Random Distractions

Like most people, I'm too busy to concentrate on writing at present so I thought I might just share some of my Advent reading. My books for this year are my old favourite Advent and Christmas Wisdom from G.K. Chesterton and a recent purchase from Iona, Candles and Conifers.  The poems in my previous post come from the latter. I tend to dip into these books rather than work through them. The days in the run-up to Christmas can  seem more like a season of hectic activity rather than of  thoughtful anticipation so it is good to take a few minutes to sit quietly and forget the list of things to do. I find these books helpful and I'm usually refreshed by a few quiet moments and ready to tackle the next item on that list.

Today, I'm quoting from the Chesterton book, a paragraph from Lunacy and Letters titled Trading Mirth for Madness (I like a bit of both!):

You cannot be too solemn about golf to be a good golfer; you can be a great deal too solemn about Christianity to be a good Christian. You may put into your neckties solemnity, and nothing but solemnity, because neckties are not the whole of your life - at least, I hope not. But in anything that does cover the whole of your life - in your philosophy and your religion - you must have mirth. If you do not have mirth you will certainly have madness.

I wish you all a mirthful day.

The Link Road was built in the late 1980s to divert the ever-increasing holiday traffic from the villages along the old A398 route to the coast. The planners did not take into account the fact that a faster road would attract even more traffic and they built a wide single carriage road instead of a decent dual carriageway. In consequence, instead of a pleasurable drive through some stunning farm and moorland scenery, one risks life and limb amid the boy racers and impatient business men and women who aim to get from Barnstaple to Tiverton in record time.

I used to drive this route several times a week and frequently had to pull onto the hard shoulder to avoid a head-on collision with someone doing a reckless overtake in the other direction. Road blocks, diversions and piles of floral tributes are frequent reminders of lives lost and families devastated by moments of careless impatience. One traffic policeman told me that the maximum time that can be gained by driving faster than the 60mph speed limit on that road is 10 minutes. J Alfred Prufrock  measured out his life with coffee spoons, that seems to me a less trivial epitaph than 'I traded 50 years of my life to save 10 minutes.'

This sombre and rambling preamble is leading to an explanation for my recent absence from the blogging scene! My internet connection was intermittent during the recent stormy weather but that, I hope, is now passing. What has really kept me away from the keyboard is this book:

We had our Advent service of readings and carols this evening and I am pleased to report that my voice held out for my part in it. I am often asked to read in church and at other public functions; I can't sing, dance, play an instrument or act but I do speak quite clearly, probably because of my years of teaching deaf children.

My acting career began and ended around my seventh birthday, when I was chosen to be the Angel Gabriel in the school Nativity play.

I've lost my voice. I got very chilled on the journey home from Bristol last week when the train broke down, making me miss my connection and I had to wait in a biting wind for almost two hours for the next one. I've tried every recommended remedy but to no avail - I have a nasty cough and no voice!

The family might not miss the sound of my nagging advice and encouragement in the run-up to Christmas but I am due to read at the Advent service of readings and carols on Sunday afternoon and I think the congregation might notice that I am only mouthing the words. Perhaps I should project the piece onto a screen and ask everyone to join in? Or could I get away with presenting it in BSL?

Just in case I have to cry off and the poem doesn't get an airing this year, here it is:

Advent 1955 by John Betjeman

The Advent wind begins to stir
With sea-like sounds in our Scotch fir,
It's dark at breakfast, dark at tea,
And in between we only see
Clouds hurrying across the sky
And rain-wet roads the wind blows dry
And branches bending to the gale
Against great skies all silver pale
The world seems travelling into space,
And travelling at a faster pace
Than in the leisured summer weather
When we and it sit out together,
For now we feel the world spin round
On some momentous journey bound -
Journey to what? to whom? to where?
The Advent bells call out 'Prepare,
Your world is journeying to the birth
Of God made Man for us on earth.'

