Junky Moses Hallucinated the Burning Bush

Not my suggestion - that of Professor Benny Shanon, reported in the Daily Mail <- Caution - contains link to Daily Mail. Apologies that this is a 2008 article, but news travels slowly round here and I've only just seen the link.

Apparently the vision of the Burning Bush was a result of consuming a hallucinogen from the acacia tree. Likewise the reception of the 10 Commandments.

Let's not be silly, now. If Moses were stoned when he received the 10 Commandments, they'd have been stuff like:

I. Tune in
II. Turn on
III. Drop Out
IV. Take a chill pill, O Great Divine Being. Enough with the smiting, already.
V. Respect, Daddio
VI. Stop being so heavy.
VII. Stop being so heavy.
VIII. Thou shalt eat chocolate brownies on 6 days of the week. And the seventh shalt thou have the urge to eat cookies.
IX. Go with the flow.
X. Did I mention the brownies?
XI. If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.
XII. Ringo? Ringo? How many commandments did you say we need?

Didn't happen, did it? Instead Moses produced 10 perfectly sensible commandments. And, of course, a load of other commandments that he couldn't fit on the tablets so he had to fill in later - stuff about mildew and donkeys and land rights.

See, if Prof Shannon's theories are right (and I've no reason to believe they're not - except they're clearly tripe and there's no evidence and he's a self-confessed taker of hallucinogenic substances) then it begs a question. Several, actually, but let's stick with this one. If he's right, then clearly the Exodus story must have pretty much happened as recorded. In which case how come the Plagues? Or does Prof Shannon reckon Moses got hallucinogen into the Nile water supply? I've got visions (strictly on coffee, not acacia) of Moses and Aaron, up above the First Cataract, pouring industrial quantities of acacia extract into the water like some giant 60s LSD love 'n" peace conspiracy.

In which case the Plagues are all hallucinations as well. Visions of frogs, locusts and blood-filled rivers make perfect sense. As does Pharaoh's abrupt change of heart when, waking up the day after Passover, he discovers his firstborn alive and well, and not transformed into a giant spider as he's previously imagined.
In which case the passage across the Reed Sea was just a stroll along the higher ground through the marshes, while the death of Pharaoh's army is due to them becoming convinced they can sea water-nymphs in the depths, and going in for a chat.

Oh yeah, it all makes sense now. The way they think God's sending them manna, when in fact they've wisely packed a forty year supply of Snickers. The odd belief that flocks of quail randomly appear in the night. The mass-hallucination when the Rock gives forth water - and thus the Children of Israel don't die of thirst. And the belief of the Spies that there are giants in the land of Canaan (Joshua and Caleb were fortunate at that precise point in having come down, so they could see the facts of the matter).

And it's no wonder it took 40 years to wander across the desert, is it? Every time they set off, Moses would want to bend over and look at the "amazing way, like, sand - it just runneth through thy hands, son of man!" And again, faced with a bunch of tripping desert warriors, it's unsurprising the Canaanites held out so well. Indeed, there's now an argument that what happened at Jericho was that Rahab invited the lads round for an Acacia session, and everybody just thought the walls had fallen down.

Just being sensible for a moment. It strikes me there are four possible explanations for the Exodus stories:

1) it actually happened, and the miracles were direct contraventions or suspensions of the normal physical laws.
2) It actually happened, and the miracles were remarkable timing events. And maybe the stuff about Moses" childhood and the sorcerers' staves changing into serpents was a bit of embellishment.
3) It sort of happened, and a group of Canaanite tribes, coalescing around a conglomerate belief in a god/gods called "El" and YHWH, took the Egyptian enslavement and desert escapes as a normative origin myth.
4) It was all made up., but used as a national origin myth because - once again - it was handy in welding a group of tribes into a religiously-coherent nation.

I'll leave it to you which you want to go with. But I"m just gonna say, it's not gonna be the drugs one.

Too much Truth, to be Honest

Well, that was a mistake at this afternoon's prayer meeting. I'm afraid Charlii's keen, and forgot one of my golden rules - don't let people be too open in an uncontrolled environment.

"Just share your deepest hopes and dreams - the things that are on your mind right now," she suggested.

