The Guild THOUGHT FOR THE DAY Winter 2006 to 2007 Tuesday 20 February 2007 Today’s pancake day and when I was growing up in Yorkshire that was a pretty big deal. It was one of the few times there would be fresh lemons in our house and there would be general hilarity surrounding the meal as my dad had a go at tossing the pancakes. In some communities there’d be pancake races – a kind of egg and spoon race for grown ups involving frying pans . OK so it wasn’t exactly Mardi Gras on the scale of New Orleans, but it was a welcome mini festivity in the long winter haul from Christmas to Easter. At that time I hadn’t much of a clue about the real significance of Shrove Tuesday, to give today its ecclesiastical name. It’s the last day before the start of Lent, one last blow out of over – indulgence, using up all the goodies in the house before the symbolic giving up of sweet things for the next forty days. But the meaning of shrove comes from shrive, the old word for confess. People would examine themselves, confess their sins and be forgiven before Lent , that period when Christians try to identify with Jesus’ time of physical privation and spiritual torment in the wilderness. You don’t hear much about shriving these days and perhaps it’s because that interior journey of self examination and holding to account is actually much harder than going without chocolate or alcohol for a few weeks. Really looking at ourselves and getting rid of the greed and the guilt isn’t going to be much fun, but it’s necessary if we’re going to be able to go the distance and be of much use to others. God knows, we don’t lack for wilderness in our world now. Violence, neglect and abuse are the lonely deserts of many people’s lives today. To journey there and bring some warmth and shelter and refreshment requires us to be fit for the purpose, - not by cutting back on the chocolates, but by ditching our prejudices and re-ordering our priorities so that we have the strength and commitment to bring some comfort and joy to the bleak places. Wednesday 14 February 2007 The postman doesn’t deliver to my house till mid-morning, so I don’t know yet how many valentines will be waiting for me when I get home. Not enough to have given him a hernia as he struggled up the path, I’m sure. But I have had my share over the years : cards, flowers, fluffy toys, chocolates, even poetry. One of the best lines I ever read on a valentine card, tho’ sadly not dedicated to me, was by the German writer, Hermann Hesse and it said this : If I know anything of love, it is because of you. Not, you’ll notice, because of any particular thing that’s been said or done or promised, but just because of who and what that special someone is. The Bible sometimes strikes me as a kind love story, full of the joys and sorrows of human existence, and the search for God and the real meaning of love. “Whoever loves is born of God, and knows God, for God is love”. That’s one of the ways the Bible tries to describe love, and God. It says that the most powerful kind of love is exhausting, lonely, and never-ending. It’s the love which Jesus demonstrates in his encounters with the people around him. Lately some popular fiction has exploited our appetite for scandal by suggesting a romantic affair between Jesus and Mary Magdalene or raising questions about his relationship with John, the disciple he loved, when the real shocker is surely that he loved, and went on loving, Judas, who betrayed him. That kind of loving, through the pain of disappointment and the shock of betrayal, isn’t in the least romantic. It’s tough, and it’s relentless, because it doesn’t end with Judas. As someone who believes in the reality of divine love, I keep on testing that love to its very limits in a thousand small betrayals and acts of meanness every day. But if I know anything of love it is because of Jesus. It’s what he does, it’s who he is. Tuesday 6 February 2007 If the internet is the new omniscient God of our age, one of its major prophets must surely be Bill Gates, who visited Scotland recently. In one interview he outlined his dreams for advances in robotics and interactive computing. “A mirror won’t just be a mirror”, he said, “it will be a digital mirror where you can try out different outfits and get advice.” He’s looking forward to a time when the average home has screens everywhere, but I have some misgivings. The thought of my mirror telling me I ‘don’t look good in that,’ is one I find pretty chilling. Bill Gates enthused about the benefits of living in such a technologically advanced house where, for example, our holiday snaps will be on screen to greet us when we arrive home. It’ll be whole a new way of recording our memories, more complete than even the most organised photo albums. But what about being confronted by those pictures we’d rather not see? Such a comprehensive record of our life could, he granted, make it a whole lot harder for us to disavow things. That struck a chord with me. The tendency to disavow what doesn’t suit our version of events and to rewrite history goes beyond that personal reluctance to admit to the more embarrassing moments of our holidays. Last week we marked holocaust memorial day, but there are still people who want to persuade us that it never really happened. And there’s another problem undermining our understanding of history, as damaging as outright denial, and that’s simply the failure to pass it on. That’s how Hitler was able to quell the doubts of his henchmen with the rhetorical question, “Who now remembers the annihilation of the Armenians?” It’s fashionable to say we learn nothing from history, but that’s no reason to stop trying. Those events that shape our culture and beliefs are our children’s heritage. We can pass on that heritage all neatly packaged in our sacred books, or sepia photographs or Bill Gates’ interactive computers. But it’s for every generation then to unpack the truth that’s in there and use it to make sense of the world we’re leaving them. Tuesday 30 January 2007 The decision Sinn Fein took this weekend to support the police service in Northern Ireland has been hailed as a historic breakthrough by some, while others see it as a long overdue acceptance of the rule of law - something which should go without saying in any modern democracy. And not everyone has been hanging out the flags over this development. Some dyed in the wool loyalists are sceptical about its real worth and some hard line republicans see it as a betrayal of principle. The press coverage has varied a bit too, and for me the most striking headline was the one saying, “Sinn Fein’s incredible journey continues.” That image of a journey is a helpful one, with its suggestion that things are moving on, without having actually arrived at the final destination yet. I’ve been reading a lot of travel books lately and one thing they all have in common, whether the journeys they describe are about exploring the Great Wall of China or the coastline of Scotland, is that they never go according to plan. Flight connections are missed, motorbikes break down, donkeys go lame and red tape, bandits, and sickness can all conspire to delay, derail and divert the intrepid traveller. Often these unscheduled stops and diversions are where the most interesting encounters and the most valuable experiences happen. This is also true of those journeys we make without ever leaving home – the journey from despair to hope, from fear to confidence, from doubt to faith. It’s when our progress is halted and our plans are stalled, and we have to retrace our steps or try different paths, that we find new possibilities opening up. For centuries people of faith have made pilgrimages to holy places and although it’s good to arrive, it’s what’s learned on the journey that matters. On the tortuous road from conflict to reconciliation in Northern Ireland, the kids in the back seat may already be asking “are we there yet?” but the wiser grown-ups will be thinking, “just look how far we’ve come.”