And how, in fact, do we prepare
The great day that waits us there -
For the twenty-fifth day of December,
The birth of Christ? For some it means
An interchange of hunting scenes
On coloured cards, And I remember
Last year I sent out twenty yards,
Laid end to end, of Christmas cards
To people that I scarcely know -
They'd sent a card to me, and so
I had to send one back. Oh dear!
Is this a form of Christmas cheer?
Or is it, which is less surprising,
My pride gone in for advertising?
The only cards that really count
Are that extremely small amount
From real friends who keep in touch
And are not rich but love us much
Some ways indeed are very odd
By which we hail the birth of God.

We raise the price of things in shops,
We give plain boxes fancy tops
And lines which traders cannot sell
Thus parcell'd go extremely well
We dole out bribes we call a present
To those to whom we must be pleasant
For business reasons. Our defence is
These bribes are charged against expenses
And bring relief in Income Tax
Enough of these unworthy cracks!
'The time draws near the birth of Christ'.
A present that cannot be priced
Given two thousand years ago
Yet if God had not given so
He still would be a distant stranger
And not the Baby in the manger.

Regular visitors will know that my husband's family has strong ties with Zimbabwe and that we follow what is happening there with great concern. For the first time in recent years, today's edition of the Bulawayo Morning Mirror carries a glimmer of hope:

JOYOUS TIMES

Its officially the rainy season in Zimbabwe, and rain is one thing that is sure to put a smile on everyone's lips !!
Matabeles especially live for the rain, rain-spotting is an age old pastime born of seasons of dry despair.

This year we have been warned that El Nino is going to rear his ugly head again, but so far we have had several nice little thunderstorms to keep us smiling.

This afternoon we had a glorious, gadget-destroying, typically Zimbabwean electrical storm, it was so fierce we had to galvanize the "Bucket Brigade" in our ancient old mansion.

Thirty mm in just thirty minutes, it was just divine in spite of the waterfall in the indoor garden. The rain flowers on the cactus have been extra specially spectacular, the flamboyants outdid themselves in their glory.

Soon it will be cassia time and those yellow flower laden trees will thrill us all with their glorious perfume.

It is just so exciting to be in Bulawayo this Christmas. Last year and the year before, Christmas was a non-event ... no Christmas parties .... no decorations ... no dried fruit for the cake .... no mince pies to be seen anywhere.

This year suddenly there is a real, almost festive feel. there are even a few Christmas parties, low key, but there are a few just the same.

Loads of new restaurants and coffee shops have opened up in Bulawayo, check the adverts in the Wining and Dining section in the Mirror !!

And what's more exciting is there is FOOD on the shelves.

We forget so easily, we forget that last year you could not buy a chicken or a loaf of bread unless you went under cover of darkness to the back door ! The shelves were empty, totally empty and the feeling of despair was real and gnawing.

The Zimbabwe dollar was running at hundreds of trillions, and you could only draw from the bank daily, enough for a loaf of bread, so life took on a desperate agonising face for many people who did not have the wherewithal to "make a plan"

Fuel was available only from drums kept at the bottom of the garden or on the black market. Now you can drive into a service station and say "fill her up" just like the good old days ! You can even get your oil and water checked, a simple service that we have not had in Zimbabwe for at least five years.

Doctors say that strokes and heart attacks as a result of these peculiar stresses have taken a serious toll on the Zimbabwe population over the past few years.

Last year there were no medical supplies available at all, to get one's daily chronic medication was so difficult, it was a serious medical stress in itself.Now all of ones needs are available if pricey.

I cannot believe we have forgotten those horrors so easily, all brought about by the stupidity of a frantic government that had lost its head.

Wickipaedia has Zimbabwe listed as "nationalizing its food industry", well this ill devised plan nearly nearly brought a once fine country to its knees.

But now with a new man at the Financial helm, with US dollars and Rands as open currency, we are heading for sanity once more, thanks be to God !!

There is still a long way to go, but so many valuable people are returning home, so many of our kids are determined to make their country their future.

The really bad places in the roads are slowly being repaired, there is such a buzz in town, its raining, and if we can continue to hold out against tyrants and troublemakers, the best is yet to come, what more could a man want ?

