In which we speculate on the process of ‘arrival’ and try to anticipate constructive reaction.
Reception
I would guess that the state of mind will be something akin to recovering from general anaesthetic, so it is quite reasonable to suppose an offer on the lines of ‘a nice cup of Earl Grey and a garibaldi or two, maybe, or perhaps you would prefer a pint mug of builders’, fit to trot a mouse on, and one of the head Gyppo’s super special cheese ‘n’ ham wads? Or it may be something of a nature to wean you from the physical to the spiritual. We are on strange ground indeed, the more reason to remember that you are at your most vulnerable, and your reception party are at their most perceptive.
Don't misunderstand me; they are concerned only for your wellbeing; you want to be perceived at your best. That doesn’t mean you want to fall over yourself being all lovable and eager to please. And never- ever- volunteer, and that includes information. Answering a call for trombonists could end in a long term commitment to cleaning drains.
If you don’t like the analogy then pick your own. It all looks safe ‘til you tread on it. My late friend, Tony, who ran Alpha courses, told me he couldn’t wait to go to heaven. I told him that even with the best of welcomes I wasn’t in any hurry, and couldn’t think I ever would be, barring a case where I was in extreme pain and begging for release. I think I would always want to see another Whitehaven Harbour sunset, have another Booth’s breakfast (with free ‘Times’) another Howling Wolf lunch, listen to the Intermezzo and the Easter Hymn from Cavaliera Rusticana, (and Mendleson’s Midsummer Nights’ Dream))while sipping good rum. Any truffles left?
Something else to be wary of- these Christians don’t all belong to the same club. Shouldn’t be any trouble, these days, but you need to be sure how close your heels are to the caus’y edge.
I was once listening to an evangelical ‘worship leader’ preaching at St. Ebb’s, Heddington. He got onto the subject of ‘leaflet-ing’ the homes of Muslims. Complaints had been made to the local Nick, and the Bill had put the mockers on it. The worship leader confided that he was not discouraged, but left it to the individual conscience. I thought this was a bit rum. How about if some Muslims decided to do some leaflet-ing of their own? How long would it be before somebody accidentally set fire to the leaflets, to make them easier to read?
There’s no shortage of folk who can tell you what you must or must not do to enter heaven. Jesus said this, God said that, Paul said the other. The one I cling to is this- Jesus said ‘No one comes to the Father, except by me’. In a completely different context, it was once shown to me exactly what that meant.
Except by Me
In the early 1970’s I had been doing some artwork for the publisher of an in-house magazine for a string of nightclubs; very popular at that time. With the cheque, the publisher gave me a few free tickets, for the concert lounge, for the local club, for a Tony Christie concert. Not to be sniffed at, then. The drill was- you got into the club free, to eat and drink at a price, to dance- free, but the star concerts were extra. I made up a party of four couples and off we went. The purpose built club was fronted by three pairs of double doors, approached via a short flight of
steps. Only one pair of doors was in use. We filed in, up a few more steps which lead to a large concourse which was flanked by cloaks and a bar at one side, another bar and restaurant, opposite, and across the far side forward, was the grand entrance to the concert lounge. All was very opulent, rich scarlet, red, purple, pink panelling- velvet and satin, deep carpet. Concealed, low level, spot lighting with lots of those strip lights which made white nylon shirt fronts glow blue in the dark- very popular in such places at the time.
But the most striking element was the row of black, tuxedoed figures strung in a loose line across the whole width of the concourse, all standing as they might be, talking to friends and escorts. But as we reached the carpet, they all turned, in unison, smiling behind their shades, and though no one spoke, the message was clear; ‘No one comes in here, except by us. They had the power. No need to show it. It was totally convincing.
