…hence I’m outside as much as possible, while it lasts. The forecast is for a break in this glorious sunny weather on Sunday, with a return to the cold and wet we know so well. So it’s gardening, golf, walking, cycling as long as it lasts.
We had a friend from the old parish to lunch on Monday – which was lovely, catching up on times past – ate the leftovers yesterday and are out to supper with friends tonight, so no need to think too much about food at the moment, always a blessing!
Our son rang last night. He’s eager to take his four-year-old niece (our granddaughter) to Belwilderwood on Monday. Monday is a Bank Holiday for us, so everyone (virtually) has a day off. Bewilderwood is a kind of vast assault course for little people and is quite close to where we now live. I think the idea is for the whole family to come back here for a meal afterwards…
This afternoon I’m off to do a job for the diocese. All priests are entitled to CME – Continuing Ministerial Education – and encouraged to keep up-to-date with various courses. My job is to visit some priests who are new to the diocese and acquaint them with all that CME has to offer. Today I’m off to visit a team vicar who has only been in this diocese for a few months, so it will be interesting to meet him and see how he’s enjoying life in Norfolk.
Tomorrow and Friday, more golf, then another friend to supper on Saturday – and so the weeks roll by.
Not a bad life, this retirement lark.
I’m so sorry I haven’t been around all week – blame the weather! It’s been so lovely, the outdoors has beckoned and I have succumbed. Golf, walks, garden – all sing to me like the Sirens, calling me to come out and play. So I have.
I also discovered an interesting atheist website, and couldn’t resist responding to their comments on Christianity. I rather enjoy religious discussions with atheists, but have problems with the fundamentalist type of atheist – those who think all Christians believe that the Bible must be taken literally and that God is an old man up in the sky. How easy it is to tear that sort of belief apart! But since many Christians don’t believe that, such atheists are tilting at windmills. I just have this conviction that if you’re going to tear anything apart, you need to know something about your subject. Richard Dawkins, are you listening?
I picked up a quiz from the golf club yesterday and am stuck on one final question. So perhaps you can help. The clue is, “Did this man teach some insects to float?” and the answer has to begin with a Y. Ed and I have racked our meagre brains and come up with nothing. I’d like it to be Muhammad Ali (float like a butterfly…) but his name doesn’t begin with a Y.
Any ideas?
I couldn’t resist this and thought you might appreciate it too:
Interesting and sadly true.
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years.
No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.
He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:
- Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
- Why the early bird gets the worm;
- Life isn’t always fair;
- Maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).
His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place.
Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.
It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense started to lose the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.
Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.
Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife, Discretion, by his daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason.
He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers;
I Know My Rights
I Want It Now
Someone Else Is To Blame
I’m A Victim
Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.
Actually, “natural beauty” is a phrase I’ve just heard on the television. I’m sitting here, laptop on lap, watching the golf from China, hence the natural beauty. But it seemed apt for this time of year in England. The trees have burst into blossom, the spring flowers are adorning every garden, and on the golf course this morning one of the pairs of geese had produced eleven tiny goslings – balls of fluff tottering along behind Mum and Dad. Add to this blue skies and sunshine – and Oh, to be in England now that April’s here.
Ten copies of my novel, “Heaven Spent” had been delivered when I got home from golf. Quite exciting because I can embark on the next stage of marketing, taking it to the local press, giving talks, etc. The publishers recommend that authors have twenty-five copies of their book on hand at any time, for those occasional opportunities which crop up, but we couldn’t afford twenty-five. They don’t let me have any books for free, I have to buy them, albeit at a reduced rate.
Ah! The tinny tones of “Colonel Bogey” fill the air. The ice-cream van is working the roads round here. Not that I’ve ever seen anyone buy an ice-cream, but I suppose it must pay since he keeps on coming. Ed and I buy large tubs from the supermarket and keep them in the freezer, but now and again a Mr Whippy with a large chocolate flake stuck in it does sound remarkably appealing.
If the weather continues, I might buy one!
I find it interesting that church folk – at least over here in the UK in the Church of England – think a post funeral visit by the clergy is an essential part of the funeral service.
The funeral procedure goes like this. I get a call from the funeral directors telling me about the death and giving me brief details of the deceased and the next of kin. I then ring the next of kin and make an appointment to visit, in order to chat about the funeral and find out what they want at the funeral.
I then put the funeral together, ring the organist and the verger and set it all up. I take the funeral and usually say goodbye to the family at the graveside, or occasionally go on to share refreshments in the village hall or the pub or whatever.
A week or so later I make a post funeral visit to the next of kin, just to offer support and see how they’re getting on.
All of this is expected by those within the church, but I think things are changing. Once or twice I’ve called again after the funeral, to be met with a blank look and the spoken or unspoken question of: Why are you here?
This afternoon I decided to do a post funeral visit from last Tuesday’s funeral. The widow had asked all sorts of questions at the pre-funeral visit and at the funeral, questions like, How can you stand up there and do what you do when God doesn’t answer prayer? God took my husband, even though I prayed and prayed. How can there be a God, if he does things like that?
We had what I thought were meaningful conversations, where she seemed to come around a little and began to realise that there were other ways of thinking of God other than as an old man with a long white beard sitting on a cloud, deciding whether people should live or die. So I thought this was definitely a post funeral visit I should make.
But I was wrong. I rang first to check if it was OK, but she didn’t really want me there, and was being well looked after by neighbours who were rallying round. So we had a cup of tea and a chat and I came away.
What do you think? Should clergy automatically visit again after a funeral, or should we keep out of it?