Hostage to Heirlooms

It's been three years since we last had to rebuild the Moot House. It shows.

Gyegph kindly bequeathed the additional tea light stand. We already had a tea light stand. The one Guerone donated. We couldn't throw out the original, or Guerone would have been offended. We couldn't refuse the new one, as it was a bequest.

So we have three tea light stands. Oh yeah. Don't forget the one from when we built the Moot House. The one that is built into the tea light alcove. The one with "Dominus Illuminatio Mea" engraved over it. Obviously, the inscription was a gift, from Dominux - a former don. So we can't lose the original tea light stand. The inscription would look stupid, beings it's curled round a carved tea light.

Forgot the Little Pebbles tea light stand, didn't I? They wanted their own tea light stand, and for health and safety reasons we didn't want them near the lit tea lights. So they've got a special stand, with LED tea lights. Lovely it is. They made it our of a Weetabix box at "Messy Quadragesima". It's a bit charred and tatty, but we can't lose it, can we.

And then there's the candle stands.  Six, in total. All donated by somebody who just wanted to make a statement about light in the darkness.

I'll be honest. We've kind of distorted the local candle market. The bee keepers for miles around are living in the lap of luxury, as I have run endless candle-making classes. And Tesco have just started doing tea light home delivery in an artic. But people can only light so many portable light sources, you know? We're all candled out; that's the truth of it.

And then Debriz bought us the Worship Focus Kneelers. A set of beautifully cushioned Kneelers, on which one can kneel - you probably guessed that - so as to view the Worship Focus.

Nobody has ever knelt on those Kneelers. You can see the Focus perfectly well without kneeling.

But they were donated.

Down by the South Door, we discovered an old sofa one day. Hnaef was halfway to the dump with it before we discovered it was a donation. Back it came. Had to write a letter of thanks.

And the Mission Praise first editions. In a parallel universe they might be valuable one day. But Drognir brought them with him from his old church when they threw him out. So they have to stay in the Mission Praise Cabinet that Marston so kindly built out of old pallets. And added  a brass plaque to so we can't throw them away.

The thing is, well-wishers have donated us so much general stuff, we can't actually get any worshippers into the Moot House for Spiritual Occasions. The Quire have been invisible behind the Worship Focus Tapestry (and inaudible due to the Speaker Cosies) for months.

Since the donation of all those beach balls, the weather's been pretty good. We've been out in the Orchard enjoying the wonders of nature. But the day is coming when we're gonna need to move inside for the autumn. There's only one thing for it.

I'm gonna have another Moot House built.

Sure, the other one will remain. We'll let people go in, say how lovely it is, light a tea light or bounce a liturgical beach ball. But the new Moot House is gonna be purist, austere, clean-lined, classic. And it's gonna stay that way.

Largo has already promised to donate us a carpet.

A Controversial Call Not to Recall Parliament

Every year somebody has a reason for recalling Parliament. It's Israel / Gaza (not Nigeria, Mosul, South Sudan or anywhere else) but that's this year's reason.

I disagree with recalling Parliament under any conditions short of four horsemen appearing and grazing their horses on College Green.

MPs are useless when they're there the rest of the time. Why would they be any better in the summer?

Star Mann

I'm going to go to all the trouble of telling you about a minister in the States, who's gone to all the trouble of being snarky about my favourite trans feminist canon of a cathedral.

Lone Star Parson suggests first up that the Archbishop of Canterbury was not showing his famous negotiating skills when he took a couple of priests who happened to be women to Rome. I've no idea if that is true or not - the Archbishop never calls on me when making these kind of visits, for some reason -  but I love the suggestion he should have made sure all members - ho-ho - of a party to Rome should have been male.

Pope: "So, Archbishop - about these women priests you have?"

Archbishop: "No, none at all, your Holiness."

Pope: "But everybody knows you've got female priests."

Archbishop: "Nosiree. Can you see any here with me?"