"I pray that no-one says anything too stupid," was my deepest hope and prayer at that moment.

"I pray that lager be made less expensive," responded Marston.

"Oh Lord, I want to be an Atlantic 4-4-2  loco," expressed Burton, out-doing all his previous nerdiness in one simple petition.

"It's Friday evening, I want to get down the pub, and I pray that this prayer meeting won't be as long as last Friday's," suggested Young Keith - clearly taking the whole honesty thing very seriously.

"We pray for the people of our local community, who we never meet because they think we're weird," came from Newton Bromswold.

Unfortunately, at that point Milton Ernest decided to list the things that were most on his mind. Which appeared mostly to relate to the desire - which he had kept remarkably quiet about - that he feels for Charlii. It was quite some prayer, and the most honest I've ever heard. Suffice it to say, however, that I can't see God granting Milton's petitions because Charlii clearly won't. She hit him over the head with a Beaker and called the prayer meeting to an end.

So at least Young Keith's prayer was heard.  Judging by the cloud of dust heading down School Lane towards the White Horse, we may be about to hear another sonic boom.

Tidying up the Friendship List

It's sometimes a fraught job, is getting the membership list of a faith community neat and tidy.
Where other faitth communities have Class Lists, Parish Meetings, Electoral Rolls or whatever, the Beaker Folk have the Friendship List.

The way I like to look at this is like this - the Church of England Electoral Roll is a list of names of people who at some point in the last 7 years may have worshipped in the parish in question. Every now and then they re-do the list, and if everybody on the list has either died or moved away, the vicar can understand why the church.has been so quiet quiet lately. The people on the Electoral Roll have the important responsibility of turning up at the Annual Meeting and agreeing that, since the number of candidates for the PCC is fewer than the number of vacancies, they might as well all be elected.

The Friendship List has nothing like this kind of power. As the name suggests, we want Beaker membership to be about friendship. And nothing works against friendship so much as giving people votes, which they might use in an unfriendly way by voting against me. That's why,regrettably, I have to ensure that the Moot is strictly advisory and the Druid's Synod made up entirely of ex-officio members.

The Friendship List has to be renewed every 17 months, and I've had the sad job of removing Olphin and Gormwell. When Gormwell died, he left instructions that he wanted his remains to be fired into space in a rocket. Which was fair enough and we were happy to oblige. But Olphin left the Moot House when we insisted Gormwell be cremated first. I mean, fair's fair. Young Keith had built the rocket and everything, but with the price of petrol as it is there's no way we could have afforded that payload.

And then there's Joffrey. I've not actually seen him at worship for a few months, but I'm hoping he's OK. And the standing orders keep being paid, so I'm guessing there's still money in his account. I've arranged for his room to be sealed up just in case. I wouldn't like anyone going in there.

All the new Folk have been invited to sign up for the Friendship List, and you'd be amazed at the suspicion it's generating. "Will it cost?" They ask me. To which I respond, "Yes of course. Anything of value costs. We are flitting creatures of dust, sparkling for a moment in a sunbeam. Time is precious, and love hurts. Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little." And eventually they stump up, to stop the flow of platititudes.

So the Friendship List is up to date, and I find we have 58 people officially in the Beaker community. Unless you discount Joffrey. And the word "discount" makes me wonder. Should I start a Junior Friendship list? Half-price and you get a cuddly toy? It should give young people more of a stake in community, and give the coffers a well-needed boost. And I'd have something to do with all those cuddly George Galloway dolls.

Michael Gove will Get You

Somtimes, as Freud noticed, it's the accidental slips that reveal deeper truths.

I have had it brought to my attention that, twice in 24 hours, I've referred to Michael Gove as being responsible for stupid ideas in the Exchequer when I should have placed the blame firmly with George Osborne. I have corrected the more recent posts, but I have little doubt that, should I waste the time to go through previous episodes of these Beaker annals, I've done it elsewhere.

But it's just, it seems to me, a reflection of the general mood of suspicion - of Gove-inism, if you will - around the Beaker community. We have always had a need of a bogey on which to blame misfortune, or to warn small children from straying. Thomas Hardy speaks in ROTN of the "reddleman", the wandering sheep-dye-seller whom the children of Egdon Heath feared. In the Shuck-infested, Wicked-Lady-haunted Beds/Herts borders of my childhood, it would indeed be the bogeyman himself who lurked in wait. That or the hippies. While for other generations it has been Napoleon, the fairies and - for modern readers of certain newspapers - Muslims who cause all the world's woes.

