A fascinating read, this interview on the man who made Noah. No, I don't mean Methuselah. Although I'm still obsessed by the all-important question - did Methuselah die in the flood? Or did God let him die first?
I don't think anybody can complain about additional material in the movie. If Aronofsky had stayed true to the Good Book, he had two choices - either the film would use all the Biblical material in about 10 minutes, or else it would be immensely long, and include 40 days of people looking out the window, wondering when it was going to stop raining, and feeding animals. Neither would be great. Sure, he could have done the 10 minute version followed by a 2-hour sermon on why we should repent or be drowned for our awful gay ways. In fact, maybe somewhere in Uganda or Arkansas that very movie is being produced. But it wouldn't have been Hollywood box office.
So I think, if you're doing Noah, you have to pad it out. Of course, the story is one overloaded with myth and metaphor - it's about faithfulness and commitment, both God's and the Family Noah's. It's about that all-important Jewish concept of remnant - we can rebuild, again and again, from the few that held on, through divine mercy, their own tenacity or an enemy's foolishness. And it's about the sneaking suspicion that God is more awesome and less predictable and cuddly than the bearded grandad-on-a-cloud we sometimes like to think.
Obviously though people will complain about the film. But they - whether atheists or fundamentalists - just want to get some attention. Don't let them spoil it for the other children, I say.
So good luck to the film. I must make time to go and see it. I wonder if there's sea-elves?
Sunday, 6 April 2014
Saturday, 5 April 2014
Dying on Its Feet
It was Lord Carey, erstwhile Archbishop of Canterbury, who told us last year that "As I have repeated many times in the past we are one generation away from extinction.". If he's repeated this many times in the past, I'd like to know when he started doing this? It would appear that he said it in 1999. In which case, if he was right then, then the C of E isn't one generation away from extinction any more. It's now half a generation. Or did the Church of England get a half-generation suspension of extinction? He doesn't tell us.
The Church of England seems to have been dying my entire life. Of the making of new initiatives - faith in the city, decades of evangelism, embracing Alpha, diocesan missions - there is no end. And nothing much happens. Just the long, slow decline in attendance - albeit jazzed up with better spin on the unrelenting statistics of decline.
I guess here's my view. If the Church of England - the one that inherited a position, the organisational equivalent of a patronised chaplain, who gets a seat at High Table by virtue of a 16th century bequest by a knight with a guilty conscience, the one that expected special treatment, the one which thought it could tell other people how to behave, the one that traded the thrill of living faith for rules and committees and fossilisation - if that one dies, I don't really mind. Denominations rise and fall, and that's just the way it is.
If the Church dies, I care. The Church isn't meant to be an estates department, a lobby group, a pressure group on marital law. The Church is the cutting-edge of the Kingdom - the extension into time and space of the group that Jesus first called. The Church is the thing that offers God's free love, and a ludicrous idea that before you assert your own rights you consider other people as more important than you are. It's the breaking-into-time of an eternal rule.
And I reckon that the best chance for the Church, in England, not to die - is for it not to go around announcing it's going to be extinct in a set period of time - whether a whole generation or half of one. Those of our readers with a classical education may remember the Last of the Summer Wine episode, "The Miraculous Healing of Old Goff Helliwell." Goff (and I apologise if I'm patronising you by explaining all this, but some of our American cousins may be unaware) - Goff decided he was going to die, and therefore set out to do so, on a certain day in the following week. The 3 Old Blokes of Holmfirth managed to avert this disaster, by encouraging Marina to climb up a ladder into Goff's bedroom window. It gave him a whole new spring in his step.
Now, I'm not suggesting we get peroxide blondes of a certain age to climb through the bedroom window of a former Archbishop of Canterbury. It would not, necessarily, be restorative. But my point is - the Church, by its nature, is supposed to grow. The Kingdom, of which it is a badly-organised visible sign, is like yeast in a loaf; like a tiny seed that grows into a big tree. Like the TV career of Keith Lemon - one minute just a joke comedy character, the next all over the schedules. And if the Church is supposed to grow, then its aim - not even its aim, its assumption - must be to grow - not to sit around worrying about death.