So no matter how many God-botherers shout the odds, (in St. Scurvius’ letter to the Allapecians, or Pediatrus’ epistle to the Verrucans) I will just brace myself and wait for the quiet young feller. I’ll be watching his hands (still scarred; I can feel the echoes of pain shooting up my armpits) and waiting for one of them to move. He will look into my eyes, down through my soul, through my life, and he will know all
there is to know. I think of this, often. It never fails to set my innards churning. Like the MO’s No9 washed down with prune juice. Greed, selfishness, cruelty, shame, all
this lot takes some purging. I already said there must be some sort of reckoning, even if forgiveness follows. We must be made to see ourselves as we are, at least, before we can put it behind us. We must start by sleeping in clean sheets, so to speak.
Will he beckon me towards him, or will he point to the doors behind me? That’s what it will come to. No amount of chapter and verse quoting, nor any amount of saintly opinions, no pleading on my part. What could I plead? 5,000 paintings? It’s all I can think of.
I’m afraid there’s really not much I can add to this anticipating over the arrival. (That’s where we were before my brain just went AWOL. Sorry. I’m sure there will be lots of jolifickating and reunions, but…)
Just one more word of caution, for when dealing with a bible waving Christian, particularly the traditionalists and the fundamentalists.
Look at this drawing. I first encountered it in the RSV. It represents what the earliest worshippers of the one God considered to be the universe, as it was first created. In other words, this drawing represents the creation as described in Genesis. Not very suggestive of days one to six. That same one to six that fundamentalists insist is true, word for word. But remember, this diagram was drawn long, long ago, ‘…before Joshuan Judges had given us Numbers, or Leviticus had committed Deuteronomy’.
Leave that on the back burner (with a bit of luck it will stay there) while we nip on down the tracks. Now if the last tranche gave you guts ache, then these next three little tales are really going to give you the screaming eebeejeebees. ‘He’s criticising the bible!’ you will cry. I’m not. I’m criticising the way some people miss-read it, miss-use it, abuse it.
I’ll just have to jump in and hope that you are fair minded enough to hear my case, before you condemn it and me, and start collecting firewood.
We start with the last book of the New Testament, the revelation to St. John, loosely called the Book of Revelations. If you’ve heard this before, I’m sorry but we have to do it.
Towards the end of the 4th century, the catholic top brass got together to decide what was or wasn’t going to be in the bible, and what was going to be dumped. Now there was this book being passed around, written allegedly by St. John, and nobody gave it a second thought, because they all thought it was the pits, but nobody said much because you couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was the John. Might have been. Naah! Cobblers! Just forget it and maybe it’ll just disappear. Hang on! Word is that a couple of Signorigli are talking of giving it the thumbs up. Now if the likes of you and me are seen to vote against the big money- the Copes, then this could be a bad career move, due to where, in those days, swimming against the tide wasn’t necessarily a long diversion. Remember, in the Godfather, Luca Brazzi
sleeping with the fishes? Ferzackly. Of course for the CEOs, this was an excellent way to find out who wanted to call you ‘Godfather’, and who would take the swimming option.
John the Surveyor
So John the nonrunner became Saint John, the evangelist? Prophet? But if we look at his career after this, at the debacle of his surveying career, and I’ll make this as brief as I can, which isn’t brief- The Holy City coming down from the clouds, 12000 stadia (=furlongs) cubed. That’s 8,920.000- 709,140,000 million, million, million cu. ft. After varicose filters, like admin and staff take half, twice
as many to come as already arrived, all pos. humanoid ETs admitted, min. 10ft clg. ht. gives one million cu. ft. each.
Now as any sensible Christian (or any disciple of Yoga) will tell you, John’s revelation is figurative writing, it is not literal, it is literature, creative, picturesque writing. A style of writing. Yes, I can go with that- a style of writing, but this is a bad example. As a piece of writing of any style, it is execrable. So we started off in Genesis, with every word
a true word from the mouth of God, then by the denouement, we have learned to rationalise, to apply reason, to translate, to dissemble- when it suits ‘the Management’.
