On the Hugging of Trees

People often ask me - why do we hug trees? And I always say to them - consider the alternatives.

Badgers bite, bees sting. If you hug a fish you will get wet. Snakes come in two varieties - ones you shouldn't hug because they might hug you back, and ones with venomous teeth.

Warning - do not eat

It's safest not to hug other Beaker people. By sheer chance, occasionally a Beaker Person might hug a suitable other Beaker Person (within the meaning of the Hugging Equality Act 2002), but the risks of being involved in a hug with the wrong kind of person are just too high. You might end up hugging someone you really wish you hadn't, or you might find that the person you're hugging takes out a court order against you.

Hugging telegraph poles is like hugging a tree, but there are four obvious reasons why you wouldn't:
a) They're not alive. They're dead trees.
b) They leak creosote
c) People who see you doing it will avoid you
d) Dogs have uses for them.

So you're down to trees, teddy bears and cuddly pets. In practice most pets aren't that cuddly - cuddle the Earless Beaker Bunny and you will have a future of being able to count to nine at most. Teddy bears have almost no religious purposes. Well, OK - just the one.

So that's why we hug trees. Trees represent the primeval earth-force, surging up into the sky - if deciduous, a symbol of dying and rising each year, while evergreens symbolise eternal life. Yggdrasil, the world-ash, joins heaven and earth. The oak speaks of strength, and the holly and the ivy - yeah, you know that one.

So we hug trees to affirm and be strengthened by their mystic connotations. And, as I've just illustrated, we actually have no alternatives.

A shocking development

I've woken up to a dozen complaints about Marston running around the Moot  House with an electronic police stun-gun at last night's supposedly restful and peaceful event.

Next time I ask someone to lead an act of worship, I will write the request down. Or at least speak more slowly. Or maybe just improve my French accent.

But I certainly won't be asking Marston to lead another Taize service.

Best Practice in Church Social Media Use

This idea that the Church is old hat on technology is just so wrong. The Church has been at the forefront ever since the invention of the printing press.  And when Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses on the Wittenberg Door, he was just four feet off being a real pioneer and posting them on its Wall.

Of course, some would say what's wrong with just printing a very small notice sheet up on the church door so everyone can read it? That is, normally, on the inside door - the one inside the porch. The porch that's got another door, or a set of gates, or a kind of chicken-wire door to keep the birds out. So the notice sheet is very easily readable, and you can see what time Sunday's service is, on Sunday when the gate is unlocked for the service.

But in the interest of people thinking of making a Luther-like leap into the darkness, and going with the flow, here are my suggestions for the best ways to use Social Media for your church. And when I say "best ways", I mean "ways I have seen".

Facebook

Normal practice is to create a church page, with a small picture of the church. Try to avoid including contact details of clergy or the church office, as this might run the risk of making their phone ring. Likewise, try to avoid including any news - especially if interesting events - as this might mean you have to try to get on with new people.
For obvious reasons, you shouldn't post pictures of children from the church. But if I were you I'd avoid posting pictures of anyone at all from the church. Their neighbours might discover they go to church, and they'd never live down the embarrassment. Especially if they're a clergy, and are keeping it quiet. So my advice is to have a few random photos of gravestones. They can't sue you, they can be quite picturesque, and though they're dated they never go out of date.

Or why not just post up all the urban myth scare stories and fake moral outrages that sweep across Facebook from time to time? It's more interesting than a "Wayside Pulpit" and more likely to get shared.

Another alternative is for your church to take on a Facebook persona all of its own, and run amok sending "friend" invites, inviting people to buy a chicken from them in Farmville, or advertising its own scheme for losing 2 lbs every week using a weird tip. You may not find anyone new turning up at church, but you'll have a ball and you may make a few quid.

e-mail

Still a useful way of getting news out to a well-defined group of people who might already be bought into the church's vision. Prayer lists, community news, events advertising are all convenient. But when you're about to email "vicar@stmitholmroyds.org.uk" with a missive detailing Doris's haemorrhoidal situation, bear in mind that Outlook can auto-complete email addresses. So if you have a mail group in your address book such as "vicar and PCC", and you don't check too carefully, you may find Doris's condition gets more prayerful attention than she really wanted. 

Tumblr

See under "Pinterest"

Old-fashioned Website

More traditional than the social alternatives is the "Website". The ideal church website will contain:

• A picture of the last vicar, grinning unnervingly, with the message "a warm welcome awaits you at St Mitholmroyd's".
• Mystifying minutes from church meetings, leaving you wondering who Mrs Simmonite is, why she will not receive the chalice from Mr Dorchester, what a female sidesman might be called, and why Methodists like circuit training.
• "Thought for the month" from the vicar-before-last, reflecting that the Millennium is a time to take stock of the way we treat the planet, as otherwise Norfolk will be underwater by 2008.
• The notices from April 2003.
• The use of the words "Perpendicular", "Gothic Revival" and misericords", with no clue as to what they mean.
• A list of all the former ministers, with dates, and an excitingly rapid turnover around 1645.*
• Some under-exposed photos of the Green Man on the ceiling of the Chapel of St Swithin.
• An appeal for money for the "Big hole in the roof appeal"
• A scanned-in image of a hand-drawn map of "how to find us", not showing the motorway that was built across Church Lane last year.
• An animated .gif of a thermometer.
• A Forward-in-Faith logo even though, after the vote during the last interregnum, the current vicar is called "Elsie".
• No contact phone number, email address, feedback form, Facebook or Twitter link. Ideally, if you're in a small village, try to obscure even the county you're in.