I was talking to a friend about his church in East London. How many members does it have, I asked. 30. Not many - but then it's only been going a few months. How many members does its parent church, up the road, have? 600. Six hundred. In one congregation. They're not worrying about being extinct within a generation. They've got a Gospel to proclaim.
A long time ago, a man called Lazarus actually was dead. The rites had been carried out, the wrappings wrapped, the spices arranged, and the man stuck safely behind a big rock. Nobody expected him to come out.
Shortly afterwards, the man who went to see him that remarkable day was himself dead. The rites had been carried out, the wrappings wrapped, the spices were - well, on the way, at any rate, and the man stuck safely behind a big rock. Nobody expected him to come out, either.
The Church is alive when it shares Jesus's love. When it scatters the news that, against all the bad and the death, there's life. When it actually does believe that its natural situation is not as yeast in a baked loaf, but as yeast in a lump of dough. When it believes in the one who called it into being, and sent it into the world.
Nobody ever became a Christian through a scheme, an initiative, or a retired Archbishop telling them that the Church was doomed. They were often converted - by the power of the Spirit, of course - through the positive attraction of lives made bright by Jesus, of a Church that tells of God's love, of a story that tells of new life.
So come on, Lazarus, get out that tomb. A seed doesn't worry about death. It's busy thinking about new life.
The Church of England seems to have been dying my entire life. Of the making of new initiatives - faith in the city, decades of evangelism, embracing Alpha, diocesan missions - there is no end. And nothing much happens. Just the long, slow decline in attendance - albeit jazzed up with better spin on the unrelenting statistics of decline.
I guess here's my view. If the Church of England - the one that inherited a position, the organisational equivalent of a patronised chaplain, who gets a seat at High Table by virtue of a 16th century bequest by a knight with a guilty conscience, the one that expected special treatment, the one which thought it could tell other people how to behave, the one that traded the thrill of living faith for rules and committees and fossilisation - if that one dies, I don't really mind. Denominations rise and fall, and that's just the way it is.
If the Church dies, I care. The Church isn't meant to be an estates department, a lobby group, a pressure group on marital law. The Church is the cutting-edge of the Kingdom - the extension into time and space of the group that Jesus first called. The Church is the thing that offers God's free love, and a ludicrous idea that before you assert your own rights you consider other people as more important than you are. It's the breaking-into-time of an eternal rule.
And I reckon that the best chance for the Church, in England, not to die - is for it not to go around announcing it's going to be extinct in a set period of time - whether a whole generation or half of one. Those of our readers with a classical education may remember the Last of the Summer Wine episode, "The Miraculous Healing of Old Goff Helliwell." Goff (and I apologise if I'm patronising you by explaining all this, but some of our American cousins may be unaware) - Goff decided he was going to die, and therefore set out to do so, on a certain day in the following week. The 3 Old Blokes of Holmfirth managed to avert this disaster, by encouraging Marina to climb up a ladder into Goff's bedroom window. It gave him a whole new spring in his step.
Now, I'm not suggesting we get peroxide blondes of a certain age to climb through the bedroom window of a former Archbishop of Canterbury. It would not, necessarily, be restorative. But my point is - the Church, by its nature, is supposed to grow. The Kingdom, of which it is a badly-organised visible sign, is like yeast in a loaf; like a tiny seed that grows into a big tree. Like the TV career of Keith Lemon - one minute just a joke comedy character, the next all over the schedules. And if the Church is supposed to grow, then its aim - not even its aim, its assumption - must be to grow - not to sit around worrying about death.
I was talking to a friend about his church in East London. How many members does it have, I asked. 30. Not many - but then it's only been going a few months. How many members does its parent church, up the road, have? 600. Six hundred. In one congregation. They're not worrying about being extinct within a generation. They've got a Gospel to proclaim.
