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Mel is a geekJuly 26 discovering there's a line by crossing itMost of the time, I completely sympathise with The Wombats:
"Let's dance to Joy Division
And celebrate the irony:
Everything is going wrong,
But we're so happy!"
I love things that are rubbish. I don't know why this is - I think it has to do with being too English. As Bill Bailey says, "I'm British, so I crave disappointment". I like to enjoy things ironically. Some people think I'm not enjoying a film when I'm slating it and laughing at its awfulness the whole way through - oh contraire, I am enjoying myself immensely! I love to hate cheesy/rubbish/badly-made/poorly-acted tripe. It does, however, have to reach a certain standard of awfulness to be enjoyable ironically. I find the average chick flick/teen comedy painful but not painful enough to enjoy. High School Musical, however, definitely crosses into the enjoyably awful category. And then there are the few films that carry on out the other side and are actually too bad to be any kind of good.
This week I saw Mama Mia! and didn't really know how to react. Some of it I enjoyed because it was rubbish. But I fear that most of it crossed the line back into just dreadful. I enjoyed myself laughing at Piers Brosnan every time he tried to break into song with that pained expression on his face. But was mainly left bemused and thinking, "why?"
This week I think I also crossed the road-tripping line. It has been mentioned many times that Sim and I enjoy getting lost for fun, and a "successful" road trip in our books requires a lot of failures, including getting lost, tresspassing, failing to find anything interesting in the village when we get there, inclement weather, being hungry, and general disappointment. Yes, this is fun. Honest. But trying to find a village called Marsh Gibbon on the hottest day of the year with totally inadequate footpath signs, leading to two hours hopelessly wandering fields, running out of water, clambering over fences covered in stinging nettles and having no idea how or if we would ever get home again, did actually finally cross the line from "fun" to "no, we might actually die."
Which just goes to show that even if you enjoy not enjoying things, there is a line somewhere.
Mind you, both those things are now funny again in hindsight. Which brings in a whole other category of enjoyment: "It's awful now, but it'll make a good anecdote later"... July 24 Staple foodsI'm eating my way through a packet of "Sainburys Basics Smoked Salmon".
Does that seem quite funny to anyone else?
July 21 the imaginary Good ChristianSo the Christian message is bascially this: "While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."
He died for us - he came further than it is possible to imagine in order to save us, forgive us, do ALL the work it took to make us right. And he didn't wait until we were good enough, or were making a bit of an effort, or had cleaned up our act, or even had some good intentions to reform. Nope - while we were still sinners - while we were cheating on him, slandering him, totally cutting him out of our lives - it was then that he died for us.
It seems to me that we are quite good at accepting that fact on the surface. That Christ can love completely a complete sinner, that there's nothing we can do to save ourselves, but that he has to do it all for us. But it also seems to me that once we become Christians, we are quite good at changing the rules...
Christ calls us up into a new and better way of living once he has heaved us out of the mud. He changes us so that we start to want different things, to live lives centred around a different centre, to battle with our old ways of thinking and living and choose freedom. This is true. What he doesn't do is say, "I've saved you from the past but if you mess up again now, I'm not sure what I can do for you, I'm afraid." Or, "I loved you when you were a hideous sinner who didn't know any better, but now you do know better, I'm going to be terribly disappointed in you if you continue to stuff up."
We know this. But do we actually know it? It's quite scary to ponder whether you might actually, a lot of the time, live as if he had said either of these things...
While we were still sinners - you can't get any worse than that! So why should Christ's sacrifice be enough for a complete sinner, but not enough for a half-reformed Christian? So out of some kind of shame and fear that we're not a "good Christian", we try to hide stuff from him. We convince ourselves that we are better than we really are. Or that we're worse than we really are. We cover ourselves in false humility and try to dupe God in our prayers. "Oh Lord, if it is your will, please provide this promotion for me - not for my sake but for the sake of my family, so that I can provide for them better..."
Who is this baffling new cardboard person? Brennan Manning calls them the "false self", saying, "this is the man I want myself to be, but who cannot exist, because God does not know anything about him."
This cardboard "good Christian" is not the person that God carefully and purposely created, and loved with such passion that he cast aside everything to die for. Suddenly they have become some sort of stranger. This made-up person is not the one he loves and wants to speak to and change and use and love. "The false self is frustrated because he never hears God's voice. He cannot, since God sees no-one there." Mr or Mrs Pious is not a real person - they're not in God's phone book. It's like God trying to phone his own child and instead of getting them on the line, with all their tantrums and traumas and rudeness and love, he is met with a very polite, automated call centre full of well-trained strangers. They sound nice, but they are not the beloved child he aches to speak to. Who'd want that?
