On dying

I found myself reminded of this scribble and thought it might be useful to share it at this time considering how many people I know and care about are struggling with death in all its forms:


You can forget me slipping gently away or,
assisted down the pathway to oblivion,
dying without a bloody good fight!

I'm not going to 'pass' because
at the end of it all,
death feels more like a bit of an epic fail to me!

So, if the rest of you don't mind
I'll leave this world the way I entered it -
well almost - I might not be naked!

But believe me when I say I will leave it kicking and screaming
and when I go people will be pleased to see the back of me;
grateful that at last they can have a bit of peace and quiet
as they try to fill the scratch marks my fingernails have left.

For as much as I don't fear death it is - like Bognor Regis - not a place I've ever wanted to go!
For as much as I want to spend eternity with Jesus
a few years more would look like nothing in the light of eternity.

So put aside your dona eis requiem moment for now
I'd rather have a doughnut and a nice cuppa
And celebrate the 'now' - for the 'then' will look after itself!

© 2015 Vic VDB

Has anyone told them?

The harsh mocking billed as satire silenced by the hard response that is terror
brings people to their feet and puts crowds onto the streets
and the faith of the atheist although founded on nothing but disbelief
gives way to the distressing cries of those who call out to their god
as life is snatched by those who reside on both sides of the law.

O death, where is your sting?
O grave, where is your victory?
Humanity, where is your reason, your grace, your kindness?
And the answer, as if any was needed is cruelly obvious:
It lies trampled on the ground, splashed upon the walls, broadcast on the airwaves!
In the death of one innocent the whole world perishes
In the death of one innocent the whole world is saved.

Has anyone told them this?

Golgotha: A place of trouble?

Am I the only one who finds Golgotha troublesome?
A place of loss rather than gain?
Do others find the cross of Christ a disturbing place to be?

After all,
those around me are flocking,
like tourists in a queue for a day trip coach,
To visit the cross and to bring back a gift.

Grace that sets them free and love that has no price
(that cancel the wrong and justify the guilty).
Love that loves the unloveable:
The free will offering of one for many,
For all,
By name,
Known.

And He,
Knowing what we are;
What we've done,
Who we've done,
How we've done,
How short we fell.
How highly we lied.

And then,
arms full,
unable to carry anything else,
claiming it all,
Pleading the blood,
As 'heirs of the promise';
However unpromising we might be.

We push and shove
to get back on the bus
that takes us home,
back to a place
where we live free
without thinking
without thanking
without repentance.

Laden with all we've gathered,
like manna in the wilderness.
We find ourselves passing a dust-covered bloke
carrying a cross going in the opposite direction.
Poor sod.

It's all free!

Spare some change mate?

Sitting on the pavement
harvesting the change
Changing the reality?
Not, really!

They sit clocking up the cash
To pay for drink, or hash
Or to feed some need that they don't need at all
You give them Platitudes!

You give them your change rather than change
The habits of a lifetime and
offering platitudes
revelling in gratitude.
You pay for the privilege of doing nothing!

Meanwhile a shadow away- a fingertip near
Stands the God made man
The bloke you claim to follow
who is leading the way.
But you're not looking that far!

"Doing it for the least of them means
You're doing it for me,"
But then you'd have to stop and give time
Give of yourself.
Just like Jesus did
But I'm a good Christian
I'm living under Grace.
That ain't for me
Is it?

We wear our poppies with pride

Wearing our poppies with pride
standing around the cenotaphs
memorials
stained glass windows
statuary
monuments and shrines

Old men with berets
medals
tear-stained cheeks
soup-stained ties
standing to attention

as the bugle plays

as noise is stilled

waiting for reveille
to herald the start of a new day
to welcome in the resurrection of the dead
the dead we honour as we stand
and remember

not glorifying war
but remembering those in glory
remembering conflicts past and present
and longing for a future peace
to become our reality today

And then
we put our poppies away
and leave our remembering of them
those who have gone
for another year
and for another day

Not so
For today
and every day
we will remember them
the fallen
the broken
the bereaved

We will remember them!

(c) Vic VDB 2013

The Cell: Mental illness

Trapped in a cell, not of walls, but of mind;
Invisible to those outside,
Unbreakable to those within.
The sunny days that only you can see
As trapped within my life, gloom is my reality,
And where you see hope;
I see only more of the same.
You give me anti-psychotics but fail to see - 
The way that psychosis and your, many, diagnoses,
are really anti-me.
But there's a tunnel,
created with despair,
and death.

I'm free!

