It's Good Friday today...
Three months without a blog post suggests mental atrophy, but I argue that it's more a case of delay... a blog on 'performance' will follow at some point. However... a vital spark has emerged from other quarters!
It's Good Friday today, a mix of emotions and opportunity for devotional reflection as the axis of Christian belief is chewed over far and wide, and its relevance to modern life affirmed or rejected.
My preparation to date has happily involved attending performances of JS Bach's St Matthew Passion [in German] and St John Passion [in English], as well as cleaning the 'Eagle' Lectern brass at the local Cathedral, [to make it nice and shiny for the many services held there over Easter].
I thought this year that I would also attend a local country church advertising a service ''The Road to the Cross'', complete with Church Choir ['tenors and basses needed'].
Fair enough... but first Simnel Cake preparations intervened. We used to make 3 cakes each year and then hope to have some left for ourselves after gifts thereof to friends and to our ravenous children.
Departure of our eaglet adult children and moving house resulted in a cessation of this annual cake ritual, with the promise... a broken hope if ever there was a need for one... that it might also help defend the waistline.
Comments by a friend that it had been difficult to buy one [even devoted cooks have gardens to maintain and busy lifestyles to devour time] pricked at my conscience and decided me that at least this year the ritual should be renewed.
But the preparation time would mean a rush to the 6pm church service as advertised, so a deal was struck with my wifely MC that I would buy the ingredients, weigh and mix... and she would cook and marzipan.
So the rush began... ancient scales of justice weighing and bowls, spoons, forks, whisks and dishes multiplying as the sultanas, currants, cherries, flour, fat and ! 8 eggs ?!! , etc vanished in time for my departure.
Ever [not] in control, I urged MC to ensure 11 marzipan balls for each cake...[supposedly reflecting the 12 apostles less Judas]. ''How long are you planning to be?'', she asked.. ''it's got to cook before I can do that''
Game set and match to the wise one!
Never, mind. Onwards! 6pm saw me at the wrong local church and 6.05pm at the right one.
And then the plan got interesting. Which door?? Never having been there before I decided, tracker like, to look at the paths for the cleanest way, and with it thus a direct route to the North door. I could hear 'There is a Green Hill' being sung tunefully as I approached to sneak into the service. Door handle grasped firmly and tried to turn and push... to no avail.
Quick then..Plan B! Round quickly to the South door, a lovely porch and Notices... a winner then ??
And with the organ dying away the door again wouldn't budge to my 16 stone.
Silence now inside... and a pious, dignified, voice declaiming the words I had anticipated all along in planning to attend the service..
Isaiah 53 v3, 'He was despised and rejected--a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief...'
Which, understandably was enough to send me off home , bemused.
I hope the people inside enjoyed the service and that my failed attempt to gain entry did not upset anyone pondering the rattle and turn of each door latch.
Inside... or ...outside, was much of the Christian faith I was brought up with.
I didn't want anything apart from to listen to the service, but perhaps could have hammered insistently at the door demanding entry, [Luke 11 v5-13].
But I was outside and now have to ponder the immediate comment of MC on my return...
''Did you try PULLING the door to open it??''
Well, no I didn't even think of it. Don't all church doors open inwards?? And shall I ever return to find out??
Happy Easter.. and at least the photo, above, proves I didn't forget the baking powder!!
It's Good Friday today, a mix of emotions and opportunity for devotional reflection as the axis of Christian belief is chewed over far and wide, and its relevance to modern life affirmed or rejected.
My preparation to date has happily involved attending performances of JS Bach's St Matthew Passion [in German] and St John Passion [in English], as well as cleaning the 'Eagle' Lectern brass at the local Cathedral, [to make it nice and shiny for the many services held there over Easter].
I thought this year that I would also attend a local country church advertising a service ''The Road to the Cross'', complete with Church Choir ['tenors and basses needed'].
Fair enough... but first Simnel Cake preparations intervened. We used to make 3 cakes each year and then hope to have some left for ourselves after gifts thereof to friends and to our ravenous children.
Departure of our eaglet adult children and moving house resulted in a cessation of this annual cake ritual, with the promise... a broken hope if ever there was a need for one... that it might also help defend the waistline.
Comments by a friend that it had been difficult to buy one [even devoted cooks have gardens to maintain and busy lifestyles to devour time] pricked at my conscience and decided me that at least this year the ritual should be renewed.
But the preparation time would mean a rush to the 6pm church service as advertised, so a deal was struck with my wifely MC that I would buy the ingredients, weigh and mix... and she would cook and marzipan.
So the rush began... ancient scales of justice weighing and bowls, spoons, forks, whisks and dishes multiplying as the sultanas, currants, cherries, flour, fat and ! 8 eggs ?!! , etc vanished in time for my departure.
Ever [not] in control, I urged MC to ensure 11 marzipan balls for each cake...[supposedly reflecting the 12 apostles less Judas]. ''How long are you planning to be?'', she asked.. ''it's got to cook before I can do that''
Game set and match to the wise one!
Never, mind. Onwards! 6pm saw me at the wrong local church and 6.05pm at the right one.
And then the plan got interesting. Which door?? Never having been there before I decided, tracker like, to look at the paths for the cleanest way, and with it thus a direct route to the North door. I could hear 'There is a Green Hill' being sung tunefully as I approached to sneak into the service. Door handle grasped firmly and tried to turn and push... to no avail.
Quick then..Plan B! Round quickly to the South door, a lovely porch and Notices... a winner then ??
And with the organ dying away the door again wouldn't budge to my 16 stone.
Silence now inside... and a pious, dignified, voice declaiming the words I had anticipated all along in planning to attend the service..
Isaiah 53 v3, 'He was despised and rejected--a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief...'
Which, understandably was enough to send me off home , bemused.
I hope the people inside enjoyed the service and that my failed attempt to gain entry did not upset anyone pondering the rattle and turn of each door latch.
Inside... or ...outside, was much of the Christian faith I was brought up with.
I didn't want anything apart from to listen to the service, but perhaps could have hammered insistently at the door demanding entry, [Luke 11 v5-13].
But I was outside and now have to ponder the immediate comment of MC on my return...
''Did you try PULLING the door to open it??''
Well, no I didn't even think of it. Don't all church doors open inwards?? And shall I ever return to find out??
Happy Easter.. and at least the photo, above, proves I didn't forget the baking powder!!
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