Why do we do this? Why do we keep a little bit of us, the bit we don't like, hidden behind our backs, stuffed down and never voiced? Do we think God doesn't know about that bit? Do we think God only loves the nice bits of us? Are we afraid that the real us will be a disappointment to God? To the God who died for us while we were at our very worst, in full knowldge of everything we would ever do in the future and still thought it was worth it - while we were still sinners..? Is it possible to take him by surprise? Is it possible to be too bad for his sacrifice to cover?
To accept that God does not just love the "who I will be one day" version of me, but also loves me every single minute and even while I am still sinning (not loving my actual sin, of course), but that he loves me while I fail, while I am angry, while I am ashamed, while I am neurotic - that he adores all of me in those moments too, that he knows it all and loves, seems too deliciously good to be true. When you find that it is true, you discover why the gospel is really good news.
With all this hiding and pretending and trying to be a "good Christian" and in our false humility, we are robbing the gospel of its full power. We are robbing grace of the full extent of its meaning. We are robbing Jesus of being glorified - of being what he wants to be: "a Saviour of boundless compassion, infinite patience, unbearable forgiveness, and love that keeps no score of wrongs".
The moment we open our hand and show him everything we've been hiding, and cry, "I cannot even begin to be a good Christian!" - that's the moment that he is glorified, that grace shines through, that we are being Christians again. That's where real humility is to be found - in the knowledge that he loves us, all the time, even now. Even like this. Even the bits we want to hide. I think a lot of Christians fear that accepting ourselves and accepting Jesus loves us is an exercise in pride. But knowing we're utterly loved when we also really know ourselves doesn't make us proud - it makes us eternally humble. And suddenly we are the sinner only saved by grace again, and we can begin to live... July 12 Tesco, Tesco....I saw a little thing that amused me on Tuesday. I'm not sure whether to be pleased or horrified. Tesco has long been a home of the "10 items or less" sign. For those whose grammatical instincts have not been honed by long acquaintance with my sister, Simon Thomas and David Goldsmith, the express checkout lane should really be labelled, "10 items or fewer". Now, I believe that other supermarkets have received so many complaints from outraged pedants that they have changed their signs to read "10 items or fewer". I think Sainsburys has now got it right, though don't quote me on that. But only a couple of weeks ago I noticed with a sigh that Tesco was still clinging to "10 items or less", even in a town like Oxford where I imagine every fifth customer probably complained. Well, on Tuesday when I went in, I saw that the sign had finally been changed. Realising that there was something wrong, but not quite being able to get their heads around "10 items or fewer", they have changed the express lane to: "Up to 10 items". I'm amused to think of the confused meeting they had, with dictionaries open and consultants flown in, trying to decide which opinion was right. I imagine a shining moment of genius when they decided to go with neither option. And I'm fairly proud of them for coming up with a solution. Heh heh. Small pleasures. July 10 I know it's stupidbut Doctor Who is still pretty good.
Oh, come on.
It is ridiculous. I can't think of any other show I would give credit to for resolving an impossible love story by creating a hybrid clone trapped inside a parallel universe. But they did it with style.
And for a largely comic show, it does the best-written and acted tragedy I've seen for ages. It can keep you awake at night. A perpetual lament to one man's loneliness.
And giant alien wasps.
June 29 a series of unrelated eventsooh er.
Does the fact that I haven't written here for ages meant that:
a) My life has become far too exciting to leave me time for such things?
b) Nothing at all of interest has happened for me to report?
c) Nothing in the least profound or witty has crossed my mind?
d) I have just become rather disorganised and sort of forgotten to find any time to do this?
e) I have lost both my hands in a cider-press and can no longer type?
The answer is d), with a bit of all of the others thrown in.
Apart from the cider-press. Although I did get a pretty bad papercut the other week.
Things that have happened... let's see... I almost went punting, but it was called off due to flooding. So that was exciting. I did get to teach my work colleagues how to play croquet instead, so you know, not a totally wasted day. Discovered a really nice part of St Johns for the first time that I never knew we were allowed in when I was a student. Ho hum. The Standard Seven were all reunited for that weekend, which was lovely indeed, it was good to see Captain Clean and Fairy Boy taking their customary roles in the washing-up process.
