In Other News

They're home, by the way. I'm glad the Dower House is a long way down the drive. Celestine has a fine set of lungs. And it means I couldn't hear Young Keith singing as he staggered back from the White Horse every night until the girls got back today.

Hnaef has taken to being up at 3am to "take calls with Japan". I don't know why, but I've been encouraging him to knit while he's at it. I've told him it's like meditation - keeps him at one ith the early mornings. And we need a lot of miniature knitware. Soon be Xmas.

Reality Religious TV

You know, it's time the Religious TV world got past Songs of Praise and people putting their hands on the screen to be healed. And re the latter - I tell you, that was the most extreme "Gardener's Question Time" I've seen.

The rest of the world has headed from actually creating anything, into only producing things in the "reality" genre a long time. But with a few exceptions, the world of religious programming never really caught up. So here's a few ideas. If a producer wants to discuss any of them, so we can you know where I am......

The Ex-Catholic Factor - A group of wannabe atheists explain why they still feel guilty

America's Next Top Modalist - Who will be the next heretic to grace American screens?

Embarrassing Baptists - People explain why their views got them thrown out of the Evangelical Alliance

Strictly Liturgical Dancing - People older than Bruce Forsyth dance round sundials to 1970s choruses

Keeping up with the Carmelites - Volunteers realise that just cos they don't wear shoes, that doesn't mean the nuns can't run

Red or Black - Can you guess the rank of the Catholic churchman from the colour of his biretta?

Donatist Whisperer - People with a strict view of church fidelity are introduced to the true meaning of grace.

Thuribles and Tiaras - Forward in Faith's Big Night Out

The Only Way is Walsingham - A bunch of priests go to the "Bull". Every night.

The 1900 Strict Baptist Church - A group of Strict Baptists recreate the way life was 100 years ago. It's exactly the same.

Anglo-Catholic Eye for the Evo Guy - Evangelicals are talked into ditching their tweed jackets, chinos and ties for fiddleback chasubles and maniples.

Changing Romes -  The Pope makes all the other Popes into saints when they least expect it.

Amorite Idol - Baal, mostly.

How Cold is Your Church? - Aggie and the other one try to determine how come, at absolute zero, it is still possible to sing hymns

Who wants to be a Millenialist? - Multiple-choice quiz in which people try to work out when the End will come.

Mythbusters - A bunch of people who wrote liberal theological books in the 60s admit they don't really believe in God.

I'm a Coenobite, Get me out of Here! - The monks who have had enough.

The Bachelor (Vatican)  - All of them.

Disinherited Big Brother - An Old Testament motif gag. Sorry to anyone who hasn't done that course.

In a Blasted Chinese Restaurant

Sister 1: Nah, forget the eye of newt.  I'll have spring rolls, chicken chow mein, and anyone want to share some spare ribs?

Sister 2: What, no toads?

Sister 3: Nope. They've got king prawns - they're kind of fishy......

Sister 2: What kind of a Blasted Heath is this?

Sister 1: It's not.  It's a blasted Chinese restaurant.

Sister 3: But who are those posh kids then?

Sister 1: They're a bunch of ever-so-clever types from Harvard. Come to celebrate a Black Mass to upset the authorities.

Sister 2: What, you mean that thing the Catholic Church made up so it could persecute poor folk like us?

Sister 1: Yep. They're challenging the hegemony of Catholic supremacy in a form that it invented out of its own imagination.

Sister 2: And while they're challenging the Church, what are these rich white kids going to do about the hegemony of the privileged white classes?

Sister 3: What do you think?

Sister 2: And they are aware that this kind of stuff was done by English college kids in the 19th Century? Based on a club that is older than their country, let alone their college?

Sister 1: That's history. This is America. Do I have to draw you a picture?

Sister 2: So they're endangering their souls as a petty act of rebellion that was first thought of three hundred years ago, in a ritual whose form was dreamt up by the people they're trying to annoy?

Sister 3: Pretty rock and spring roll, eh?

Sister 2: Ah well, I won't bother with the tongue of dog. I'll have a beef chop suey.