In memory of a man who proved that mental illness is indeed a terminal disease and on a day that is World Mental Heath day I find his death to be a stark reminder of the tragedies that accompany mental health issues

dona eis requiem

Vogon Poetry please

Whilst out doing a funeral I was asked why I never featured Vogon poetry, especially on this National Poetry Day, so (of course) I am most happy to oblige:

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturitions are to me,
As plurdled gabbleblotchits,
On a lurgid bee,
That mordiously hath bitled out,
Its earted jurtles,
Into a rancid festering confectious inner-sphincter. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,
And living glupules frart and slipulate,
Like jowling meated liverslime,
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turling dromes,
And hooptiously drangle me,
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don't.

And of course, if we're doing Vogon (which is the unoiverse's third worst poetry we of course must put aside the marvellous iambic pentameters for a rendition of Grunthos the Flatulent's  (one of the Azgoths of Kria, who I'm sure you may recall possess the second worst poetry in the universe) offering, 'Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning':

Putty. Putty. Putty.
Green Putty - Grutty Peen.
Grarmpitutty - Morning!
Pridsummer - Grorning Utty!
Discovery..... Oh.
Putty?..... Armpit?
Armpit..... Putty.
Not even a particularly
Nice shade of green.
As I lick my armpit and shall agree,
That this putty is very well green.

Sadly I can find no works by the universe's worst poet, 'Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings' (of Sussex).

Choices

There are some words that once spoken
will break the world in two
never to be one again
Unless the blood of Christ is made real.

Some acts that once committed
turn lies to truth, truth to lies
turning the world to dust and ashes
Unless the love of God is made flesh.

Some songs that will never be heard
that will never break the chains
nor see the ministry before them breathe and fly
Unless the Spirit of God dwells in the heart.

There are some songs that once sung

turns life into living

bringing colour into the greyness

As God sings over us, with us, for us.

Acts that, although committed,

are washed away by acknowledging and simply turning away

taken from us by our standing at the foot of the cross

As Jesus, the Christ, pays the price for us.

Jesus,

Risen Lord

Christ

Saviour

Friend,

God - made man - incarnate

makes us one with Him

and the Father,

through the power of the Spirit.

The offer is laid on the altar

the price is paid

the debts are cancelled

the doors, once closed, are open,

yours for the taking

The choice is yours

The Ordination Retreat

I gave up my life ten years ago and started to live.
I stopped working and have never worked harder;

and as I think of those ten years I remember where it all began.

That last day and first day combined;

and the ordination retreat:

Ten years ago.
There we were,
ready
willing
and unable to stop the express train that is ordination;
locked in a pub' in the early hours of the morning,
sitting in a corner nursing our beers,
laughing over our fears.

Then comes a knocking at the door
at twenty to four (I tell the truth)
and the door is opened
and he comes in.
A Police Officer,
not Jesus

(although that would have been nice)!

And over he comes to us
asking who we are
and what brings us to the place
so we tell him,

We're almost Vicars,'

and smiling,
he buys us a drink
and wishes us well!

Dawn arrives
and the congregation,
disturbed by her appearance,
replete and cheery,
leave
and so do we.

Back to the ordination retreat
with its farce-like silence
bordering on madness
as people,
in pursuit of ketchup,
gesticulate and madly mime.

As the woman serving us
bangs plates upon the tables
and the background music
suddenly bursts into Wagner
and the Valkaries ride
on the wings of our silent sobs
of suppressed laughter
and released nerves
which scamper around the room
releasing even more
and the sniggering rises
causing tears to run
shoulders to shake
and a disapproving glare from the leader
as he leaves in disgust!

How odd - the people who hear God . . .

How odd, that those who most clearly hear God
Hear Him for you
And for others
And for church
(But never for themselves)

They can tell you where you're wrong
And when
And how
And why

They know what you have to do to be 'right'
Because they know what right is
Always
Every time
All the time

The know all the put downs
The sneering comments
The dismissive assessments
The negative words
The words that wound
That stop you from volunteering
Or trying
Or being

But when you tell them that they're doing this
Or that
Or something else . . .

It plain to see that
You don't understand them
And you don't care at all
As you revel in your unChristlikeness

When you ask them to do what they've scared the others away from doing
You're pressurising them

When you point out their failings
You're being critical

When you give them an opportunity
You're the bad guy

When you treat them as they treat others
Then you

God

the 'Church'
(whoever or whatever that might be)

Is cruel

Harsh

Demanding

Not understanding

Intolerant

But when you
or others
bleed

They smile
and say
'Told you you were wrong!'

And that's why people don't come to church - they know we're like that!

And that's why people don't volunteer - they know they'll fail!

And that's why Jesus hangs

Still hangs

From a Cross

He just isn't good enough to do the job

Perhaps that what you came into the world to do - save Him!