Geoff loves being called Fairy Boy.
My young nephew Joel has been growing into a big fat pie in the meantime, and can now do a good impression of "amused/a little scared" if you pull a funny face at him.
A few weeks ago, Lou, B and I took a road trip to Dr Newell's new place in Kent, which is beautifully in the middle of nowhere.. we rambled in the rain to (apparently) the real site of the Hundred Acre Wood, and the others did a pretty good impression of Winnie the Pooh characters.
Guess which is which. I'd be amazed if you could. I just wanted to make them look silly, in all honesty.
I've been finding out that I really quite enjoy making bling Powerpoint presentations. Oh yeah.
Lou has left the Bulan to become a tree-planter in the mountains near L.A. for the summer. As you do. Good to hear she's enjoying it thus far, but it's the end of the line for Bulan as we know it! About a month til I move out, and it'll be rather sad, as I do now think of this place as Home.
Will that do for now? More important than all these things is the pressing question of whether the Daleks have exterminated the Doctor. I might not sleep now...
May 20 Northern Ireland is grand, so it is.Having never been to Ireland in any way, and not knowing any of my Reps there yet, I jumped at the chance to represent the office at the Latin Link Ireland conference on Saturday. And what a grand bunch they are, so they are.
Basically my main preconception about Northern Ireland, having met several people from there at uni, was that it had a population of about ten and they all live in the same house - they all seemed to know each other, and/or be distantly related. I thought this would probably be disproved by a trip there, but no, this notion was proven very much correct - seriously, everyone does know everyone. "Oh aye, I know his mother". "Och yes, I used to teach his brother!" and so forth. Ballymena, Ballymoney, the whole bally lot of them.
But what a beautiful place... a holiday there is definitely in order in the summer. It was something of a cross-cultural experience really. I've never before been to a Presbyterian church, which must have seemed very weird to them. And the hospitality culture is alive and well there and really lovely to experience. I was put up, fed and watered, and driven around by several different families and people who had only just met me. The old ladies greeted me with genuine enthusiasm and wanted to know all about my life. I guess these are things that I have almost come to take for granted when I go to visit Christians anywhere - there's always a bed, and friendly face, and more food than you can eat, wherever you are in the world.. But I don't know, people all seemed somehow more genuine and a lot less cynical over there, especially in church.
In fact, the Irish were so hospitable that I missed my flight home due to enforced apple pie.
My flight was booked for 3:10pm on Sunday, thinking this would give me time to visit a church and then skedaddle. First surprise was that over there, out in the sticks, services start at 12 to give the farmers time to have a lie in, milk their cows, and then walk a hundred miles to church. My Northern Irish colleague Elma said, "all right, but we'll have to go to church and then go straight to the airport while the others have lunch. That'll be all right."
"It won't be all right," the minister replied, "because you won't have any lunch. You won't go home without any lunch. You just won't," he declared, as if heading home slightly peckish would be a mortal sin. "We'll head back early and make you a quick bite you can eat and then run to the airport."
We reluctantly agreed to this. Arriving at the Manse and expecting a swift sandwich, we were both somewhat horrified to be faced with full table settings and a the unmistakable signs of a full three course dinner. Uh-oh....
"We've really to be going now, so we have," said Elma as we wolfed our roast dinner.
Then out came the apple pie.
As we slowly drove back to Elma's family house, having just missed my flight, she ruefully reflected, "we both knew. But we still ate the pie."
After the initial shock, I was mainly rather amused that my plans had been scuppered by the determined hospitality of Irish Christians. "No! You'll not go without lunch!" But I got rather less amused as, after having got on the next (much later) flight, I paced around Birmingham airport all night from 11pm til 6am, trying to pass the time with crosswords, trying to lie down comfortably on a steel bench, and counting down the hours before I could get a fried breakfast at 4am. You see, for some reason, Birmingham airport doesn't run trains to anywhere between about 10pm and 6am. Presumably if you arrive on a plane in the middle of the night you are just expected to undergo four hours pacing around its air-conditioned foyers.
Anyway, hopped on the first train home and got to Bulan at 8am, just as my housemates were leaving - the sheer look of confusion on their faces as I came in from somewhere was rather amusing.
"Don't ask. I'm going to sleep." And so I did, until 3pm. Actually, after about 14 hours sleep in 21, I felt significantly more sprightly than I normally do on a Tuesday morning.... so I did.
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