It's something of a stereotype that Anglican clerics and trains go hand in hand. Think Rev Awdry, think 'The Titfield Thunderbolt', think Eric Treacy, Bishop of Wakefield. And to some extent, I fit that Anglican/train stereotype, Not enthusiastically, not to the exclusion of other things, but nostalgically, wistfully. Since retirement, the model railway, or at least, its baseboard, has lain in the garage; there's simply not room to set it up in the house. But I've been thinking of a very much slimmed down version, something that would be at ease in the house, and plans are afoot to construct it.
What I admire as I look at layouts in magazines, or see them on video, is their perfection, their detail. It's a perfectly controlled world, where it's always, say, 1959, always steam era, always summer. I jest. Grimy industrial scenes have their devotees, and also exhibit perfect detail. With many of these layouts, it's hard to tell that it's a model. It might be the real thing, captured on film all those years ago.
And it's all perfectly controlled. All moves, slows-downs, accelerations, rests, stops; all at the behest of the controller, fat or otherwise. There is no freedom to do anything but respond to the electrical impulses, the will of the controller. How different from the home life of our own dear families!
For all its perfection, it is lifeless. I prefer the freedom, the wide and sustaining freedom to serve God as I would choose. Messy, sometimes chaotic, nevertheless I have real freedom in the grace of God, and I value that.
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