Ozzy Osborne: 'Ere! Whadda all these posh American kids doing here?

Sister 1: Shut up, Ozzy, and eat your bat.

Exeunt Omnes, pursued by the press.

* NB - the precise details of a childish thing done (or possibly not) by a bunch of young rich Americans are still uncertain. This recreation is for educational purposes only.

Saying Things in Love

Some advice on saying things "in love".

Don't. It would probably be more productive just to say them to score points.  At least you just leave the person you're saying them to angry, not angry but weirdly conflicted.

And maybe you think I'm saying this just to score points off of you, if you are the sort of person who really does say things in love. But I'm not.  I'm actually saying it in love.

Always Next Year

Football fans understand long waits and disappointments. For Liverpool fans, the wait for that precious title stretches back 20 years. For Bristol Rovers fans, there is the little bereavement of relegation to the Conference. For fans of the club formerly known as Rushden and Diamonds, dreaming of the days when they played in League 1, there lies ahead another year of the UCL Premier, playing on a muddy, borrowed pitch in the wrong South Midlands town.

And let us not mention the plight of Coventry fans. Oops, I just did.

But alongside that, football supporters understand hope. As the Premier League final whistles "blew around the country", in Radio 5 Live's evocative term, a ritual was repeated by the fans of Liverpool, Chelsea, Man Utd, Spurs, and, for all I know, Sunderland. Probably not Arsenal yet, as for them this season's pilgrimage is not yet over

"There's always next year," they said as they streamed from grounds, sat on the couch or went off to the bar for another pint.

"There's always next year" is the "How long, Lord" of the football supporter.  As the season dribbles out, or ends in disappointment or disaster or frustration. "There's always next year." Next year, with a new manager,  or a new centre half, or the youth will come through. Or a "marquee signing". Though I've never understood how a large tent helps.

It's part, I guess, of the human nature. We always dream of the something better that lies over horizon, we remember Zion in Babylon. Even geeky atheists dream of a shiny, tinfoil-and-Velcro future where cars travel in the sky, voting is by telepathy, politics is a subset of physics and robotic women are interested in geeky atheists.

And so the wait goes on, with delights just over the horizon. The Christians cry "Maranatha". And in ten thousand pubs, the football fans repeat the ancient incantation. Maybe not the League. But, at least, maybe next year we'll make it to Wembley.

Not Because of the Swingers

Meanwhile in the weird world of the BBC, a DJ has got the sack because he accidentally played an offensive song. This is where BBC excels. Apparently a complete mistake is a sacking offence. But hosting a programme called "Swingers and Stingers" (or, apparently, "Singers and Swingers"? Apparently, in the go-ahead, wife-swapping BBC that's fine. Even if they don't know what their own programme is called.

Not Because it was Fun, Honest

The owner of Chris Rhea wonders why she was shot by a gamekeeper. The gamekeeper's reason for doing this is apparently not that he had the opportunity to shoot a giant bird so why not, but rather that it was a danger to traffic.

Yes I can see that a 6 foot bird wandering the roads could be a problem to traffic. But so can deer. I didn't notice in the article that the gamekeeper was planning to lay waste the entire deer population of North Hertfordshire.

All We Like Sheep

John 10: ‘Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.’ Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

Down here in the rolling lands of the South Midlands, or East Anglia, or Northern Home Counties or whatever you want to call us, shepherds and sheep don't always have the same relationship, it seems, as they did in Jesus's time. All that gentle calling and they follow; all that cutesy loveliness of the carol, "The Little Road to Bethlehem". We don't generally get to see that. I've seen shepherds herding sheep with a quad bike. I've seen a Rutland shepherd, out Belton way, screaming blue murder and swearing at his sheep because they specifically wouldn't behave like the ones in Jesus's parable. I learnt some new words that day, I can tell you.

