At the beginning of January I am reminded of the saying that, “Each new year is the dawn of a new error,” and nowhere is this more apparent than in the British Humanist Society’s pre-Christmas decision to advertise on the side of London buses the slogan. “There probably is no God.” Which prompted a local wit into saying, “Around here you are more likely to see God walking down the road muttering: There probably is no bus?”
In recent years Secularists have become more assertive and much legislation now has a negative influence insofar as religion is concerned. In many ways religion, and Christianity in particular, has been lampooned, parodied, analysed and generally turned into a topic of discussion in much the same way as we talk about the economy, sport or TV shows.
Some say religion has been marginalised, but to my mind it has been turned into a commodity on the shelf of the supermarket of life-style choices. This came home to me in the year 2000 when the Prime Minister of the time announced that the Millennium Dome would contain a ‘Faith Zone.’ In effect, two thousand years of Christian life had been digested down to a stand in a corner of a big tent. It was as if Tesco had lost faith in its own branded products, put them in a corner of somebody else’s store and was then surprised that when the buying public realised that Tesco had lost faith in its own products, it stopped buying them. Of course Tesco wouldn’t do such a thing and, in my view, neither should Westminster Politicians. They should state that Britain is what it is today because of its predominant Christian philosophical heritage, and they should be as confident about that as Tesco is about its own label baked beans.
A couple of months ago I attended the funeral of the mother of an elderly bachelor friend. After the service, he told me that he now feels like a ship in dangerous waters without a rudder, and so I hope he will soon establish a course for life that will keep him clear of rocks and icebergs. Talking of icebergs however, reminds me of a childhood Sunday School Teacher named George Morris. He said that two thirds of an iceberg is under water and can’t be seen, and so when we come across an iceberg we had better give it a wide berth. I understand now that George was giving us a metaphor for life and telling us to beware of the things that are attached but hidden.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in the small print of contracts, and amending their details has saved me a lot of money over the years. The most important example was when I amended my endowment mortgage contract to allow it to be paid off as circumstances allowed. The bank took three years to notice and then wanted to change it back. I declined and was jolly glad I did, because the endowment policies alone would not have been enough to clear the debt.
I reckon George would have been pleased that his pupils listened because although uneducated and having a lowly job in a factory, he spent most of his spare time at the Wesleyan Chapel doing odd jobs, and organising social events for youngsters.
Nowadays, he would need criminal record checks, qualifications, special permits and licences to work with children, and my guess is that he wouldn’t dare to try for fear of falling foul of some law or other. In which case, a whole generation of people would have missed out on the simple service he brought to a huge number of impressionable youngsters.
Today’s Sunday School Teachers need certificates to talk to children and I cannot help but think that the current culture of fear owes much to a lack of trust, faith and confidence in our history. It also makes me wonder, if the people who put posters on the sides of London’s Buses (presumably to influence children) also need certificates.
View from the Pew 