Wouldn't it be wonderful if this season of hope and peace could become a reality for everyone?

As the last weekend before Christmas approaches, I am planning to stay as far away from the shops as possible. Here is what G.K. Chesterton thought of the pre- Christmas chaos in his day; things don't seem to have improved, despite the advent of on-line shopping:

December 10th was the fortieth anniversary of the untimely death of Thomas Merton. This photograph of Merton with the Dalai Lama accompanies an article in the Catholic Register and there are many more tributes to be found via your search engine.

The BBC Radio 4 programme Something Understood on Sunday 14 December will feature the Archbishop of Canterbury talking about Merton: The Archbishop of Canterbury Dr Rowan Williams talks to Mike Wooldridge about the influential Trappist monk and activist Thomas Merton, who died 40 years ago. He discusses his fascination with this complex and passionate man, who combined a lifelong devotion to the Catholic Church with an increasing openness to the needs of the modern world and to the wisdom of the East.

The programme will be broadcast at 06:05 and again at 23:30 and you will be able to find it on the Listen Again page later in the week.

I spent last Saturday at a monastery (that is one of the words that is now regarded as irrelevant for our children), a quiet day of reflection away from the busyness of Christmas preparations.

I find sitting in a garden or taking a country walk more conducive to reflection than being indoors, so it was wonderful that we had a rare dry and sunny day and I was able to spend a lot of time in the grounds.

The theme of the day was Turnings and, because this was an Augustinian monastery, the two inspirational talks were based on some of the writings of St Augustine. I am not very comfortable with Augustinian spirituality (I don't think I ever met a woman who was) but I listened to the exhortation to spend the morning in thinking of what I would wish to turn from and the afternoon in thinking of what I should turn towards. No dramatic Augustinian confessions and conversion, however, just gentle steps along the paths, the quiet study of an unexpected rose and a time for wondering about the next turning.

I have been asked to explain the significance of the coloured candles in the Advent wreath. Most people have three purple candles and one pink or rose-coloured one. Some people also have a white candle in the centre of the wreath, this is lit on Christmas Day as a symbol of Christ as Light of the World.

The first purple candle is lit on the first Sunday of Advent. It represents hope. We light another purple candle on the second Sunday, this represents love. Then on the third Sunday we light the pink candle to represent joy. When I was young and we still used Latin for all our church services, the third Sunday of Advent was known as Gaudete Sunday, gaudete being Latin for rejoice. This was the day, near the midpoint of Advent, when the penitential aspect of Advent was relaxed, the purple vestments were put aside for the day and the priest wore rose-coloured ones instead. All of the prayers and readings of the day are about rejoicing. Here is a choir, dressed appropriately in rose-coloured gowns, singing Gaudete, gaudete:


On the fourth Sunday of Advent we light another purple candle, a reminder that we need to make a last effort to prepare for Christmas; this candle represents peace. It is usually at this point that I realise that Advent is fast disappearing and I have been distracted from my intention of spending some time in quiet reflection each day. That is one good reason to have an Advent wreath or calendar in the house as well as in church, if you are like me you will need lots of reminders that this is a time to think about hope, love, joy and peace as well as the presents and parties.

Thanks to Val for this link to the BBC's Advent calendar, with music, poetry and readings for every day of Advent.

Clarence, D's much-loved cat, died last night and she wrote a lovely post about him entitled Dancing to the rhythm of life. I would like to offer D another excerpt from The Book of Hours that I quoted from yesterday, this time from New seeds of contemplation.


Happy dancing, D.

One of the good things about having a birthday at the end of November is that it always falls close to the beginning of Advent. This inspires my dear friend Crinny to send an appropriate book as my birthday gift; last year it was Advent and Christmas: Wisdom from G K Chesterton and yesterday I received a copy of Thomas Merton: A Book of Hours

I think that everyone benefits from spending some time in silent contemplation, whether they think of it as praying or simply as time away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. These lines from the introduction of the Book of Hours, taken from Merton's No Man is an Island set the scene for 'listening in silence', surely the best antidote to the frantic activity of Christmas shopping and cooking.