Pope: "But we saw the 20 years celebrations, and the vote on women bishops. Lots of women wearing clerical collars."

Archbishop: "No, no. They were... erm.... eunuchs. Yep, eunuchs. That's why they were so feminine-looking."

Pope: "You have eunuchs in the Church of England?"

Archbishop: "Well, let's face it, you had them in the Vatican choir for centuries..."

Afterwards, Justin Welby catches up with his wife on the phone.

Mrs Welby: "So how did it go, Justin?"

Archbishop: "Not so bad. I accidentally mentioned Angela Tilby once, but I think I got away with it....."

The Lone Star Parson then objects to Rachel Mann on the grounds that she's a trans woman, a lesbian, and a feminist (and he nods to her also being a heavy metal fan by including a photograph of her playing the guitar). Which is odd. Because some of us might just think that what he's done there is described some aspects of this multi-talented person. Very important aspects, but then there's lots more as well. She's a decent medium-pace bowler as well, I believe, but no mention of that. Beings he's American, you'd think that would be the worse of the lot. Curiously, he accompanies this rant with another photograph - of the Pope and Archbishop with a load of men in purple frocks. But merely listing somebody's attributes does not count as criticism, in my book.

You know, I'm thinking I'm not his target audience.

A Daily Mail Study in Total Cycling Irrelevance

Brilliant from the Daily Mail. A cyclist has a collision with Billy Piper. He has a serious shoulder injury. And the Mail tells us:

"The Mail on Sunday understands that the cyclist was not wearing a helmet." 

On his shoulder, presumably? What sort of a wally doesn't wear a helmet on his shoulder? What was he thinking about? We're not informed whether Ms Piper was wearing a seat belt, or for that matter a helmet, or whether her car was fitted with air-bags. At least one of which is more relevant, as a seat belt is a legal requirement, unlike a helmet.

Still,

"the teenage cyclist who was travelling downhill at a significant speed." 

So pretty obvious who was at fault, you reckon? I wonder why the speed was significant? Perhaps it was very fast, or very slow, or 3.141592654 mph. That would be pretty significant.

Still, I hope the lad heals well, and Billy gets over her shock. And don't forget, you don't have to click on the link. I take these risks so you don't have to.

Lights Going Out

Andrew Brown writes of the "First World War Ritual that sheds little light."

Well, I wonder.

Obviously we don't want the national unstiffening of upper lips we witnessed when Diana died. For one thing, it was too embarrassing for words. And for another, Elton John is too busy with his new career as a speculative theologian.

See, most of us can't remember the Empire.  The main source of information for what happened in 1914-18 for us is Blackadder. And our yardstick for whether wars are worthwhile is Iraq.

We're going to turn some lights out tonight because 100 years ago, hundreds of thousands of our countrymen - and some of our countrywomen - died. They were fighting for a cause we don't really understand, but they left gaps in our family trees. There are men buried at Cambrai and the Somme who should have been buried in Husborne Crawley, Garforth, Dunstable, Yeovil or Highgate. And we suspect that they were thrown away in someone else's game. 

And while we honour their bravery, we hate the futile way they died. And we're far enough away from it now that we can do both these things without anyone thinking we're being disrespectful to their memory when we say "What a waste".

So turn the lights out tonight. Remember the Boys. And remember that war is dreadful, and most alternatives are normally better.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. 

Et lux perpetua luceat eis.

"A" in Latin, "D-" in Maths

A post in the Boston Catholic Journal requests the use of Latin in the Mass, and quotes the following remarkable fact:

" The language that has been synonymous with the Catholic Church for over 2000 years has become forgotten (yes, and verboten) in less than 50."

I mean, seriously? The Catholic Church has been using Latin for over 2,000 years? Since Jesus was - what? About 20? Were the words "hic haec hoc" floating across the Sea of Galilee as Peter, Andrew, James and John got their act together before they even met Our Lord?