A long time ago, a man called Lazarus actually was dead. The rites had been carried out, the wrappings wrapped, the spices arranged, and the man stuck safely behind a big rock. Nobody expected him to come out.
Shortly afterwards, the man who went to see him that remarkable day was himself dead. The rites had been carried out, the wrappings wrapped, the spices were - well, on the way, at any rate, and the man stuck safely behind a big rock. Nobody expected him to come out, either.
The Church is alive when it shares Jesus's love. When it scatters the news that, against all the bad and the death, there's life. When it actually does believe that its natural situation is not as yeast in a baked loaf, but as yeast in a lump of dough. When it believes in the one who called it into being, and sent it into the world.
Nobody ever became a Christian through a scheme, an initiative, or a retired Archbishop telling them that the Church was doomed. They were often converted - by the power of the Spirit, of course - through the positive attraction of lives made bright by Jesus, of a Church that tells of God's love, of a story that tells of new life.
So come on, Lazarus, get out that tomb. A seed doesn't worry about death. It's busy thinking about new life.
Expenses Scandal - Let's Draw the Line Now
I was happy to let this totally artificial so-called "scandal" blow over quietly. But it seems it won't go away. So I'm going to have to get involved at this point, to say "can we just move on?"
Burton Dasset is, in many ways, a suitable Treasurer. Diligent, hard-working, and above all gullible. Otherwise he would not have noticed that I've not paid him since 2009. But while working out the annual reports, he discovered what he has described as "irregularities" in Charlii's and Young Keith's expenses.
The young couple have, it seems, used Beaker funds to pay the mortgage on their "second home". Why, Burton asked, do they need a second home when Young Keith was born in Bedford, and has lived in Husborne Crawley his whole life - and shares the Trainee Archdruidical Suite - with six double bedrooms and a billiard room - rent free?
Well, as Young Keith pointed out - the Suite is not his. It goes with the job. The fact that, as my only child, he will inherit the Moot House when they finally drag my carcass out of this stately pile is irrelevant. Young Keith and Charlii are ensuring that they have somewhere to live when they retire. And so they borrowed money at a reasonable going rate from the Beaker Trust Fund (Caiman Islands), in a totally transparent transaction, and bought a house in the Cotswolds, paying the interest via legitimate Beaker expenses.
Yes, they have made a mint out of renting the cottage out to Tory grandees who want to get close to David Cameron at weekends. But I don't see why anyone should object to this. It is, after all, their house.
I do need to clarify some of the wilder claims that have been scattered abroad in the scurrilous independent website "Moot House Underground". In particular:
However, having calculated the expenses they've claimed over the last couple of years, Keith and Charlii have discovered that, due to a rounding error familiar to people who've watched Superman III, they have in fact over-claimed their expenses. And they are glad to correct this, to the tune of £18.49. They have therefore paid this back into the Beaker Folk account. And, indeed, I just bought a bottle of rather nice wine with it, which Young Keith and I are planning to drink just as soon as the curry arrives. It's a legitimate expense, when the Beaker Inner Council meet.
I hope this puts the matter to rest. Let's move on.
Burton Dasset is, in many ways, a suitable Treasurer. Diligent, hard-working, and above all gullible. Otherwise he would not have noticed that I've not paid him since 2009. But while working out the annual reports, he discovered what he has described as "irregularities" in Charlii's and Young Keith's expenses.
The young couple have, it seems, used Beaker funds to pay the mortgage on their "second home". Why, Burton asked, do they need a second home when Young Keith was born in Bedford, and has lived in Husborne Crawley his whole life - and shares the Trainee Archdruidical Suite - with six double bedrooms and a billiard room - rent free?
Well, as Young Keith pointed out - the Suite is not his. It goes with the job. The fact that, as my only child, he will inherit the Moot House when they finally drag my carcass out of this stately pile is irrelevant. Young Keith and Charlii are ensuring that they have somewhere to live when they retire. And so they borrowed money at a reasonable going rate from the Beaker Trust Fund (Caiman Islands), in a totally transparent transaction, and bought a house in the Cotswolds, paying the interest via legitimate Beaker expenses.