But then I've been hearing the Twitterings of some shepherds, such as Herdwick Shepherd and Yorkshire Shepherdess, tweeted into the old timeline. And you know what, there's more similarity to the parable in modern England than you might think? Especially at this time of the year, when the lambing is just coming to an end up in the high country. The inter-dependence is as much as when Jesus told us the parable. The shepherds and the sheep cling to the land, facing the elements together. There's no wolves in Yorkshire or the Lake District, but it's still a hard land in late winter and early spring, when the ewes are lambing and the weather is stair rods one minute and freezing solid or snowing heavily the next. Then the shepherds are close to their sheep, who need them - and the job of dealing with shelter, food, births, occasional deaths, fostering brings their lives so close together. And of course the shepherds need the sheep - because without the sheep, they have no livelihood. And yes, I know all about mint sauce. But let's not spoil the pastoral image eh?

So Jesus tells the story of how our lives and his are intertwined. As sheep and their shepherd. So we learn that our lives are never alone. As sheep who go astray - to quote Isaiah - we are never allowed to go on our own way. The shepherd is always there, always looking, always watchful. Prepared - even at the cost of his own life - to cross the downs, plough through the valleys, risk the swamps to find us.

And we are indeed sheep. Left to ourselves we will break down the hedges that keep us in the green pastures. We'll roll across the cattle grids. Or, at any rate, plod across very carefully...

And the Shepherd knows that his job is to keep looking, keep worrying, keep going off and getting his woolly pals when they've decided to play in traffic yet again. Keep binding up wounds, keep looking  out for us.

And what would Jesus be trying to tell us, by calling us sheep? You know how we have some dreadful stereotypes of what sheep are like. Dim, "woolly-headed", sheepish, following the herd - you never hear somebody say that someone's as "loyal as a sheep" or "steady as a sheep" or "brave as a sheep".

Yet sheep have their moments. A mother ewe can be pretty vicious if she thinks you're after her young uns. Cumbrian sheep are bright - able to be left out on their own patch without wandering off and getting lost. They're tough as old boots. They can survive some horrendous weather. And, above all, sheep stick together.

Soay Sheep, Flag Fen. Proper Beaker Sheepy Folk

Sheep stick together. There's no idea of being a Christian on your own, anymore than you'd expect to see a sheep on its own, unless it was lost or confused. Jesus started by choosing disciples. And they attracted more. And though he went off to get peace and quiet sometimes, he never talked of solitary followers. He founded a Church. And the Church is not a bunch of individuals who happen to come together on a Sunday morning. The Church is Gods's alternative community - the outbreak in time and space of God's kingdom. The expectation is that, whether we like it or not, we are being built together into one body. And a flock of sheep isn't a bad metaphor for that. A whole bunch, acting as one body. And it doesn't matter, it appears, if we don't all get on. We don't seem to be called to be the sort of people who are called to put our own preferences first. We're part of the flock.

To be part of a flock - part of God's Church - sometimes means we have to put our own preferences second. We have to love other people - even ones who aren't particularly lovable - as ourselves. We are supposed to stick together, to work together, to meet together. We are told that we don't call our brothers and sisters fools. We should rather be offended than get our own back. We should be happy to sit at the low end of the table, rather than fighting over our place - struggling for our rights.

And because we are one flock - one body - one Church - we are close to the Shepherd. That is the reward, that is the reason, that is the incentive. I've always loved John Wesley's reported last words - "The best of all is, God is with us." Wesley, that weird mixture of High Anglicanism and Evangelicalism, knew that God is with us. God is not with me, or you, or them. God is with us. We are the sheep who hear the shepherd's call. We are the ones that recognise his voice. We are the ones that respond to his call. We are the ones he knows by name. We may have to go through some rocky country. We may have to pass through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. But if we stick together, we're told, we will find the still water, the green pasture - and at last the place where we will rest, one flock, with our Shepherd, who came to find us, to lead us, and to guard us - forever.

Biblical Literalism Cuts A Swathe through Eurovision Church

Sorry no blogging yesterday. I did write one post, but realised it was rubbish and deleted it again. I blame the visit to the Rollright Stones, and then the terrible trouble caused by fundamentalism and wading birds at our new Fresh Expression, "Eurovision Church".