But around our community, all these bugbears seem to have been replaced. If a Beaker child in Little Pebbles is unusually borisine, they will be told "Michael Gove's going to write you a preface." If the milk is spoilt in our small Beaker dairy shed, the milkpeople will conclude "Govey's been". If the butter won't churn they get some of the local Quivering Brethren to say a prayer against "Butter Michael".

It speaks to our deepest fears - our primaevel instinct that there are dark forces, beyond our Ken*. Things we cannot control, that science is unable to measure - just waiting for our attention to slip before they bring foul, arcane darkness into our lives.

So you can call it superstition. But we will continue to hang the Gove Stones up in the Nammitting Shed. We will draw chalk circles, lest Govey should sneak in and start presenting King James Bibles with his picture on the front. And we will continue to warn the Little Beaker Children, whenever they express a desire to play in Witch's Spinney,

"Watch out and don't stray. Or Michael Gove's gonna get you!"

(*Livingstone)

Gift Aid

Tall Rich has published rather a good, fairly simple, guide to the way that Gift Aid works. I say"simple"...

Nothing is simple in the world of tax, which is why there are always loopholes. The previous Government more or less quadrupled tax legislation, introduced tax "allowances" for working families which effectively brought benefits into HMRC, and left as many loopholes as there were before.

But the way in which Gift Aid works for higher-rate (ie over about £43K) taxpayers works is fascinating. The Government has spun it as if it means that these people are taking home more money as a result of giving to Charity. They're not, as Richard's sums show. They're taking home less. The Charity gets all the real benefit. But the thing that irks Little George is that the Government loses out. There's lots of good reasons to give to Charity. One reason is that you really approve of the cause - be it a church, foreign aid, saving confused dolphins, or giving holidays to orphans. Another is that you may think charities are less prone to inefficiency, political interference and general gormlessness than the Government. You may well have a point.

Or you may have bought into the Government's rhetoric of "The Big Society", and decided that if the State needs to pull in its horns after years of quite palpable and enormous waste, then you'll allocate money to those that the Government is hoping will take up the slack - the people that care in the voluntary sector for the homeless, the less able, the old. Well if you did April Fool. The Government want you to support the voluntary sector - and they want your money for themselves as well.

Have you thought of investing in some kind of offshore trust? I hear they're quite popular among some.

Beating Posh People with Sticks to Get the Demons Out

You know, often people will come to see me and say, "Archdruid, I'm very posh and I think God hates me. What are you going to do about it?"

And it's a very complex question. After all, some might say, if somebody is very posh, clearly God is going to hate them. What else, being a loving and forgiving God, could God possibly do?

But I don't go along with this. Love the posh person, beat out the poshness. That's what I say.

And I do believe that posh people can change. Obviously, they can give the Beaker People all their money. That makes them - at least, in a measurable kind of way - less posh. Although it doesn't affect their posh voices. Well, it does. Some of the richer ones can almost have a sob in their voices as they tell me how I've lightened the load on them. By the way, don't forget that thanks to George Osborne's stupid charitable giving changes, it's better for you to give me money this year, rather than next. And it's better for me as well. So give early!

But just giving your money away doesn't make you less posh inside. No, for that, real, deep, spiritual changes need to be made. In the old days, Beaker People used to deal with posh people by throwing stones at them. After a short period of this kind of treatment, they could barely be described as posh at all.

But the Nanny State had to step in, didn't it. So now we're not allowed to throw stones at posh people as a form of healing at all. And so we've needed to resort to the other traditional Beaker way of dealing with all basically evil ailments.

Beating people with sticks to drive out demons.

As long as we describe it as a "traditional faith-based therapy", the Government don't touch us. Obviously, we don't just go round beating any old posh people we meet with sticks to drive out the demons. Oh no - that would be wrong. And, more importantly, illegal. For us to beat a posh person with sticks, they've got to want to stop being posh. They've got to need to change. They've got to believe that we can change them. They've got to sign the contract that says it's not our fault if we beat them too hard with sticks. Because let's face it, it's not as if we like posh people - that's why they need changing. It's easy to get carried away with the beating.