Yes, they have made a mint out of renting the cottage out to Tory grandees who want to get close to David Cameron at weekends. But I don't see why anyone should object to this. It is, after all, their house.
I do need to clarify some of the wilder claims that have been scattered abroad in the scurrilous independent website "Moot House Underground". In particular:
- When Charlii said to Burton "Don't you know who I am?" she was following correct Druidical protocol. It is a Beaker tradition, going back 6,000 years, that a accusers have to identify correctly the people they are unjustly insinuating wrong-doing about.
- Yes, Charlii and Young Keith have sold the house off at a massive profit. But when Madonna decides she needs a new house, to fit in all her adopted children, you don't stand in the way of such a selfless humanitarian act. Madonna's children have to live somewhere. The 200K profit was just a bonus.
- Yes, I did say "If you're whistle-blowing, Burton, I'll put that whistle where the sun don't shine." I was concerned that Burton's whistle, being made of cheap plastic, might chemically degrade on exposure to ultraviolet light - and would be better-off safely stored in the Beaker safe.
However, having calculated the expenses they've claimed over the last couple of years, Keith and Charlii have discovered that, due to a rounding error familiar to people who've watched Superman III, they have in fact over-claimed their expenses. And they are glad to correct this, to the tune of £18.49. They have therefore paid this back into the Beaker Folk account. And, indeed, I just bought a bottle of rather nice wine with it, which Young Keith and I are planning to drink just as soon as the curry arrives. It's a legitimate expense, when the Beaker Inner Council meet.
I hope this puts the matter to rest. Let's move on.
Where Cats Think Humans Go - An Exercise in the Feline Scientific Method
I assume most cats don't travel in cars with their owners very often.
But many cats see their owners going off in their cars quite frequently.
They often hang around by the drive, watching us get in our cars and leave.
So where do cats think their humans go, when they go off in their cars?
Cats understand a bit about consistency, about the need for reproducibility in the scientific method.
So I reckon I know where cats believe we go, based on their own observations and experience, and the concept that the world is rational and predictable.
They think we go to the vet's.
Friday, 4 April 2014
If Train Announcements Were Consistent
"I'd like to remind customers that smoking is not allowed anywhere on this train.
Or stealing the possessions of other customers, obviously. That's not allowed, either.
Im case you were thinking about it, nor is pushing drugs. 1st Capital Connect does not allow drug sales on any of its services. Just because we don't have sny little "No Drug Pushing" stickers, don't you go thinking we approve. We don't. And even if we did, it's against the law.
Driving a car down the inside of the train, mowing down other customers, is not technically illegal - unless you hit them deliberately. But please don't do it.
And no counterfeiting. Did I mention that? We've spent hours arguing about what the sticker should be, so we've not put any up next to the "No Smoking" ones. But, believe me, you must not do it on 1st Capital Connect services.
Genocide? Now, that's definitely forbidden......
Boycotting Things That Don't Bother Us Too Much
An interesting couple of weeks in the boycotting community.
First up when World Vision in the US changed their employment policy to allow married couples of the same sex-chromosomal configuration. Mass boycotting broke out. With the result that several thousand children no longer had sponsors.
When the charity reversed its decision, the people who'd boycotted the charity presumably went cheerfully off to Walmart in their gas guzzling SUVs with the satisfaction of a job well done. And carried on paying their taxes to the legislatures that are legalising these marriages in the first place.
By the way, World Vision in the UK don't have this policy. And they're just up the road. Mess with them, you mess with me.
Meanwhile, in a reverse world, the CEO of Mozilla had to resign because he has previously given money to a campaign against same sex marriage. Causing boycotts of their browser. He caused a boycott because he supported a campaign against something that was illegal in, frankly, the whole world 30 years ago.
Now I'm not saying that he was right or wrong (though I reckon he was wrong) but I don't think that getting people the boot because they have a completely legal belief, and exercise their right to free speech, is a great way for us all to live in a democratic world. And I don't think that hurting children in the developing world is a sensible way to express that legally held belief.
