord asks us to "Take a chance on me"; that it's damaging to my soul to long for "Money, Money, Money"; that those that put their hope in the Lord will fly, fly, like a bird in the sky - like an Eagle; that sanctification is "the Name of the Game"; that we put our hope on our "Super Trouper", as we're glad to hear he's coming - we suddenly feel all right.

He told us that there was a simple three-step path to salvation. Your first step is "I have a dream"; then you realise your fallen-ness and send out an SOS; and then you end up looking into Angel Eyes.

And then he closed the sermon with a series of indoor fireworks, let off from the back of the bull he was riding in circles round the Moot House, while the string quartet he'd brought played "Thank you for the music" and cages of doves, peacocks and - inexplicably - chinchillas were released. At least I could understand why his expenses were so high.

Arnold/Juli tells me that he's only ever written one sermon, which he takes from guest spot to guest spot. Originally it was just a simple homily on "resisting temptation", but he thought it was a little dull and he's been "adding improvements" ever since. On the bright side, we've heard it now. So at least that's it.

Dealing with Off-Beat People

Nice to have that outbreak of clapping-along during a couple of songs this morning. I mean, obviously it's not what you normally expect during the "Sanctus" from Berlioz's Requiem, but whatever.

However it has shown up that not all people are alike. I would say that most people clapped - correctly, as God intended - on the first and third beats of the bar. But some others - a very small minority, but very evident - were clapping on the second and fourth beats of the bar.

What to do about this? Obviously people who clap on the off-beats are God's people as well, but they are clearly different. The people who clap on the on-beats are complaining that the people who clap on the off-beats are putting them off.

Obviously we can't tell people who clap on the off-beat not to come to our Occasions. But equally clearly we can't have them confusing everyone else. I can only see one resolution. We're going to have to ask them not to clap.

A Long Way Home

When you think of a pilgrimage, you only ever think about where you're going, and the journey there. Nobody every thinks about the journey back. The pilgrims at the Tabarb were on their way to Canterbury when they met up. Frodo took two and a half books to get to Mordor, and about five pages to get back again. The Magi saw a star - followed it - detoured to Jerusalem - found their way to Bethlehem - bowed down and worshipped - and then "having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road."

Half a sentence to cover the journey home. It would be no less distance, going back. No less arduous - a little lighter on their animals, I suppose, what with the treasure chests having been depleted - money for their food and lodgings, gold for the baby. Incense doesn't weigh too much, of course. But, ahead of them, no star.

And how would they feel on the long way home? Confused, perhaps - they've seen a child in a scruffy house with his parents, not a king in a palace surrounded by flunkies. Enlightened, maybe - they've seen God on Earth, God-with-us - a living demonstration of the Creator's love for his world.  Or else empty; deflated. The magic has gone. The moment has passed. They've glimpsed the face of - well, of what exactly? They've left their gifts and they're going back to live out their lives far away.

We'll never know this side of glory, but the point of a pilgrimage is to come home changed. Let's hope - for they made great sacrifices - it was for the better.

Grander Designs

(Tall man from Dunstable is driving a Range-Rover down a starry lane, talking to a camera and apparently oblivious to the road)

KMc: Imagine a building project so vast that it involved the creation of the entire universe. And yet somebody believed that they could do it - bring it in on budget - and, even more unlikely, do the whole build in 6 days. Well, today I'm going back to see how it's all got on since the project finished.

Tall man and Divine Being gaze out over the majesty of the whole universe, through the self-cleaning, automatically-opening windows of heaven.

KMc: Nice to see you! And you're not looking a day older!

DB: Well, I've rested since we finished the project, of course.

KMc: So, this is all a lot better than when you started?

DB: Oh yes. It was chaos. The first major job after getting the lighting sorted was putting in the firmament between the heavens and the earth, of course. And once that had happened we could really start to see the wonders of the place.

KMc: Well, it's certainly a creative use of Space!

DB: Thank you. Obviously, I always planned to live up here, and pop down now and then to see them, but it never really worked out.

KMc: So the children all live down there, and you're living up in the loft conversion? Aren't you a bit worried they're going to make a mess of the place?

DB: Oh they do. All the time. In some respects that's why I stay up here, out of the way. But my Son did take a fairly extended stay down there, a while back - to see if he could show them how to get their act together.

KMc: So how did he get on?

DB: Well, let's put it this way. He came back pretty quickly. Some people said they'd do what he wanted, try to tidy things up - but even they just seem to sit around talking about sex, and there's all this poverty and injustice just laying around everywhere... Most of them don't even appreciate that it's me keeps the whole thing going.

KMc: So you're just going to hang on up here forever, then? Maybe just call round and complain if they leave old sofas and rubbish lying around in Space?

DB: Well, let's say we're very much keeping an eye on things. I've still got my Representative on the ground.

KMc: And any more Grander Designs in the pipeline?