And there's always the dangers of regression. After an hour or two of beating people with sticks, some start to imagine they're back at Eton or Winchester. And then they can become posher than ever.

But we do find that beating people with sticks gives results. After a few hours' treatment, they can start using words that are barely posh at all. And when they remember how much we're charging for the treatment, they can go positively Anglo-Saxon. At this point we stick a label on them saying "Formerly Posh".

That's why we're putting a banner on the Beaker Minibus. It says "Are you posh? We can beat you with sticks to get the demons out." We reckon it's gonna draw them in. And not be taken, in the Woburn area, as deliberate anti-posh sloganising at all.

On the Evolution of Thumbs / On t evolution f Fums

(An electronic text that has fallen through a wormhole from 1 million AD (After Darwin)

N so we kn c how the hmn race evolved fru t use f fums.

Twas t smrtfone made tlkin fru ur fums ez. N at 1st twas jst supplementary 2 oral comms. But wiv txt n Twitter (may its name b blessed) this all changed. Ppl dint need 2 speak ne more. Stead f fonin they'd txt. N then std of meetin up they'd tweet-up.

N when comms fru keyboard was more widely used than speakin t ppl best able to find mates was ones wiv dextrous fums. N so was competitive selection n the fums genes prevailed.

In fact by time ppl wd just txt each uva evn f they was sittin nxt 2 each uva there was a nu jump 4wd. A mutatiom arose where pls speech centres in their brains bekum more closely wired 2 their hands. Wiv no need 4 oral speech they lost the ability to use it. Spoken language woz last heard n a backward tribe of "Cockernees", in a place called Walthamstow, morn 500,000 yrs ago.

2day, freed from the thought-forms enforced by the tyranny of oral speech, we k express ourselves more beautifully thn those primitive Homo Nokians, r ancestors fm the distant past. But woy hv we lost? As r fums bk more dextrous, we k no longer push drawing pins in2 walls. We k no longer hold heavy objects like those brutes did - brooms or kettles. Tug-of-war is a game of the past. We must control all r liftin machines fru our fones. But we have gained beautiful, useful fums. In jst 1M yrs we hv kum along way. 

Hermeneutically Sealed

I'm really pleased with the new range of Beaker convenience foods we're charging extortionate amounts for in the Bazaar.

There's organic walnuts in whole-food brown sugar: free-range fish fingers: unbleached digestive biscuits and a whole array of other un-tampered-with delights.

And we're using a special new method of hermeneutic sealing. It doesn't make the food any fresher - it just means you have to get to grips with what you mean by eating: what method of interpretation do you apply when reading the ingredients? For example - when the packet says "in a traditional Greek style" - do you imagine the pine groves around the forest of Salmacis? Do you enjoy a brief "Shirley Valentine" moment as you imagine leaping, carefree, into the Ionian? Or do you realise that what we mean is that we borrowed a stupid amount of money to build the packing line, and we've not the faintest idea how to pay it back?

It's a complex but rewarding new food preservation technology, is hermeneutical sealing.