But I am suitably impressed by the way it's possible to change policies by boycotting things that we don't actually need. You think about it - it wasn't the good ol' boys and hockey mums suffering from the World Vision boycott. And nobody apart from the most extreme geek is gonna suffer for switching from Firefox to Chrome. Blimey, Brendan Eich was only in the job a fortnight. I've had Firefox routine updates take longer than that to download.
And so, because we've got this immense and yet free power in our hands, we of the Beaker Folk are henceforth boycotting the following:
■ Aqua Libra (for being trendy in the 80s)
■ Carrefour (for being French, and selling live shellfish. Ugh.)
■ Fitzrovia Cycles (For using a blasphemous joke in their Christmas advertising)
■ Acdo (because it's old fashioned and we don't know where to buy it)
■ The Sun (because we don't read it) but not Sky Sports (because Liverpool might win the Title)
■ Chessington World of Adventure
■ Harlington railway station (because someone pulled out onto the Flitwick road in front of me coming out of Harlington once)
■ Lymeswold cheese (because it was a fake cheese, and it will be a bit off by now)
■ The Mormons (because they give an impossible-to-live-up-to ideal of the whiteness of human teeth).
That will teach them.
Thursday, 3 April 2014
Bring Your True Feelings to Church Day
Well that was a mistake.
"Honesty", it turns out, is not the best policy. Not on the pitch with the Policy XI. Not even on the Policy FC bench, with hopes of coming on when "Tactful Subject Avoidance" pulls a hamstring. "Honesty", I have discovered, is six rows back, wearing a suit, just thankful it was invited to travel for the away game.
So we had three people wept all the way through Filling-up of Beakers this evening. They're normally so cheerful when at Moot House events. But apparently crying all the time is what they do at home.
And my sermon was barely audible, punctuated as it was by shouts of "liberal drivel!" from Bernice, and cat-calls of "shocking, intolerant fundamentalism!" from Daphne.
At the "Embarrassed Half-hug of Peace", Tadley decked Rancewind, said he'd been wanting to do that for ages. Followed up by him and Snowmaud indulging in quite a prolonged and, for everyone else, rather embarrassing romantic clinch. In the end, we put an altar frontal over them so we didn't have to see any more. Odd thing, that. We don't even have an altar. Wonder why we have such a comprehensive collection of frontals?
And then as everybody left, Stacey Bushes said to me,
"I'm sure it was a lovely service. Slept right through it. Shame you have such a boring voice."
I was going to remonstrate with her; but she'd gone over to smash Denzyl's bodhran over his head.
I may have rushed in where gerbils fear to tread here - moved faster than the Beaker Folk's ability to develop better personalities. But I will not go back on my search for emotional authenticity. Wasn't it St Paul who said, "Above all, to thyself be true"? I feel in a sense we've made a breakthrough today - and not just through the skin of that bhodran. No, I am just going to refine the concept.
Tomorrow we're going to be putting large Psychic Bins by the Moot House doors. It's gonna be "Leave Your True Feelings in the Narthex Day." One step at time.
Wednesday, 2 April 2014
Tuesday, 1 April 2014
Liturgy for People Who Are Consumed by Smart Phone Social Media
Archdruid: Peace be with you.
All: Eh, what?
Archdruid: I said, Peace be with you.
All: Oh. Yeah. That's... yeah.
Hymn: Guide me O thou great Redeemer (or I'll probably end up in a ditch)
Archdruid: Hnaef will now read the lesson.
Hnaef: Hang on a sec, I'll just.... oh - now, that kitten's just so cute I could knit it....
Archdruid: I said, Hnaef will now read the lesson.
Hnaef: Oh yeah. I'll just...
Daphne may rap Hnaef over the knuckles with a hymn book or, as it may be, a Samsung S3.
Hnaef: Yeah. Right, now.... I'll just leave my phone with Daphne...
