My first new year as a baby in 1939 saw British bombs being dropped on Germany, and here we are at my seventy-seventh and British bombs are still being dropped. This is not to say that we British like to drop bombs or derive pleasure from so doing; it does however tell us that Britain, for whatever reason, is the sort of nation which does not sit quietly on the periphery of global life; in fact Britain seems to attract attention from the sort of people who are not happy when we do not share their own point of view.
In 1939, it was an odd German called Adolph Hitler (The Fuehrer) who wanted us to go along with his idea of a master race comprising folk dedicated to creating Utopia by improving the human gene pool, and by shooting those considered unfit or unwilling to accept his commands. In 2016, it is an odd sort of Arab called Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi (The Caliph) who pursues his idea of Utopia by beheading Christians and anyone else who will not follow his commands.
Talking about Utopia however, makes me realise that most people in this country would think that our own Benefice is a kind of Utopia. We have a beautiful environment and all modern amenities. We have lovely and ancient architecture, a varied range of commercial and artistic activities and access to some of the finest and freshest food in the country. What is there not to like and appreciate in this area?
My own feeling is that local folk are grateful for these blessings, and show this by the way they share time and good-will amongst neighbours. Church members are to be found in about every local organisation, and this also applies to many who do not regularly attend church but whose hearts are aligned with their ancient Christian culture. We all know that every Parish Church relies on people who do not regularly attend but who, non-the-less, ring the bells, do the flowers, tidy the churchyard, maintain and clean the buildings, work on the magazine or organise or help raise funds throughout the year. My own favourite helpers are those who cook the tasty food available in every church or village hall I visit.
My Father used to say that, “One doesn’t have to attend church every Sunday to show gratitude to God”, and I recall a very early black and white TV programme set in the Middle-Ages. It showed a young but shabby travelling acrobat/jongleur, cart-wheeling, dancing and tumbling at the altar of a local abbey church. Some watchers were horrified and called it sacrilege, but the old abbot immediately saw that the starvingly gaunt figure was offering the only thing he could. Being too poor to give money the jongleur offered his acrobatic skills, and the kindly Abbot knew that his gratitude was genuine and gave his blessing.
Similar to the jongleur in that TV programme, I reckon that over a thousand folk contribute in their own unique way to the cultural and ministering role of the various churches in this area and, given the modern threats to our ancient culture, 2016 could be a good time for us to each consider a way in which we are able to ensure it continues.
Thinking of the New Year however, I have always liked the general thrust of the writings of St Paul. He thought of himself as being, as he put it, “Of all men most hopeful.” Like him I am a man of hope and believe that this coming year will allow more folks to participate in those local things that will ensure the continued blessings of our Christian culture.
Talking about local country folk and their gratitude for living in lovely places brings to mind the tale of Albert Wheaton of Hebden Bridge in Yorkshire. When his maiden aunt died he ordered a gravestone from a local company of stonemasons. However, a mistake occurred and instead of reading “She was thine.” The inscription read “She was thin.”
Somewhat annoyed, he wrote complaining that they had missed off the letter ‘e’. They rectified the error and on his next visit he noticed the corrected stone now read:
e,’ She was thin.
View from the Pew 