And there was poor old John, stuffing his head with places, with gates, walls, foundations. All this bricks and mortar stuff is irrelevant, (emerald rainbow?) and all this business of new arrivals merging with all of the existing, yet still able to retain individual personality will all have to wait until you get there and it’s all made clear, but what is already clear is that it is a realm of infinite- in finite spirit.
So he failed his City & Guilds Surveyors exam and finished up running the Patmos Hard-core Aggregate and Rubble Company. I know I shouldn’t kick him when he’s down because he’s not the one at fault, but you have to realise the sort of people you are dealing with. The next item is simply propaganda. No, don’t blame me. I’m just exposing it for what it is.
Ananias and Saphera are Dead
Early in ‘Acts’ we are told of a young gent who, on joining the flock, promptly sold all his possessions, gave all the proceeds to Peter (who it appears was running things) to put in the public purse. Then said gent sits back to live off same. This is presented as the Way to Do Things, as opposed to the Other Way which follows.
Next, enter Ananias who has also sold his house- coincidence. He also lays a bundle of money at Peter’s feet, saying nothing. Peter berates him, accusing him of lying to God about the sum of money received but Ananias has yet to utter a single word.
Peter says ‘The property was yours to do with as you pleased; when you sold it, the money was yours to do with as you pleased’- but that was exactly what he was doing- as he pleased! He didn’t tell God anything, true or false; he
simply handed over a bundle of money. He didn’t say it was from the sale, a tax rebate, win on the dogs- nothink!
Then Peter condemns him, smites him with death, on God’s behalf, though I don’t see God’s hand in this. Nor Jesus, come to think of it. Jesus lived out his whole ministry without killing anyone. Add that to your ‘Think about’ list in the end pages. Meanwhile Peter is a busy bunny. He calls in a party of Shovel bearers (like spear bearers but more flashy) who just happened to be appearing in their Israeli Flying Synchronised Shovels Show, and told them to bury Ananias- now!
Now 2,000 years ago, the Hebrews had funerals off to a fine art, while we had only just stopped pushing corpses up in the trees as disposable bird feeders. First, the corpse was private property. So first on the charge sheet- theft of a corpse- known owner, known kin. Perhaps none close enough to expect a sit down fork tea, but surely there would be some due a cream cheese bagel apiece and a glass of burdock? Either way, it was none of Peter’s business, as were the necessary rituals. The body must be washed. It must be bound in linen wrappings, enclosing preservatives and perfumes. The body must be securely consigned to the earth with no possibility of disturbance. You’ve read what happened, following the descent from the cross. First Joseph and Nicodemus with their 40 pounds of aloes, and then the Marys on Easter morning.
And what did our boy get? A dung heap? A grain sack? A patch of desert? Where is the priest or the mourners?
When Saphera arrives, only three hours later, the Israeli Flying Shovels Synchronised Burial Squad are back on
station, shovels akimbo. And what gentle words of comfort does Peter have for her? Something like-‘My dear Saphera, you must prepare yourself for a shock’ or ‘Come and sit by me, Saphera, my dear; you must be very brave at what I must tell you’. No.
“Is that all you got for your house, then?”
Is this Peter? The ‘You are the rock and on this rock I will build my church’ Peter? Sounds more like Shylock on a ‘bad hair’ day. So Saphera croaks, and I reckon she’s well off out of it. This isn’t a story of ‘Acts of the Apostles’ This is a piece of very crude, badly written, desperate propaganda. Probably a fund-raising wheeze from one of the junior deacons, feeling the pressure of distributing alms, liquid paraffin and boracic ointment to the rapidly growing number of dependants.
Render unto Caesar
Now this impinges on everything from stealing pencils, paper clips and rubber bands from the office, to CEOs filling the car with gas, on expenses, before going on holiday, and all sorts in between.
First, we set the scene, not in Palestine 2000 years ago, but less than a century ago, in occupied Europe. For ‘Roman’ read ‘German’. Their position is very similar. They steal- food, materiel, arms, slave labour, technology, space, mineral resources, to answer their own needs and appetites. And while they are at it, they steal any art treasures, precious metals and gems, any little thing that they fancy- even your daughters.
