Do vicars do nothing?

Or to be more exact, does THIS one never do anything? It's an accusation I sometimes hear from a special needs' teacher I know. I don't blame her, because when she comes to church here she does often find me sitting in the congregation.... And I suppose you, dear blog reader, might feel the same. 'Surely Christmas MUST give him something to write about. Has NOTHING happened in his little world?' Well, my excuse is I've just had too much happening. I've been too busy. I'm sorry if you feel neglected. Nothing personal.

Hopefully you'll have been following instead Aleem Maqbool's progress from Nazareth to Bethlehem in company with a donkey (or to be more exact five donkeys in succession) on the BBC. His favourite was No 3, the magic donkey, which I think he got onto in a couple of days having had bad experiences with his first two. No 4 wasn't much better, though she looked all right, and No 5 only had to get from the Donkey Sanctuary near Bethlehem into 'the city of David'. The fact that the Bible doesn't mention Mary and Joseph using a donkey doesn't matter, as the main interest turned out to be the ground level view at walking pace of that incredibly divided area. It's worth reading - and while you do, you might like to guess which donkey I identified with most!

However it's true I'm a lot slower doing all the stuff I used to plough through before Christmas. But we still had a good Christmas here. A nice country celebration, Carols by Candlelight, Crib Service, 'Midnight' Communion (actually ours is at 10 o'clock, dating back to when the Anchor's throwing out time was 11 on Christmas Eve - the church is on the main path through the village) and then a full house on Christmas morning. I don't know how many came through the church over the week. I guess about 350 to 400. Which suggests that faith isn't dead, or even dying. Which I hope gives some people who say God has had his day pause for thought.

Of course popularity is no proof of truth, any more than voting on Strictly Come Dancing indicates the best dancer. Personally I thought Tom Chambers and Camilla Dallerup's show dance WAS a show stopper, ideally suited to him, even though I'd accept the judges' verdict that he wasn't the best all-round dancer. But the people voted with their 'phones. Coming back to Christmas, it stretches scepticism beyond reason to doubt the fact of Jesus' birth. And that's the foundation of the good news, that the creator of the universe lived a human existence. And it's good news for everyone, so the more get to hear it the better as far as I'm concerned.

News this week

Just back from my one celebrity engagement, 'turning on' the lights of the Stanford Village Christmas tree, except of course my good friend Peter had to do the physical throwing the switch as I couldn't get to it. Still there we were on the Green, the handbell-ringers playing and the rest of us singing carols. Ah, village life.

If only life was all that simple. But it's not. Much of this week, it feels, I've spent thinking about assisted suicide, prompted by the film on Sky on Wednesday night of Craig Ewert dying in the Dignitas clinic in Zurich. He had MND, I guess his type was ALS as it was more aggressive than mine, though his speech was clearer than mine has been for a long time. Not having a dish I only watched the clips that Sky released for the news channels. I'm not sure I'd have wanted to watch the entire thing. To be honest, I don't think showing suicide of any sort on TV is helpful. I'd not want to make a judgement about those who take their own lives. I have a buried a number, and it always seems to me that we're not in a position to plumb the depths of such a person's mind and soul. I know that I don't want to choose that exit route and actually I don't think I'm entitled to, for reasons I outlined in the chapter 'Enigma' in 'My Donkeybody'.

It was a surprise on Wednesday when I received an email from my publishers saying The Independent would like to run an article for the next day on assisted suicide from my point of view. 'Wow!' I thought. 'I'm not sure I can be coherent enough. But better give it a go.' Fortunately the journalist who contacted me was very helpful and suggested cutting and editing extracts from the book, with additional bits to link it to the news items. So that's what I did, and it ended up on three pages, with the headline, 'I don't want the right to die.' What took me back somewhat was the reaction to the feature of commenters on the website. I thought Independent readers would read thoughtfully and argue rationally! Maybe it's just internet commenters who don't.

Correcting mistakes

I hope Rob from Sheffield won't mind my quoting at length his comment on my last post. He writes from experience of working with many people with Down's Syndrome, and although he agreed with my feeling that we are more tolerant of disabilities he warned against over-optimism:

'The problem seems to arise when families are no longer able to care for people who cannot independently cope physically and/or mentally. They then have to turn to charitable organisations or the State for residential care.

'Facilities are limited and a strong case has to be put forward for appropriate care. All to often people who have Downs are reliant on the determination and articulate presentation by parents, carers or advocates to get results! Like life, it is very much a lottery.

'Down's children are living much longer these days and whilst there are some, as with other disabilities, that can cope with life fairly independently to a good age, the infrastructure they/we rely on is not always that reliable!

'We have moved a long way with social integration, but there is still, in my opinion some distance to go.'

I take your point, Rob. It's well made and worth repeating.