Clergy Sports Day

Forgot to mention but it was a typically busy Clergy Sports Day yesterday.
I was pleased to come first in "throwing the tea light". Obviously I get a lot of practice - but a strong showing from the Catholics this year. There's clearly more tea lights out there than I realise.
Tennis was a bit of a disaster all round, though. The usual complaints that the only teams to enter the Bishops' Mixed Doubles were the Lutherans and the Episcopalians. While in the Men's Singles, the Greek Orthodox competitor demanded a much bigger court, to cope with his enormously long services. The Episcopalians have asked if we can introduce a Men's Mixed Doubles next year, but some of the other Anglicans say if we do, they're not turning up. The Church of England is in two minds on this one but says if we give it 20 years, they may be able to put another resolution to Synod, and they hope any potential competitors will still be fit then? Not "fit" like that. Don't go getting any ideas of that kind....
Once again, the Anglican-only "throwing the Church-warden's Wand" competition was very popular. Although every year we have to explain that though the event is like the javelin, you don't have to get the wand to stick into the Church-warden for the distance to count.
We bent the rules slightly to allow the nuns to enter a side in the Rugby 7s. Never again. Disqualified for biting. And that was just the touch-judge they provided.
Down at the pool, the 25m backstroke was a strange event. Some of the Anglicans refused to go swimming as they'd done it as a child, but couldn't remember much about it. Some said OK they'd swim but they were only pretending to take part - a kind of renewal of their 25m badge from Sunday School - and could we not tell their Bishop?.
And a strange victory speech from Otto, of the Not-so-Free Calvinists. He said he was always destined to win the 100m, and once he knew that, nothing could stop him. While silver-medallist Phil, from the Totally Free Arminians, said that the problem was that although he'd trained for the race, and he'd run the race, and encouraged others to join in, he'd fallen back at the last minute instead of pressing on for the prize.
Of course, there was controversy in the rowing. The Pentacostals complained that, once again only the C of E and the Catholics were allowed to enter. Although the Greek Orthodox couldn't complain, as the Lutherans have repossessed their boat. Halfway through the race, Sydney jumped out of the Anglican boat and swam across to join the Catholic one, in case next year there's a female cox. Oddly enough, both sides were happy. The Catholics were just pleased to have somebody under 60 in the boat. And the Anglicans said Sydney's been using the Catholic rowing style for ages anyway. While the whole hoo-hah distracted from the real problem, which is that the Public haven't been interested in rowing for years.
And it was a nice role-reversal at the end, when we got some famous sports people to lead the closing worship. Although Mario Balotelli's not getting the Thurifer job again. Took us hours to put out the vestry. Mr Dalglish, the choir-master, has denied that, just because they're out of tune, some aren't singing, and they all go at different speeds, the choir is underperforming. And the altar call lasted forever. Sir Alex Feguson said that, since nobody had come forward, clearly the hymn wasn't long enough - and we'd have to keep singing "Jesus, take me as I am" until we got the result he wanted.
Finally, once again, I'd like to thank the Methodists for their strong support and dedication. They're only a small denomination. And yet they managed to put up a participant on every single committee.

No Doubting Thomas

In the old days, Thomas the Twin was seen as - if not a bad guy - a weak one. The one who didn't really believe.

Or so we're told. I was thinking about it the other day. And I reckon that if I had a penny for every time I'd heard a post-modern sermon explaining how in fact Thomas was the sensible one, the one who had absolutely no reason to believe - how we should all be, in fact, like Thomas - I'd have about 30p.

In fact I'm beginning to think that nobody every really called Thomas "Doubting Thomas". He has always really been "Sensible, Cynical Thomas who is Prepared to go with the Evidence" - and "Doubting" Thomas is the one whom we just claim people believed in, in the same way we claim the people of old thought the Earth was flat (they didn't, for the most part - people didn't laugh at Christopher Columbus and he wasn't any kind of threat to the Catholic Church) - or that the whole Christian church argued with Darwin's Theory of Evolution (it didn't. We didn't invent Fundamentalism for another 50 years after Origin of the Species).

So let's forget the stereotypes, wipe the slate clean, and start again. And you can argue about the historicity
 of the story, or the traditions that led to it, or the discrepancies with Matthew and what-not - but let's not. Let's just take the story as it is.

First thing in the morning, there is a kerfuffle. There is an empty tomb, Peter sees the unoccupied cave. John (assuming he is the Beloved Disciple) believes in the Resurrection. Mary goes one better and sees the Lord. Jesus gives her some instructions - "don't hold onto me" and then leaves her. She rushes off to tell the disciples.

So that evening, we've 10 disciples, some mates and presumably some women (including possibly Our Lady, Salome etc) holed up in a house. They're scared, they're confused and according to Mark only St Mary Mag has seen Our Lord, although John is convinced. And they're scared of the Jewish authorities so they're locked in. Jesus appears among them, pronounces a blessing, gifts them the Holy Spirit, and presumably, after a brief conversation of which John records just a brief summary, melts away in much the way he came.