DB: Oh yes. That's the great thing about being your own Property Committee. I can't tell you when it's going to happen - it would spoil the surprise. But when they least expect it - I'm going to take Heaven and Earth, give them a thorough renovation - and then I'm going to knock them through into one.

A Barrier to Logic

I must be missing something in this report on the engineer who wants a new and improved Thames Barrier.

Engineers are, of course, intelligent and yet fundamentally simple folk. They see a situation in quite a binary manner. There could be a flood, therefore there should be a better barrier, is Dr Bloore's attitude. Normally I'd write that off as one of those charming One-or-Zero attitudes from an engineer, and ignore him.

But it's the report from the Environment Agency that worried me:

"It also said major changes including a new barrier were unlikely until 2070 as a one-in-1,000-year flood would not occur until then."

Or is it just me?

There are 53 years until 2070. That's not 1,000 years. But that's not how one-in-1,000 works. That says to me that, ignoring back-loading of risks due to global warming (and they seem to be ignoring that anyway) there's a slightly more than 5% risk of a one-in-1000 year flood. Or to put it another way - if the value of damage to London of a one-in-1000 year flood is 20 times more than the cost of an improved barrier, then we ought to get on with the barrier.

I reckon we need a bigger barrier.

Religious but not Spiritual

Dearest God-lovers, as others have endeavoured to comment on this subject, then why shouldn't I?
The proposition is that people who claim to be "spiritual but not religious" enjoy worse mental health than those who claim to be religious. Causality is a hard thing to prove - did the Invoices Shed go alight just before the audit because somebody applied a match, or did somebody apply a match because the shed was full of invoices? So I shall ignore unscientific ponderings as to causality (although someone with more time should definitely get a grant) and explain my take on the matter.

Here at the Beaker Folk, we are very keen to embrace people who claim to be "spiritual but not religious". I find they tend to have very high discretionary spending levels, on things like self-help books, rosaries, tea lights and aromatherapy oils. Importantly, they aren't often involved in regular standing-orders to religious organisations - which can be so tedious to transfer across - especially without asking them.

So when they say they're spiritual but not religious (or SBNR) we nod wisely, and say we understand. Then we tell them that Pouring out of Beakers is at 7am or sunrise - whichever is later. That Filling Up of Beakers is at 7pm or sunset - whichever is later. That they need to be up for Full Moons, New Moons, Equinoxes, Solstices, Eclipses, Cross-quarter Days, Saints' Days, Diwali, Celebrities' Birthdays and whatever other festivals seem attractive. Then we give them a Standing Order and Gift Aid pack.

And because all those rituals are hedged around with pseudo-spiritual words and numinous terminology, what they totally fail to notice is that the Beaker Folk are - deep down - Religious but not Spiritual (RBNS). The thing is, I know some people say it's not the rules 'n' ritual, it's the spiritual attitude that counts - but that's like arguing you don't believe in keeping the Law, but you do have good intentions. Which was a line of argument that totally failed for Young Keith when he fought that speeding fine.

But the ritual and religion has an interesting effect. After a month or so of attending Pouring out of Beakers, people realise they are actually capable of getting up in the morning. They are more regular, more awake for the rest of the day, more reliable. I find that this brings with it the benefit that over time the Standing Orders get better.

Of course, we wouldn't like to come down all heavy and modernist. If people want to go mooching around believing that the stars are God's Daisy Chain, they can do that in their spare time. That's fine by me. And we let them know when their spare time is, so they never miss it. We recommend that they write in their "precious times" in their "Spiritual diaries" (aka "diaries") so they make sure they get them every day. That's what being RBNS is all about. Getting your free-form, free-roaming  spiritual nature under control.

A Few Reasonable Demands

I note that the Argentine president has asked if we can give the Falkland Islands "back". An interesting concept, as the UK were governing the Falklands before the actual country of Argentina existed.

Now some might see this as a piece of opportunism. And I say, thanks for the idea. Because, the Beaker People descending from the ancient pre-Christian people of these islands, I am hereby putting in my demand to have the following ancient religious locations, which were formerly Beaker, returned to us:

The Rollright Stones
Stonehenge
Glastonbury (city and Tor. You can keep the Abbey - the maintenance bill must be awful)
Buckfast Abbey (the wine can pay for the maintenance)
Primrose Hill
Old Trafford (we'll knock it down and sell it off for chi-chi housing developments)
Arbor Low
Dunstable Priory Church
Soho Square

It sounds a lot, I know. But they are ours. And we'll negotiate if we have to.

Reconciling Creation and Evolution

And so the Little Pebbles are into the second day of Hilary Term this morning.

We are very keen that the Little Pebbles learn to think for themselves. And that is why yesterday, as they were still hyper from coloured sweets and marzipan, we kicked the term off with the annual "Reconcilathon" for the older Pebbles.

Put simply, we read out the first few chapters of Genesis, then we explained the Theory of Evolution. Then we told them they're both true, and asked them to explain how.

Some of the explanations are probably worth listing out:

"Adam killed all the dinosaurs because he was angry because he kept treading in the droppings."