I'm going to give them some credit for having just got a bit carried away. But I guess that's not really my beef with the piece. Neither is the use of a German word for "forbidden". I'm sure Pope Benedict will forgive them for that unfortunate slip.

Let's consider.

Every Jew knows how to pray in Hebrew, just as every Muslim knows how to pray in Arabic.

Fair enough. But Moses, presumably, spoke Hebrew (he would have been decent at Egyptian as well, I guess). David spoke Hebrew. Solomon did. Mohammed spoke Arabic.

But Jesus almost certainly didn't speak Latin. He spoke Aramaic, he'd have prayed in the Synagogue in Hebrew. He may have had a smattering of Greek. But he'd have known little or no Latin.

So there's a prima facie good reason for the people of the Syriac churches (many of them currently being expelled from parts of Iraq) to continue worshipping in Syriac, which is as near to Aramaic as you get these days. These people worship in Jesus's language.

And when Jesus's words were written down. They were written in Greek. So you could argue, if you wanted, that Greek is a good language to pray in. It's the nearest to the direct words of Our Lord that we've got.

But the history of the Church, and the fact of the Incarnation, says to me that you don't worry about the language that much. The Gospel has always been written at one step removed from what Jesus actually said, and the Church has never stopped shaping the Gospel - or being shaped by the Gospel - in whatever culture it falls into. In the Western Empire, Latin made sense - the Good News had to be shared in the language of the Empire, lived out in the Latin way. But in 21st Century England or much of the US, Latin puts the Gospel at one step removed. It's not Jesus's language, it's not the language of the people in their daytime lives. It's just another language. It's as odd as a 21st Century Englishwoman expressing her faith in 16th Century English.

I'm teasing, of course. If you are so immersed in the Latin Mass, it's a perfectly sensible language to express your worship in. If you've grown up with King James and Cranmer, 16th Century English is a perfectly good way to worship God. (I know the King James Version was 17th Century, but the language was archaic when it was written. There's nothing wrong in expressing your worship in the way you're comfortable with. But, there's nothing wrong with your own language, either.

Anyway, I must be off. It's our traditional Taize service. I do love a nice bit of Taize.

There Might be Orcs

An interesting piece on the demolition of the brutalist, concrete architecture of postwar Britain. To which I mostly think, "good". Most of it is, or was, hideous. This is mostly talking about the provincial little towns - Portsmouth, Coventry, Birmingham. But I'd like to suggest, if we're knocking stuff down, we strongly consider the Barbican and the entire South Bank complex. Oh, and Euston Tower. Centre point - that can go. And Dunstable Quadrant? Not technically in London, but close enough for my grand redevelopment.

A genuine monument to the architect

But not just to replace it with bloody glass. Glass is great from the inside, as long as you're not next to the window on a sunny day. The views from the Central London bridges, looking east inspire me and get me down by turns. The really massive buildings are individually stunning, but collectively look like the play set of a giant baby.

"And if you're really good, you can have the Walkie Talkie to play with"

Let's put in buildings where every side apart from north has to convert sunlight into energy. Let's have buildings in the shape of giant trees. Or moths.Imagine a giant moth where the Barbican is, its wings made of solar panels, twisting through the day to face the sunlight. Let's build a giant grassed hill on the Southbank, with windows piercing it like the world's biggest hobbit burrow, to complement the tower of Mordor down the road. I tell you, when I heard the Shard was being evacuated due to a fire alarm, I was hoping there might be orcs emerging out of the building and scattering across Southwark.

A Place of Sanctuary from Orcs

The man who runs a society for the architects who destroyed our joy and imagination said,

"Architects are seeing their pride and joy reduced to rubble before their eyes."

Well, good. There should be a law that, when architects are getting on in life, the local public gets a vote on whether their work should stand. If they get a no vote, the buildings should be ripped down. It would encourage the next generation to remember the people who have to live with their follies, and not only consider their vanity. If your work is as bad as Coventry city centre, you should not have the right to a legacy.