Thomas turns up. Where's he been? Shopping? Drowning his sorrows? I favour the second answer, as it seems to fit in with his rather expansive remark. "I'll believe it when I can put my hand in his side." So it's not as if Thomas never believes his mates. On the evidence of John and Mary he's believed that Jesus had a spear put in his side - he's believed all the details of the crucifixion. But the details of the Resurrection - that's another matter. Is he being sarcastic? Setting a perfectly reasonable test of evidence? Or is it hyperbole - effectively saying that the Resurrection of Jesus is so unlikely that he'll put his hand in his side if it happens? It seems that Thomas is weighing the reliability of his mates against the unlikelihood of the event. Which is fair enough. If Hnaef tells me that it's raining outside, I'll get my brolly before I go out. If he tells me there's a unicorn in the garden, I'll have a look out before I start rooting around in the cupboard looking for the Unicorn Pellets. They make dreadful holes in your lettuces, do unicorns. But then they're mythical, so you don't automatically assume they're running amok in the garden.

So "Jesus stabbed in side with spear" - friends averagely reliable - Thomas believes.

"Jesus walking through doors, alive and well and breathing the Holy Spirit" - friends still averagely reliable, but dead-beat, frightened, probably seriously short of sleep (like all clergy by Easter Sunday evening) - Thomas doubts. Doesn't disbelieve - just doubts.

He then spends a week as his mates are all going round - "Isn't it great about Jesus being alive again"; "I wonder if he'll turn up again"; "For a day or two there, Jesus had me going." Thomas is in a strange kind of world - wanting to believe, but not quite able to. After all, his friends are going to be pretty consistent, albeit they're not getting any braver.

And so the next Sunday. There they all are. Thomas has not left John' s side for 7 days. That's why Thomas is "the twin". He's been going around hanging on to John, sticking to him like a shadow. He's not slipped out for a quick one this time. It's been a week, a whole week of annoyance and frustration, but he's stuck with it. And he's reckoning that, if ever, this is when Jesus is going to turn up.

Sees Jesus, sums up situation - "My Lord and my God". No bluster, no doubts. Just one of the most heretical things a devout Jew could say - in a perfectly sensible and adequate response to the evidence. Not the evidence of his flaky mates - the evidence of his own eyes. He sums up the evidence perfectly.

I do like Thomas. He's the brave one who says "well we may as well go to Jerusalem and die with him". I say "brave" - "desperate" might be another word; again, "cynical" might be another. But he can reckon up the probabilities of what may happen if they go to Jerusalem - calls it about right, let's face it - and still figure it's worth going with it - because if Jesus goes to Jerusalem without them, after all, what have they got left?

He's the one who effectively says "I'm not saying I don't believe you - I'm just saying give me the evidence". And he's the one who makes the leap that the others couldn't manage in a week. Imagine that week as he's thinking - "If I don't see Jesus, he's just a dead rabbi. If I do see Jesus - there's only one thing he can be. If I don't see Jesus, we just go back to normal. If I do see Jesus - I'm going to have to bow and worship. If I don't see Jesus, things are still what they seem. If I do see Jesus - there's something very different about the world, all of a sudden."

Thomas is our voice. His mates have shared their faith - he's said thank you, that's very interesting. But I need a bit more. He's the perfectly reasonable one who hangs on for a bit more evidence. Of course, he gets a lot more.

Wish we got that much more. We go on Thomas and the others, their lives and particularly their deaths, the conviction that Jesus' nature makes him the best human being there ever was and the wholly improbable way that the church grew, and suffered, and grew. To be honest, it would be a lot easier to believe if Jesus turned up in the Moot House one day and showed us his wounds.

Maybe that's why we're more blessed than Thomas?

America Floods the Moot House

Since the Great Drought was declared round here, it's done nothing but rain. Today, for the first time in what seems like a week,  the weather dawns bright, the sun reflecting off the newly-filled ponds and the water flowing round and through the Moot House. Yes, it rained a lot yesterday.

Some would say building a place of worship at the bottom of a hollow, and then paving every bit of the hollow, and filling all the gaps with cement which thus made it impervious to water, is quite a good way to ensure that there's two feet of water in it after all yesterday's rain. And yes, diverting the brook under the floor for ceremonial purposes has also been cited as we investigated this morning's flooding.

But I blame Climate Change. American gas-guzzlers are responsible for our flooded Moot House. It is not my fault at all.