An impassioned, inspiring page of immense relevance to the passing web-browser is always very useful content. This was probably written by some theological geek in response to the request in the notices one Sunday morning for "anything interesting for the Church Website". Or else it's the pastor's personal hobby-horse. Some example subjects might be:

• "The Church of England did not become Protestant at the Reformation";
• "Why Prelapsarianism is wrong"
• "Explaining Athanasius in Klingon"
• "It's King James or Hell"
• "Marty's thoughts on the Gospel of Thomas"
• "Why Baptists pre-date the Bible"
• "Lace - the Lord's parting gift to his Church"
• "2012 - the year the world ends"

Best of all, try to get one of each of these in. It gives the impression of balance.

If you are a rural Anglican church, in a multi-parish benefice, try not to mention the other villages with which you are yoked. Or, if you do, try to work in that ancient sheep-stealing grudge or local hatred that goes back to being on opposite sides in the Civil War.

Try not to get the news pages up to date - it will give the impression that somebody at the church is still alive. And do try to throw in the odd reference to "This new Internet thing".

Twitter

Like the platform itself, the uses of church Twitter accounts are manifold and marvellous.

Tumbleweed

One old classic is the account with no followers, no following, and just one tweet, along the lines of

"Just starting out - I wonder how I use this thing?"

You find yourself wondering what happened next. Did the author then sit back and wait for the retweets to flood in, and then sign out, feeling that Twitter had let itself down? Did they realise they'd wondered long enough how to use the thing? Did they just become overwhelmed with the thought of the amount of work and creativity that lay ahead if they wanted to create a real Twitter presence?

Vicarbot

Then there's the "vicarbot" approach. Using an API, you can generate inspiration thoughts every three hours along the lines of  "Sparrows are ten a penny. That's why you can use them to make a healthy, low-cost stew". Of course, if you don't have the programming ability to write a Twitter API, you can instead just tell the minister to tweet the sorts of things s/he says to people s/he meets in the street, all the time.

An alternative to the "vicarbot" is simply to tweet a Biblical passage every few hours. Because Christians no longer have time to read the Bible - they're all on Twitter - you will acquire quite a few followers in the end.

Faith Warrior

Or why not use the church account to become a "faith warrior"? Prowl the badlands of Twitterville, picking fights with Richard Dawkins, other less well-paid atheists, people who are openly Catholic, or anyone else. Make sure your bio says "Tweets may not reflect the views of St Agatha's."

Fluffy Imaginary Characters

Actually, this is the best Church use of Twitter I've encountered so far. Fluffy (or feathery) imaginary characters is what they invented Twitter for. Remember what the logo is, after all.

Pinterest

No idea. Sorry.

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*This might actually be useful, in attracting hits from Local History Buffs. They're the sort of people that might well want to come to church, if only to check out the monuments.

Festival of Sub-creation

Today's "Festival of Sub-creation" is cancelled.

It was to be a celebration of the way we share in the divine creative nature, in our own way creating new things from what we have been given.

But unfortunately we've left it all to the last minute, and we can't think what to do. So we're going to be lighting some tea lights instead.

A Horse, A Horse...

I notice that the identity of alleged child-murderer Richard III under a car park in Leicester has been confirmed. But the press release from Leicestershire County Council manages not to mention the suspicious circumstances in which Richard ascended the throne at all.

Now, clearly there is no chance of proof beyond reasonable doubt of guilt at this point. And the chances of witnesses coming forward at this point are, frankly, slight. So we're never going to know the truth. Best re-inter him, with a degree of dignity, and without too much hoopla, I say. I'm glad to see that this notorious non-Yorkshireman is not going to be "returned" to York. Leicester and Fotheringhay were the only two candidates as far as I could see, and Fotheringhay already has enough associations with another ambiguous "innocent" "hero".

I suppose life was writ big if you were in the 15th/16th Century Royal Family. You won, or you died. Richard did both. History does not record if, when he was buried, the monks of Leicester Abbey arranged to have "My Way" played - but at least in Richard's case it would be true.

Farewell to the Mouse

And so another blog nibbles the dust.

You can find the sad news about The Church Mouse here. The blog is protected, the Twitter account has gone.

It's ironic to think that nearly three years ago, the Mouse marked the end of the Beaker Folk blog. What he didn't know at the time, although I did of course, was that we were merely spending a while in the 19th Century for tax reasons. That's the way the Internet works. I suppose I could hope Mouse is doing something similar.