I've tried - but I can't believe

Demanding

Disputing

Denying

Proclaiming

Claiming

It's tough as they just keep on trying

Going on and on and on and . . . 

Quoting him

His words

His beliefs

his example

which, they claim, cannot be denied

Offering proof of his existence

Claiming that he's real

Not the invention of a needy people

Pointing to the logic

Appealing to reason

Making fantastic claims

For a wondrous future should we follow him

But - hard as I try

As much as I'd like to

As much as they want me to

I can't

I really can't 

I just can't believe in

In

Dawkins

©Vic VDB 2013

Palm Sunday - Praise and Rejection

palm crosses blessed
and waved
sang 'Hosanna'
Said a prayer (or did I mumble?)

had fingers crossed as confessed our sins
my sins
looking to God for forgiveness
and a short memory
for sins past
and life events (failed)
'What greater love than this?'
no need to ask as the nail-pierced hand held mine
safely
assuredly

and then
without warning
there were were
on a journey

donkey with a King on its back
King with stripes on His back for a donkey (that's me)
before the religious leaders (who crucify Him still)
before the Political stooge
the Pilate who ley justice fly in the face of truth and love
before the ersatz king
the horrid who was Herod
And back again

And we cried out
Silently
above the noise of love

our lives
our hearts
our sinful
selfish
cruel ambitions
cried out: 'crucify Him, crucify Him!'

And they did
They bloody well did
gave us exactly what we demanded

and Him
scourged
bleeding
broken
went off to Golgotha

Nailed
Pierced
Broken
mocked

even by the bloke next to Him
(but not the bloke on the other side)

and then
'it is finished'
job's a good 'un

tetelestai
the debt
of sin
cancelled
paid
by THE act of love

Centurion
battle-scarred
seen men die
made men die
standing and watched
impressed?
touched?
guilty?
proclaims the dead
'a righteous man'
'a good bloke?'
'a dead good bloke' perhaps?

and taken down
wrapped up
like a Christmas present?
like an Easter present?
a 'good egg' perhaps?
He's placed in a tomb

game over?
not the Messiah?
without hindsight what would we be thinking
how would we be acting
what would this mean to us

and so
Palm Sunday done
everything on hold
we await
eagerly?
disbelieving?
hoping
for a greater comeback
than winning 5-7 from 4-1 down at half-time

Holy Week
wholly weak
we struggle to
a Good Friday
in the knowledge of
a better Sunday

Footprints - part of Holy Writ? (3)

The famous 'Butt prints in the sand' version:

One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there was seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
But mine were not along the shore.

But then some stranger prints appeared,
And I asked the Lord, "What have we here?"
Those prints are large and round and neat,
"But Lord they are too big for feet."

"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to walk in faith,
But you refused and made me wait."

"You disobeyed, you would not grow,
The walk of faith, you would not know.
So I got tired, I got fed up,
and there I dropped you on your butt."

"Because in life, there comes a time,
when one must fight, and one must climb.
When one must rise and take a stand,
or leave their butt prints in the sand."

(Suggested by the Pioneer Minister ;-)  )

Footprints - part of Holy Writ? (2)

There are many really interesting parodies of 'footprints'. This offering is one from an obviously Catholic source and uses the vehicle that is 'footprints' in a rather pointed manner:

Footprints - part of Holy Writ? (1)

Many years ago (when the earth was young) I was sitting in a service one day when one of the church members got up to do a 'reading'. Now the reason for the ' '  is that what they got up and read wasn't, as was the usual practice, something from the Bible but that wonderfully reflective offering ' Footprints'. To top it all when she had finished reading it, in unusually hushed and sombre tones, she added an 'Amen' for good measure and walked away looking as if she had just read something that had just come down from the mountain.

"Hey Ho!" I thought (as I often do) - whatever floats your boat. But sadly, that day, I remember that we didn't get another reading and this was indeed the text from which the sermons was to be drawn.

As much as I think there is something wonderfully supportive and true in the words of footprints, I'm not so sure that I'd place it us there alongside scripture and even if I was to use it as the primary focus of a sermon, I would be looking at passages that could be drawn in to support, challenge and bless.

With that in mind, I have to say that the cartoon below (which I first saw this morning) made me smile as I sat in my study (now a balmy 11.7 degrees C) and so I thought I'd perhaps share it with you as I embark on a journey that considers footprints (and perhaps some others that I struggle with) and the reasons for it.

Please feel free to offer correctives and bring other perspective into the process - This is merely my brain bleeding onto the keyboard and screen (now there's a nice Advent image for us all):

Pax

Left footing the bill?