Now Jesus is out with the lads, having a ’wet’- or was it in the synagogue? Nah, no sinners there, remember. Anyway, somebody asks ‘Is it right that we should pay tax to the Romans?’ It’s a simple ‘yes or no’ question. A simple
questionnaire would just require a tick in one of just two boxes- no need for any more.
Of course, Jesus knows what’s afoot. He immediately calls to the Pharisees at an adjacent table- ‘I know what your game is!’ It’s a trap. Whatever he answers, he can’t win. ‘Yes’ means he’s an appeaser, collaborator, traitor to Israel, friend of the ungodly, and- by association-
blasphemer. ‘No’ makes him a rebel, agitator, dissident, insurrectionist, law breaker, outlaw, enemy of Rome.
So Jesus answers question with question. That clever evasion- show me- then- give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, but the questioner wants to know is the money Caesar’s or not, and that question Jesus does not answer. In effect, Jesus says ‘Look to your own conscience. You decide, and do as you see fit’.
Now before you start frothing at the mouth, there is another issue, here, which we must address-
The Law
Come with me, back to Holland in the early 1940s. We are walking along by a canal, and along the opposite side
runs the Prinsengacht, an elegant parade of trading houses, 5 and 6 stories high, trades for which they were built, still being plied in the lower stories, while the upper floors were living accommodation. Like No 263 over there. It belonged to Otto Frank- still does, I believe. Well the business still trades in his name, though he and his family suddenly upped sticks and disappeared, remember? Not long after the Bosche started carting off Jews to labour camps- Death camps, more like. Hush! Unwise words in these times. We all glance up at the tall building, in silence, then-
Did you see that? What? You mean- Yes. That face at that window? You saw it too! It was Otto. Otto Frank. It was he, definitely.
We could say more, but no need. The notices are all over the city.
ATTENTION!
All Jews will register for
Redistribution of Labour
Not to do so is a capital offence!
To harbour unregistered Jews,
To fail to report them,
Or to aid such law breakers
Are also capital offences!
Now you know what we should do. We can all see the group marching towards us; Herr lieutenant, in his smart uniform, with his armed patrol- guardians of the law; the law which says we should report the Franks, then stand by as they are hauled off to their death. This is what the law demands. It is the law, you know.
Don’t worry. I know a man who can help you but we must ride the time train once more, to consult the young Rabbi; tell him of your dilemma Well, what did he say?
Something about Caesar and God? Interesting.
Winding Up the Winding Up
To the Setting Out of the Stall.
That feels about where we’re at.
See, before I could even start on my problem, I needed to sort out a few of yours, which you didn’t necessarily know you had; well which I was sure most of you didn’t know. Now it all worked out quite reasonably through Part One, but then Part Two seemed to develop into a hatchet job on the bible, as I tried to warn you, which wasn’t my intention at all. What I was trying to do, in my own humble and halting way, was to show how the bible, like all and everyone else, is subject to misuse, misinterpretation, misrepresentation and over-literification being part of the problem.
My Bible is a good read, informative, a guide, history brought to life, a ‘life manual’, a beacon of logic and reason. In the gospels, I can virtually walk with Christ. But it is never dictatorial. The commandments were set in stone ,but the bible never was.
Either I already said that once, or I think I’m going to again. Senior citizen thing.
We just read how Jesus suggests cautiousness and the application of the individual conscience, reason and logic.
The Commandments were set in stone, but the bible wasn’t. See? I’m not quite barmy.
Many…No; better make that ‘some’ may remember a Sunday teatime children’s TV cartoon treat (Oliver Postgate, what better pedigree)- ‘Listen to the tales of the Vikings and Noggin the Nog, as they were told in days of old, round the roaring log fire, on long winter nights, in the great hall…’ It is quite logical that the earliest parts of the bible had a similar origin, and it would be no worse for that, and no less fit for purpose.