"Are all the extict animals God's mistakes?"

"How come, if the unicorns all died in the Flood, they're in the book of Job?" (This from a child whose parents used to attend the Bogwulf Funambulist Baptists, and still cling to the KJV.)

"I reckon the Flood isn't one story. It happened lots of times. Only my Auntie was flooded out, and she lives in Northampton."

"Eve and Adam eating the apple were being selfish. Just like it says in Evolution. Maybe Adam and Eve should have been called Selfish Gene and Selfish Jean?"

"So if Evolution is true, how come we've still got One Direction?"

"If it's Survival of the Fittest, why does the Government try to stop obesity? Surely they're fighting against nature."

"So what are wasps for?"

"How come humans and animals are made in a different order in Genesis 1 and 2?"

"These are three or more different ways of explaining the state of things. Why do I need to reconcile them?"

This last one shows dangerous signs of independent thinking. She'll go far. I think we may have identifed the next Archdruid.

Consider the Heavens

Get outside now. (If you're reading this in July 2014, don't bother). If the sky is clear, and you're in the Northern hemisphere, round about the Greenwich meridian - look south. Sirius, Orion's belt, Jupiter, Aldebaran and the Pleiades are all - very roughly - in a line. It's gorgeous. Go look. Nuff said.

Resolution Desolation

So I've blown three of my blogging resolutions already this year. Especially the one about Feedjit. With the use of the new data projector I bought Young Keith for Christmas, we were able to screen a real-time feed of traffic to the site onto a cloud last night. It's a bit shiny and blue up there now, so we've redirected it onto the outside of the Moot House, and I now know if I have blog visitors at any moment of the day when I've got line of sight.

Now all we've got to do is switch sound on and plug it back into the Moot House PA system, so I can be aware of new traffic wherever I am. We tried it earlier, but we realised we need to re-do it with some kind of over-ride. Everybody at Pouring-out of Beakers went four feet up in the air when we had a visitor from Sutton Coldfield. Which, to be fair, is what happens in real-life as well. But the short-term hearing loss was no fun for anyone.

The Extraordinary in the Ordinary

Every Christmas Eve, I start re-reading Thomas Hardy's Under the Greenwood Tree. And every new year, in the first week or so, I finish it.

Hardy's more intelligent country-folk are endued with what sometimes seems like near-miraculous powers. The Yeobrights in Under the Greenwood Tree are able to find their way across the heath, in total darkness, able to tell where the path is simply by the feel of the ground under their feet - even with their shoes on. And this is not an asphalted or paved path, do not forget - merely a rabbit-path, or one occasionally traversed by walkers.

In the first page of Under the Greenwood Tree, we are presented with something equally super-human. I quote Tommy H himself:

"To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature.  At the passing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall.  And winter, which modifies the note of such trees as shed their leaves, does not destroy its individuality. 

On a cold and starry Christmas-eve within living memory a man was passing up a lane towards Mellstock Cross in the darkness of a plantation that whispered thus distinctively to his intelligence."

So the folk of Mellstock can tell what type of tree it is, by the sound it makes as the wind passes through it. To one of those dandified pen-and-ink-bottle London types who read Hardy's work, it probably sounded totally plausible that these peasants, suckled at Mother Nature's bosom, and rising each day with the lark and the daffodowndilly, were able to know trees by the noise they made.

But I wonder. Young Keith was born and raised in Husborne Crawley. Yet it doesn't seem to have made the slightest difference, judging by the way he walked straight into the brook last night on the way back from the White Horse.

But if Tommy H were with us today, what activities would he describe in such a way?

"So accustomed to the keyboard on a netbook was she that she could, in the dark and by the light only of a few copies of The God Delusion flickering on the fire, touch-type her blog at 50 words per minute."

"He was long familiar with the sounds of each motor car that passed within the walls of the garage. So that, without even lifting his eyes from Page 3 of the Sun, he could recognise which make, and which model, was the car that pulled up outside. And even, from those little irregularities in cars that he had previously serviced, he could tell the registration number."

"To those less familiar with clerical wear - a Methodist, or maybe a Congregationalist - such nuances would have gone unnoticed. But so attuned was he to the changing of the liturgical seasons, the subtleties of incense use and additional candles, that he could tell the red from the purple chasuble in the darkness of the vestry, with no artificial lighting, by the gradients in their smell."

"He could break an entire corporate accounting system into its 3rd Normal Form Entity Relationship Diagram, simply by looking at a couple of journal entries and passing his hand over a report of the previous week's idoc failures."

"So perfectly tuned was he to the finesses of the religious Social Media milieu that he could detect several forms of 3rd Century heresy simply by the "beep" noise Tweetdeck made when the tweet appeared."

"After 15 years working on the checkout, she no longer needed to look at the products - knowing from the bar code exactly what the price was, and what the customer was buying. Sometimes a new product would come along her conveyor belt. Holding the product up to the light, to see those 13 digits better, she would nod and quietly say, "I'll remember 'ee, next time.""