I rather like this because it often seems that when one is dragged out to eat, for some reason or other, it is always the same poor person who is left to tot up the bill at the end of the meal.

At one meal I went to (some time back) some bright spark worked out that, nnn, should cover the cost and as quick as you like some of those present paid that and left whilst others, claiming that they'd had but the main course paid for that and also left. As the calculations started it was obvious that those who had legged had managed to do so without paying for drinks or (perhaps conveniently forgotten) sweets and starters!

The upshot was that some poor person paid sixty pounds over the top to cover (or to use the correct term 'Pardon') their debts.

Sadly this has been something I have seen (or been) on many occasions and so I find this little piece of doggerel both fitting and fun:

When going out I often find
A circumstance that blows my mind
The way that others munch and drink
Yet when cometh the bill
Well what d'ya think?

Leaving the smallest sum they can,
The leave the bill to just one man.
The hapless fool;
Who could it be?
You've probably guessed, 
It's always me!

But now a promise I have made,
And Spongers you can be dismayed
For when the meal,
And drink, is done;
I'll pay my share
And then I'll run!

And you're the one who's left to meet,
The shortfall on the bill,
How sweet,
And to my joy and your dismay,
I have gone
And it's you who pay!

Dodgy Doggerel - man and God!

A circumstance I find quite odd is those who live denying God
Yet when disaster comes a calling upon whose name are they a calling?

Wickedness done, who shall we blame, who carries the can?
The choice is surely God or man;
It isn't me it must be God, to blame another would be odd
"Why did God let it happen?' is our cry,
As innocently we pass by.

But those who choose to live apart
from God
and so deny His heart
and love
and justice
and mercy too,
must bear the blame for this human zoo
for greed
and murder,
rape
and pillage;
these things define our global village.

And in the cold light of day,
whilst choosing to live in our own way,
we cheat
and lie
and steal
and kill
and look to God to pay our bill;
and stop the wars
and set us free?

He has

He did it on a tree!

'A levels' - Political posturing and tosh!

So here we are then, the results have been read and the celebration (and tears) are beginning to abate and all that is left is to look at the tosh that has been spoken by the Schools Minister, Nick Gibbs and sigh at the political posturing from the opposition's Nick Twwigg.

Here we are applauding, as always, an increase in the pass rate. It's what we do at this time of year isn't it? Well we have since 1982 so we can take it as read - more people passing and so our children are getting smarter and the teechers are betterer at their jobs than they were when I was a skolar! Blimey, believe that and you can come and join our church whenever you want (please bring cash as well as a simple mind and the ability to clap!).

The reality is that when you speak to science teachers about Snell's Law and the like, they tellyou that that's no longer on the menu! Discuss mathematics or Chemistry with the teaching staff and you'll find the same story. Science and maths have been watered (should that be dumbed?) down. Nick Gibbs celebrates the increase in those doing maths and physics (an increase of 3.3% and 5% respectively) by telling us that "The number of students pursuing rigorous subjects such as maths and physics continues to rise".

Rigorous? Oh yes, we are looking down the barrel of the moronoscope and seeing at the other end someone who is helping to fuel the 'soft subject' fallacy. That idiotic position that sees our decline in science and engineering laid at the feet of English, Music, Art and all the other 'softies'. Actually the decline in science and engineering (and I speak as someone who has been at some time engaged in both) is due to the crass mismanagement of both by Conservative and Labour governments (alphabetical not listed by error or lack of ability).

This 'soft' subject rubbish is beginning to yield fruit as the fall in those doing modern languages falls (French - 5.2%, Spanish - 3.4% and German - 7.6%). So not only can't we do engineering and science but we aren't even able to understand the way that other European nations must be laughing at us :-)

Still, there is a lighter side to this tale - enter Labour (remember them? Academies, collapse of the state education system, cronies and a bankrupt nation [financially and morally])Stephen Twigg:

"These impressive results are thanks to better teaching, better school leadership and Labour's relentless focus on literacy and numeracy and record investment in schools."

So English might be a 'soft' subject but there's still a place for fiction it seems!

Art, Music, English and all the other 'soft' subjects aren't soft at all. In fact rather than learning formulae and doing experiments (I loved that stuff) it seems to me that learning instruments and compiling portfolios of artwork and all that stuff is a much tougher gig. Horses for courses and whilst there might well be some easy options on the path to collecting UCAS points if the course is relevant to the intended career then it's not soft - it's relevant.

Oh yeah a final thought - why not teach rather than train monkeys to pass exams? Teach first principles and develop things from there? As a nation we are still THE scientific and engineering centre of things so let's recover our industrial, technological and scientific heritage. And then applaud the arts, media, fashion and musical aspects that give us so much credibility in those areas too?