Now you know me. I'm no control freak. I let people get on with their lives, ruling by exception - as recommended in Machiavelli's lesser-read sequel, "The Prince II".

Especially when it comes to the Beaker Quire. They can toot and scrape what they like, as far as I'm concerned. But with the change of leadership, I'm going to have to step in and act.

I should have seen the warning signs. Normally when somebody steps down from a role - as Radcliffe did last month - it can take years to find volunteers. But Gryzelda was offering to be the new Quire Leader three days before Radcliffe broke his strumming hand in that freak "falling down the Wishing Well" incident. Gryzelda also swears that it was an accident that she dropped Radcliffe's new phone down the well, while allegedly admiring the Google Sky app. In broad daylight. And then not being able to lean over herself due to her claustrophobia, which is why Radcliffe leaned in. And swears she only "patted him on the back to encourage him", In any case, we were glad of her offering to step in. Not into the well - that just compounded Radcliffe's problems, when Gryzelda "jumped in to help him". I mean, stepped in to lead the Quire.

Thing is, though, Gryzelda is a bit of a Biblical literalist. First up, she banned all instruments in the Quire that aren't on "God's approved list of musical instruments". Which, in Gryzelda's KJV Psalm 150, amounts to:

Trumpet; psaltery; harp; timbrel; dance;stringed instruments; organs;  loud cymbals;  high sounding cymbals.

So the ocarinas; flutes; bodhran; drum kit (excepting crash and high hat): electronic keyboards; pan pipes; theremin; kazoo; comb and paper and spoons have all been thrown out. Turns out that God hates woodwind. On the other hand, castanets get in. Because if "dance" is to be regarded as a musical instrument, then surely King David must have been thinking of flamenco.

Poor old Buzzwold is one of the finest ecclesiastical spoons-players of his generation. So he suggested to Gryzelda that perhaps the list is supposed to be an indicative list - in much the same we don't have to be Phrygians, Pamphilians, or from the area around Cyrene to gain the benefits of Pentecost. But Gryzelda told him he was an evil Liberal who was adding to God's words, and if he didn't rock up Friday evening for Eurovision Church with a timbrel, he was out.

Buzzwold, never having heard of a timbrel, went off to do his best. Now, I've no idea where he got that flock of whimbrel from, but they had quite an impact last night. Let's just say that a flock of panicking whimbrel (or is the plural "whimbrels? No matter) did much the same to the Eurovision Church as the presence of Russia does to the ideals of Eurovision. Feathers and bird poo everywhere. The poor flamenco dancers. Their outfits were ruined. And so too the Beaker Folk in the national dress of 43 nations.

We've checked, and according to the Old Testament, whimbrels are clean animals. Yeah, well God may say that. Judging by the state of the Moot House floor this morning, Darwin wouldn't agree,

Also this morning, I have received a letter from the Evangelical Alliance. Apparently due to our tolerance of Eurovision Church, we are not allowed to be members. They note that we are already not members, and therefore request that we send a subscription, so they can expel us. Whimbrels, eh? Cause all the trouble in the world.

A Rod Liddle Clerihew

Rod Liddle's views
Are attention-seeking and confused.
He's even in the dark, Son,
Compared to Jeremy Clarkson.

On Interpreting the Bible the Way I Want

One of those interesting ones, when discussing with certain atheists (not the sensible ones) the Bible. Their determination that, if I am a believer, I should read the Bible the way they think I should. Apparently to read it in a discerning manner, trying to understand its context, the situation of the authors of the various books of the wonderful compendium we have, wrestling with what God's scripture said to the generations that wrote it, and then wondering prayerfully what that means for my life in my generation - that's not what I'm meant to do. I should swallow it whole and literally.

Well, you can forget that. I never even took PW Atkins' s "Physical Chemistry" literally. Always assumed its words and diagrams were metaphors, grasping for the awesome, incredible truths our world is made up of.

And if I can keep that in mind reading a science book, how am I going to behave, reading a library of books containing metaphor, poetry, biography, law codes, invective and laments?

Precisely. Have my cake and eat it?  Too right. Have you any idea how nice cake is?