"The need to be in-touch consumes me
And even in the night-watches, I wake up every ten minutes
In case anybody has mentioned me
Or that indefinable "something" has happened.
But the Lord is with me
Even though I have a HTC, yet will he upgrade me.
Although I walk in the valley of the absence of 3G,
I will fear no evil.
Although I may bite my nails a bit,
and press the "refresh" icon repeatedly
and maybe even wave the phone around in the air
as, with phone masts being 100 feet high or so out in the wilds,
an extra 2 feet should make all the difference.
Where can I go to get away from you, oh Internet?
If I go down to the Pit - there is no signal.
Oh, and parts of South Bedfordshire are pretty poor
And I'm talking about the signal, and not just picking on Luton.
All men are like grass, and pass away
In the morning they grow up, but by the evening they are gone
Surely a thousand ages in thy sight
Are but as an iOS upgrade."
Daphne: Well done. You can have it back later.
Hnaef: Can't I have it back..... now? (sobs)
Archdruid: And now Grebezza will bring us the second reading. Oh, no. She's just walked into the tea light stand.
Charlii: Can we now all pour out our beakers on Grebezza? Before that fire really catches?
Hymn: iPhone am a new Creation
Archdruid: Let us join in the Tweet of Repentance
All: We confess that we have ignored our families
Lost contact with friends
Walked into the road
and bollards
and lamp-posts
and other people.
We have stopped dead in the middle of the pavement
and wondered why people have walked straight into us.
We have wasted our lives looking at 6 square inches of glass and plastic
and.....
sorry.......
Richard Dawkins just tweeted something controversial..... just RT that.....
We are, frankly, a danger to traffic
and we shouldn't be allowed out alone.
Was that your phone beeped or mine? Hang on, I'll just check....
But, being grown adults,
there's nothing you can do about it
and we'll probably end up walking off a cliff
or straight into a....
Ah, look - Big Ben Clock!
Archdruid: Now, I was going to preach a sermon at this point. But afraid I got a bit carried away with the hash tag #nunactionmovies. So instead I'm going to live-stream the twitter feed from @mysadcat.
All: Ooh! That's a bit rude!
Archdruid: Sorry, sorry. That's @myswearycat. Didn't get much sleep last night. Was in a big row about the Peruvian peanut mountain.
A time of prayer for healing for those who have tripped over railings.
Hymn: Android, can it be?
Archdruid: Go, and tweet no more.
All: Sorry, let us just...... now - sorry, what were you saying?
All: Eh, what?
Archdruid: I said, Peace be with you.
All: Oh. Yeah. That's... yeah.
Hymn: Guide me O thou great Redeemer (or I'll probably end up in a ditch)
Archdruid: Hnaef will now read the lesson.
Hnaef: Hang on a sec, I'll just.... oh - now, that kitten's just so cute I could knit it....
Archdruid: I said, Hnaef will now read the lesson.
Hnaef: Oh yeah. I'll just...
Daphne may rap Hnaef over the knuckles with a hymn book or, as it may be, a Samsung S3.
Hnaef: Yeah. Right, now.... I'll just leave my phone with Daphne...
"The need to be in-touch consumes me
And even in the night-watches, I wake up every ten minutes
In case anybody has mentioned me
Or that indefinable "something" has happened.
But the Lord is with me
Even though I have a HTC, yet will he upgrade me.
Although I walk in the valley of the absence of 3G,
I will fear no evil.
Although I may bite my nails a bit,
and press the "refresh" icon repeatedly
and maybe even wave the phone around in the air
as, with phone masts being 100 feet high or so out in the wilds,
an extra 2 feet should make all the difference.
Where can I go to get away from you, oh Internet?
If I go down to the Pit - there is no signal.
Oh, and parts of South Bedfordshire are pretty poor
And I'm talking about the signal, and not just picking on Luton.
All men are like grass, and pass away
In the morning they grow up, but by the evening they are gone
Surely a thousand ages in thy sight
Are but as an iOS upgrade."
Daphne: Well done. You can have it back later.