Wouldn't get knocked down in the architect's lifetime

On the basis of my new law, the Walky Talky has got about 15 years. It doesn't deserve that long, The Telecom tower, however, woud stay forever. And architects would remember that all reinforced concrete and plate glass is like grass. It lasts just as long as we want it to.

Will the Real Mary Seacole Please Stand Up

The Daily Mail (if you click you can't say I didn't warn you) does a hatchet job on the modern version of Mary Seacole's life. Though I have to say if they are right, it's a much better story than the one we hear - she was far more of a proper heroine than I imagined. What a woman! Tending to people's needs while making a fortune. I find my heart strangely warmed.

But a hint to the Mail. If you're gonna do a number on somebody else's version of history, don't tell us that a new statue is the first memorial to Mary Seacole, and then underneath it have a picture of the blue plaque to her in Soho Square. You're just shooting yourself in the foot, aren't you?

Answering a Question Invalidly

It's not often I dip the toes of the druidical slingbacks into Catholic controversy. But just this once. With a hat-tip to Rorate Coeli (which probably knows the title of the blost is quoting Our Lord out of context....)

The response of Dom Cláudio Hummes (Brazilian cardinal apparently) to a simple question is revealing, or not. I think it's an invalid answer. Or maybe an invalid question.

The question was:

"If Jesus were alive today, would he be in favor of gay marriage?" 

The answer it received was:

"I don't know, I formulate no hypothesis on this. Who must answer this is the Church in its entirety. We must take care not to raise issues individually, because this ends up creating more difficulties for us to reach a valid conclusion. I think we must get together, listen to people, those who have an interest, the bishops. It is the Church that must indicate the ways, and there must be a way for all."

The correct answer, of course, should have been:

"What do you mean, "if"? Ask me a sensible question and we'll do some proper theology on the answer."


Here it is in the original Portugese.

Back in the Good Old C of E

For those that aren't aware through other routes, the churches in the place where I spent a short sabbatical last year have their church magazine letters online.

The August edition is here. Disappointed in Margorie. You'd think she could keep Bradley under better control

Liturgy For Yorkshire Day

Archdruid: 'Appen as 'appen.

All: Aye, 'appen.

Archdruid: Hast seen their Ronald?

All: Aye, appen as might.

Hymn: On Ilkley Moor Baht 'at

Three worshippers of the Ancient Yorkshire Gods await the End of the World according to the Prophet Bickerdyke

Confession

Oh Great Earnshaw, forgive us if we have ever said the beer's better down south. Overlook it if we ever accidentally overpaid for something. Do not remember when we have spoken more than we needed. And let us off if we ever caused trouble at t' mill. And let us never doubt Geoffrey Boycott. And deliver us from ever going to London.

Billy Fisher: London? A man could lose himself in London, Mr Shadrack. Looooooose himself...... 

Charlii: Didn't you say that last year?

Billy Fisher: I'm from Yorkshire. It saves me buying another order of service.

Reading from the Prophet Bickerdyke

"Make a note Gunnershaw. The world will end at 17 minutes past 2, on Wednesday...... urghhh"

Norman Clegg: I'm glad today is Friday.

Archdruid: And Lammas Day, Norman. The day of the first loaf...

Wally Batty: Eeh, ah remember when I used to push t'bike up t'road to t'bakers to get a loaf of Hovis. Then I found out t'hill were in Dorset. Awful push that were.

St Geoffrey: Dorset? Tha were looky. I 'ad to push my bike - with no wheels - up the North Face o' t'Eiger, in a snowstorm, wearing a flat cap and clogs. And if you told Alistair Cook that, 'e wouldn't believe you.

St Geoffrey is beaten with sticks of rhubarb by a collection of grannies.

Hymn: Gradely is thy Faithfulness

The Hooter of Blessing sounds, and the Beaker Folk depart t'mill in silence.