Ice cream Lent

 If memory serves, there was a court case some years ago where a small artisanal ice-cream maker wanted the label 'ice cream' to refer only to products such as his, which contain cream, and little else. The products made by the big food corporations should, as they were more properly whipped, frozen and flavoured margarine, be called something different.. 

Naturally, he lost. Bur maybe he had a case. A reminder of the real thing, not something ersatz. I've never quite looked at the stuff I bring out of the freezer to serve with apple crumble without having a jaundiced eye as to what I'm eating since that time. Frozen margarine lacks any sort of appeal. 

And so to Lent. Like Advent, it's a time we are called back to the real, to forsaking the ersatz. Instead of the expectation of Advent, the note here in Lent is one of lament. Not a frame of mind and heart we indulge in very often, but in this covid-bound time, one we could do well to think of all that we have lost, all that could be repented, all that could change for the better. 

Could be appealing. As well as being personally called back to the rich and creamy fundamentals of the faith, it could lead us into visions which properly would find their voice in 'Thy kingdom come.' All underpinned by the age-old invitation 'Taste and see that the Lord is good'.       

New Perspectives

 I've never found a way in to those early chapters of Genesis since rejecting them as a teenager as records of fact. Recently however, they've found a way into me- as records of wisdom. On this level- one I freely admit has probably been plain as a pikestaff to you, dear reader- I can't mine them deeply enough. 

Take Genesis 1, for a start. Poetic, beautiful, but not a record of fact. Hold the horses! Let it be seen as a picture of the way God worked; a bringer of light, structure, rhythm, growth, new beginnings, renewal, goodness. And continues to work thus, so that we see consistency and eternal values in God's being and nature. 

Or the story of the fall. The woman saw in the tree of the knowledge of good and evil something to delight the eyes, good for food, and a way to wisdom. All this had been found already in God and his provision, but now it was fixed on secondary things, on what was not God, but something lesser. 

I'm a latecomer to this school of wisdom. My eyes gave been fixed elsewhere, on the lesser things, but light and renewal and growth are beginning to take place. There may yet be found in me some trace of holy wisdom.     

Family History

 Researching our family history takes up each Thursday morning during lockdown- it's been on the 'to do' list for some time, and has surfaced again. Some of the research, once we get into the rhythm of how to do it, is straightforward, but some connections Mary wants to make refuse to give up their secrets. So far. We live in hope that further research will yield answers, although we are not convinced. The release of the 1921 census results, next year, may provide some clues, but will also- it is my confident prediction- leave us partly in the dark. 

I come from a long line of cotton workers and other sorts of skilled workmen on the male side. Reflecting the times, the women were servants and shop assistants, when not bearing and rearing children. All these, their personalities, their prejudices, their successes and failures, their moves, their hardships, end up in me. Scraps of their humanity make me. 

The same is true of the faith; the scraps of childhood hymns, half-remembered, the people who helped shape my beliefs, the scriptures which have come alive over the years, the choices I made in life, end up in the rag-bag of stuff I call faith, held together with the glue of commitment to God in what I hope reflects outwards and upwards his love to me.

It's not neat, probably not logical, and probably won't ever be. It's a work in progress, and I shall always be, in this life anyway, partly in the dark. But partly in the light, too. 

The head that once was crowned with hair...

 Increasing baldness over the years has led me to adopt a Grade 1 approach to hair care. Easy to maintain, and far enough removed from looking like a criminal to maintain some of the dignity my position in society requires......... dream on. But when the hair gets a bit too long, drastic action has been resorted to, and once again I've shaved my head, as the services of a hairdresser are not available in lockdown. 

Yes, I admit it, I look liked I've served at least 20 years in jail. It is not handsome. Nor was it easy, especially as I hacked around with the electric shaver, not having any hair clippers. But half an hour's work, finally presided over by Mary's ministering hands at the back of the head where I couldn't see, has completed the task. 

And then oil on the head, partly to calm and heal all the nicks I had made. It gave the task a biblical feel, a biblical edge, made it holy, a symbol of something more than necessity and tidiness. 'Thou hast anointed my head with oil' says the psalmist, a reference to sanctifying, set aside for God. 

Well, in these lockdown times where one day seems pretty much like another, anything which reminds us of vocation, of the ultimate purposes of our lives, is welcome. There it was, an ordinary task of hygiene and necessity, given a dimension unforeseen. The life less ordinary, courtesy of God.