Hnaef: Can't I have it back..... now? (sobs)
Archdruid: And now Grebezza will bring us the second reading. Oh, no. She's just walked into the tea light stand.
Charlii: Can we now all pour out our beakers on Grebezza? Before that fire really catches?
Hymn: iPhone am a new Creation
Archdruid: Let us join in the Tweet of Repentance
All: We confess that we have ignored our families
Lost contact with friends
Walked into the road
and bollards
and lamp-posts
and other people.
We have stopped dead in the middle of the pavement
and wondered why people have walked straight into us.
We have wasted our lives looking at 6 square inches of glass and plastic
and.....
sorry.......
Richard Dawkins just tweeted something controversial..... just RT that.....
We are, frankly, a danger to traffic
and we shouldn't be allowed out alone.
Was that your phone beeped or mine? Hang on, I'll just check....
But, being grown adults,
there's nothing you can do about it
and we'll probably end up walking off a cliff
or straight into a....
Ah, look - Big Ben Clock!
Archdruid: Now, I was going to preach a sermon at this point. But afraid I got a bit carried away with the hash tag #nunactionmovies. So instead I'm going to live-stream the twitter feed from @mysadcat.
All: Ooh! That's a bit rude!
Archdruid: Sorry, sorry. That's @myswearycat. Didn't get much sleep last night. Was in a big row about the Peruvian peanut mountain.
A time of prayer for healing for those who have tripped over railings.
Hymn: Android, can it be?
Archdruid: Go, and tweet no more.
All: Sorry, let us just...... now - sorry, what were you saying?
I Am
Curious, that passage in Exodus 3. God is described as a fairly typical god - suddenly noticing that the Hebrews are in trouble, remembering that - didn't he have a covenant with someone in the past? Oh yeah - Abraham and Isaac and co. Resolving to do something about it. Nipping down and manifesting Godself to Moses in a burning bush. All a bit Zeus-ish. I realise that some liberals would probably argue that what actually happened was that Moses just got confused by a pyracantha. But then they should probably figure it's easier to decide Moses never existed. At least then they can get back to singing "Lord of the Dance".
But out of this fairly normal, god-wandering-about-occasionally-interfering-with-life-on-earth stuff - God as superhuman, superhero, big father-figure with normal residence a cloud - comes a different conception of God entirely.
It's the name gives it away, innit? "I am what I am" - or any of the many other ways of translating it. Moses, brought up in the Egyptian tradition of multiple gods - unless, of course, step-dad was the Heretic - realises that this God isn't a god. This YHWH isn't one among many, to be played off against each other. This isn't a god created in the form of human beings - natural and understandable as that is. Sky, Earth, Sea, Sun, Moon, Life, Death - this is the One who Is - revealed in all of these, yet captured in none of them.
And later the story of creation, of forming from chaos - was transformed from a fight between dirty, sexy gods that are actually just us, but big - into an act of sheer will. No fight, no monster - just God and a desire to create light and trees, polar ice caps, black holes and people. Sure, the author of Genesis 1 didn't know about black holes - but I don't suppose he'd have been shocked to find God made them as well.
This God who isn't a god turns out not to be a being, but to be Being. The old analogy of artist and art is useful only to a point - as the art can outlive the artist. But this artist simultaneously transcends the picture, yet is unable to stand back from the picture.
Because the art comes from this artist - because beings depend on Being, I expect to find things about the artist from the work. The scientist finds consistency, predictability, and yet wonder. The poet finds dreams, hints of other things. The religious find both beauty, awe and terror - and a call to a moral law, based on that consistency and truth, that we still work out.
And the Christian comes away convinced that the artist is actually painted into the picture. Apparently, like Hitch in a film, as an extra, in the corner of a scene. It's only when you can see it right that, like the skull in Holbein's Ambassadors, you discover in fact the artist is the focus of the whole work. And was all the time - "before Abraham was, I am."
And in fact, if you look really closely, the relationship is even closer than that. Turns out we are written indelibly - maybe even carved - on the palms of the artist's hands
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