Last Sunday we went to church.
OK, I'll pause to give you time to recover. I know it is hard to understand exactly why a couple of hard-nosed scientific atheists might venture into a church but there - we are nothing if not adventurous.
For those in the know the day was the fourth Sunday in Advent and a good day for the Festival of Nine Lesson and Carols (often held on Christmas even in fact). It holds some especial fascination which I shall return to but our true reason for attending was pure curiosity. We know quite a lot of people in Lyng now and some wear their Christianity close to their sleeves; others wear it more lightly and less visibly.
The numbers were good - 60 and they had nine different readers of the lessons. Average age however was closer to use than the handful of children present. Our new Priest in Charge, Lyn Page was resplendent in a white cassock and settling in well. Sadly there is no choir and the carols were pitched a bit high, leaving the less skilled mumbling badly.
The congregation included many we knew and expected to see there. And others were newer faces although being Christmas maybe they are more like us and rare visitors.
But enough of that. Given a near 50 years gap between attendances what did we think of it? As the other Christmas comedian would have said, "Not a lot".
This is an odd service in some ways of course. The Christmas story is, bizarrely given its is for Christians, an Old Testament tale really Its all about Jews in dusty and faraway places like Nazareth and Bethlehem. The God of these stories is the Judaic God of vengeance and rage at the weakness of his alleged creations. We get the hints of some new world to come which, if we believe it,will be different. But different to what? Given our English unfamiliarity of the world of the Nazarene two millenia ago different is a bit of a mystery itself.
Of course the filters between us and whatever really happened are immense - not just the spin doctors, Peter and Paul writing feverishly to assuage and even evangelise the Romans, but hundreds of years of interpretation and revision. Most recently the richness of the language of the King James version (which made up for in magnificence what the story lacks in plausibility) has been watered down (dumbed?) to milk sop inanity that can sound even worse on the lips of well-meaning but untutored readers.
The songs we sing (not me actually, utterly tone incapable) however are of a very different age and reason. Inappropriate and even wholly misleading Westernisations of the Nazarene's world and brim-full of tub-thumping enthusiasm for a faith that, at the time celebrated, was totally alien and unknown to Mary, Joseph, assorted shepherds and mystified but beneficent mystics.
Even 50 years ago I found it all hopelessly fanciful. Today it just feels a bit silly.
But yet... the spirit of Christmas is worth much and does, still just about rise above the desperate commercialisation it has been doomed to by our Victorian forebears and massaged by our American cousins. It should be about giving, caring, sharing. About hope and commitment. And a lot of it still is.
But then... a bunch of kids in a Norfolk school are asked what Christmas is all about and answer "Father Christmas!" Bad-ish but it gets worse for the somewhat affronted priest utters in shock "Father Christmas isn't real!".
And the media sharks circle for the kill, sticking another nail in the already bitten foot. And then they fail to get to the point, struggling to convince anyone that the chubby chap from Lapland and his Disney-esque reindeer are what 'believing' in Father Christmas is about.
Oh please - let the kids grow into their own decisions. Father Christmas is Santa Claus. And he is a representation of someone who did indeed live: as King Nicholas, latterly Bishop of Myra in third century Turkey and a thoroughly good chap who used his fortune to feed and clothe the book. A walking Food Bank who was beatified for his work. Fully within the spirit of Christmas.
Go on kids, believe in him, learn the lesson and when you get to the point where your light dawns... make sure your kids at least start out believing in something better (and not Sky!).
Such thoughts remained as the last carols died away and the finals blessing was offered. We shook hands with our new priest in white brocades and stepped out into the real world. It was still there...
No comments:
Post a Comment