And to be honest I think it's fundamentally more important than most that grabs the headlines these days - even than our economic woes, even though I must admit that I can foresee only increasing gloom on that front and a lot of personal misery, especially with those who can't afford it. It was with some astonishment that I heard about the troubles of the Large Hadron Collider (which I was so excited about, when it was launched). Apparently it was caused by a single electrical fault which caused a magnet to move, dislodging a whole lot more and releasing some helium. Repairing the damage is going to be long process and a costly one. 'A £14 million glitch' - some glitch! Quite like the economy, it occurs to me: bad sub-prime lending in the States triggers a domino-effect, engulfing the whole world. As John Donne said, 'No man is an island entire unto itself.' That repair will take a good while longer, I reckon.

Good news

Last week there was an excellent article in The Independent by Dominic Lawson provoked by a programme on BBC4 'Born with Down's' which revealed that there were more children born with Down's Syndrome last year than there were before widespread screening was introduced twenty years. Lawson has a daughter with Down's, called Domenica, who gives him immense joy. On the Today programme they were attributing the rise to the increased public acceptance of Down's. The headline of the article is 'Shame on the doctors prejudiced against Down Syndrome' (see the link), and he points out that there is still a presumption for termination in some parts of the medical profession not least on the spurious ground of cost to the NHS. When I heard the news item, it seemed to me one sign of resistance to the prevailing culture of eliminating any form of 'disability' from society, and as such immensely encouraging. If you've read my book, I quote from Angela Beise reflecting on the poverty of a world without compassion and the dangers of removing 'imperfections'. If it's true that we are welcoming those we used to hide away, that is very good news, in my book.

Advent and another donkey

Yesterday I was given a rather fine Jack donkey - about four inches high - 'to go in your new home'. It's of course a hand-painted model. Thanks, Jill. We're beginning to think about our move, though not, as some people suggest, as far as packing. Wow, this is an incredibly busy time in a church's life even without preparing for a change of vicar, and I am lucky just to keep up with the current week's agenda without some slippage. I am aware, though, of the sagacity of a good friend's advice to allow myself space in the next two months. It would be foolish to be so driven that we don't enjoy either Christmas or our last months in a place where we have been so happy.

We now have a lift installed in our new house, one of those smart through the floor jobbies, which by the way is monstrous. My first journey in it was... well, it didn't inspire confidence. We had a builder in to quote for a wet room; so I went with Jane to the house and tried it out. Going up was fine, once I got into the compartment. And it was fine when it came down, until it reached three foot off the floor, and then it stopped. Up and down I went but each time the same. Jane and the builder pushed buttons and knobs, and tried all the safety procedures Jane could remember. I thought I'd be going down the stairs on my backside, but by then the lift really had the heeby-jeebies, and the door wouldn't open. However then we discovered that if you kept the down button continually depressed the lift would move a couple of inches at a time, have a breather, and then move again. So I sat there with my finger on the button, while Jane and Jim went outside to talk about the ramp to the door. By the time they returned they could see halfway up my shins!

It was going to be a long descent. And then suddenly for no apparent reason it moved smoothly and I landed. It had taken about half an hour! I did consider naming and shaming the manufacturers in my widely read blog, if they didn't sort it. Instead we withheld payment, which seemed to have the desired effect. The engineers came out and fixed the wrinkles, and I'm looking forward to rising and falling with more discipline than the stock market.

Talking of which, today is Advent Sunday when we look forward to the return of Jesus Christ. (IFASCO.*) In a world of scarey events like the Mumbai terrorist attacks, global financial chaos and climate change, the promise is that things may fall apart but they are not out of control. Ultimately God has a plan, which is for a new creation where justice, harmony, health and life are uninterrupted and permanent. When Jesus talked about history, his predictions have proved extraordinarily accurate. And his prediction about universal terror was that it would end with his return and then the new order would start. Meanwhile he tells us not to drown our fears but to love (care for) each other - which sounds like getting in practice for the new world.

(*IFASCO. I'm indebted to my friend, Charles Patterson, for this timely warning: I Feel A Sermon Coming On, alerting listeners to switch off or on according to preference. Observant readers will notice it's an anagram of fiasco.)

Donkeys by post

I received my first donkey in the post this week. It had a message with it: 'with luck you might two and start a dynasty'. So I'm hoping for more.
Actually it wasn't the donkey ITSELF. Just a card telling me one had been sent on my behalf to Darfur in Sudan courtesy of Oxfam - which seems an excellent idea. In fact, this move towards sending useful gifts to people in the world who REALLY need them, rather than cluttering up our homes with things we don't want or won't use, makes a lot of sense. Though gifts will always be an important way of expressing love or regard - lke the wise men and the woman with the alabaster box.
(Another of K T Bruce's pictures)

A dilemma

Having returned from a relaxing few days away, I face a dilemma. I can't decide whether my priority should be updating my blog or catching up with all the emails I found waiting in my inbox. I'm inclined to the latter, as I'm more of an individuals man than a crowd man. So I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer before learning more about my rather mundane life or my thoughts on the big events in the media, whether Barack Obama's election or John Sergeant's survival. Meantime, a picture of the area we spent last week relaxing in south Somerset.