lord of the flies...

I had a very humbling, yet enlightening experience today. While strolling through town, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a very attractive young lady sitting with a laptop in a café window. As I passed she looked up and smiled, briefly catching my eye in a moment somewhere between flirtation and embarrassment (on her part, I hasten to add – I was nothing more than an impartial observer). Nonetheless, the very fact that I had, in my own manly way, brought a smile to a stranger’s lips sent a wave of well-being flooding through my body, and the phrase ‘Ding, dong’ through my mind.

The moment passed; I walked on.

Half an hour of shopping later I was walking back along the same street, passing the same window with the same woman sat at her computer when I thought to myself, ‘Is there a chill in the air? Ah no, it’s just that my flies are undone.’ They were not only undone, they were gaping, like a rift in the fabric of space-time itself.

Then it all fell into place. And I had a great realisation.

That smile was not a smile of flirtation or appreciation of my Herculean physique. No, that darned woman was laughing at my mauve pants. The moment of realisation caused my shoulders to sag, my head to drop, and my flies to be rather quickly done up.

What a fool. What a damn fool.

But then, out of the heavens, I was given a revelation of stupefying enormity. That woman was just like Jesus, except for her gender and divinity, oh, and the lack of facial hair and disciples. Jesus too smiles upon us when we are open and vulnerable. He delights in us despite our mauve pantedness. Yet how often do we, misunderstanding the motivation behind his joy and delight, find in that blessing cause for pride. Brothers and sisters, be not proud, for you too may find a draft in your spiritual private places. Yes, our Lord rejoices over us, but not because of our achievements or stature in this life, but because his grace is sufficient.

What a fool I am, yes. But what a Lord is he!

are you a heretic?

Think yourself a good Christian? Then take the test to discover which heresies lie beneath that "sound" facade. I was a little relieved to discover that I'm not a heretic, but am a little too Pelagian for comfort. Never mind, at least I don't have a single streak of Albigensianism in me. No I don't know what it means either.

You scored as Chalcedon compliant. You are Chalcedon compliant. Congratulations, you're not a heretic. You believe that Jesus is truly God and truly man and like us in every respect, apart from sin. Officially approved in 451. Chalcedon compliant 100% Pelagianism 67% Nestorianism 33% Monophysitism 33% Docetism 0% Arianism 0% Apollanarian 0% Adoptionist 0% Donatism 0% Gnosticism 0% Monarchianism 0% Albigensianism 0% Modalism 0% Socinianism 0%

let's kill Santa...

Have you ever been in a situation where you realised, far too late, that what you were in the process of doing was likely to get you into trouble with either a) the wife, b) the church or c) the authorities? I had an experience like that last Sunday (on this occasion involving option 'b').

I'd been given the job of doing the 'talk' at our church's all age worship service (i.e. that service which miraculously induces boredom in both the adult and youth portion of the congregation at the same time). Having sat through far too many patronising and pointless examples of such talks I thought I'd try to produce something that was directed at the adults, but in a way still accessible to kids.

What I came up with revolved around a mildly amusing poem I found on the 'net a few years ago (apparently by Paul Gilmartin):

Eggnog, tinsel, falling snow
Buttered rum and mistletoe
Christmas trees and hanging lights
The sound of carollers fills the night

Shopping hours long and hard
Visa phones and cancels card
Unpaid bills and mounting debts
Family gathers; depression sets

Drinking starts, harsh words are said
Dysfunction rears its Yuletide head
Argument turns to shovin’
Drunken brother punches cousin

Tree tips over, popping lights
Curtains catch, house ignites
No one hears the reindeer cries
Wedged in chimney, Santa dies

Though he kicked and did perspire
His chestnuts roasted on an open fire

What I hadn't realised while I was preparing was that I was effectively killing off Santa in a church full of children (i.e. there were more than two). Oops. I could hear the parents all gasp as I got to the crunch line. 'Bugger,' they thought. 'Now we've got to try and convince little Sally that the silly man up the front didn't mean it.'

Yes I felt bad. Really bad.

But a couple of days later I heard about a local school's nativity play, which included angels, shepherds, wise men, elves and, of course, Santa. SANTA (which I'm sure you're all too well aware is an anagram of Girls Aloud Satan) in a nativity play? That would be like casting Capt. Mainwaring in Band of Brothers, or a raving heterosexual in Rainbow. Suddenly I didn't feel so bad about killing off Santa. If he's going to try and muscle in on the celebration of the birth of the Son of God™ then, frankly, the gloves are off.

Santa, be afraid, be very afraid. I'm comin' to getcha...