So what was once one of the most interesting of Christian blogs, enlivening us with news from the world of the Christian Faith - and especially the odd, splintered, diverse corner of it called the Church of England - has gone. It's a shame.

Why a Redhead Cannot be a Priest

I'd normally let it lie. I really would. But it was Mad Priest that started me off. The story from the Catholic News is the line that women cannot be priests because Jesus is male. I'm not going to fisk the article - not least because you normally find that someone's been misquoted, or doesn't exist, or something, and then you just feel all silly. But the line of argument is familiar enough.

Let's just try rearranging the theory slightly, and imagine the Reverend Schwarzkopf, of the Church of the Sun-Resistant Bonces:

"The son of God became flesh, but became flesh not as hairless humanity but as a brunet," Reverend Schwarzkopf said; "and since a priest is supposed to serve as an image of Christ, his dark hair is essential to that role."

"It's important to realise that blonds and red-heads are not excluded from the Church, nor are they second-class. Indeed, because they know they have to be careful in hot sun, they are more likely to sympathise with others in their weakness. In particular, carrot-tops are especially blessed as they are so familiar with persecution. But, if we think in more general terms, their tendency to be hot-headed means it's probably best they have more suitable roles, such as getting stroppy in church meetings."

Imbolc / Groundhog Day

It's one of the most significant days of the Beaker calendar. After all, how often do three festivals fall on the same day?

The liturgy is the same as every year. To the accompaniment of Sonny and Cher, the Beaker Bunny hops out onto the lawn. She notices, as she does every year, that her ears, being absent, cast no shadow.

Then, being the bad-tempered old ratbag that she is, she bites some poor unfortunate on the ankle.

If it's a man, 6 more weeks of winter. If it's a woman, six more weeks till spring. The Beaker Folk are a gullible lot, but they are bright enough to know you can't forecast the weather with small mammals.

This afternoon we will have the traditional Imbolc celebration. We will spend the time until then trying to work out what that celebration should be. All we know is that Imbolc is something to do with the lactation of ewes. And to be honest, there's only so far you can go with that.

A song for Anna

All the years I have waited
Each day here
As the round of slaughtered beasts
has filled the air with the smell of blood and flesh.

I have seen nations fall.
Emperors rise
not dreaming that their realms will end
their statues will be broken, their names erased.

Now, there in Simeon's arms
- the still point
The axis on which the universe turns.
Ancient of Days, yet six weeks old.

Time for us now, Simeon
Dawn has come
We've waited through some dark nights
We've seen the light, we can find our way home.

The Falling Fool and the Flying Nun

An unusually frustrating day, even by the standards of the Beaker People.

One when nobody could get the simplest point, no matter how many times I tried to drum it into them. Lothlurian tried to play "Orinoco Flow" six times, and got the bass line wrong every time.

And then Gurbit locked himself into the 2nd floor bathroom, and resolved the problem by hanging down from the window and dropping. Thus giving us two problems - or three, if you count each of his broken legs separately.

Thankfully, Sister Brunhilda, our new Nun-in-Residence, was on hand. She left the Church of England on principle - the principle being that all her fellow Anglican nuns had, and she didn't want to miss out on a good defection. But she believes in women in leadership, so realised the Ordinariate wasn't for her, and joined the Beaker Folk as a kind of surrogate protest. Anyway, it turns out that when she was at St Olbert's Convent, she was the handy-nun, so to speak. So based on her technical experience she kindly offered to open the bathroom door.

Naturally I assumed she had some special tools for opening locked doors - or at least was skilled in the use of credit cards in these circumstances. But no. She took a run down the corridor, and threw herself at the door. Being 4'3" and about six stone, naturally she bounced off. I tried to suggest she enlist a bigger helper - if we're just going to smash our way through doors, we might as well use Hnaef - but she insisted that, if she waited on the Lord, she would fly on wings like eagles' and smash through doors like hippos.

I guess I watched the flying nun-bouncing nun-rebounding nun scenario five or six times before I took my leave. Seeing a nun smash down a bathroom door undoubtedly has its attractions, but to be honest, Gurbit's screams were getting a bit annoying and I thought I'd better phone for an ambulance.

And so there we have the normal Beaker Life summed up in a nutshell. Rotten music, plummeting wallies and door-smashing nuns. I'd despair. But somehow, this is life in all its fullness. We see stupidity, foolishness and unwisdom in equal measure. We react wrongly, selfishlessly and - in my case - almost certain in a poorly-prioritised manner. But we are blessed with the knowledge that, imperfect as it all is, our life is shot through with the love of the kind of Genius that could conceive of resonance, gravity, or indeed flying nuns. We are deeply blessed. Sore of ear, broken, bandaged, thigh-deep in plaster-of-paris and in need of a good carpenter - but deeply blessed.

Rabbits

I'd like to apologise to Burton Dasset. I'm afraid he awoke an old family memory.

In our family, the response to "pinch, punch, first day of the month" was always "a smack with a bat, until you're flat." We were clearly made of tougher stuff than Burton. But it was Burton's own fault that he forgot "and no returns."