Dismantling the crib

Creative thinkers have heightened my appreciation of our cribs this year, finishing on Friday with finding this carving outside St Martin-in-the-Fields.

I hadn’t appreciated the role the fourteenth century St Bridget of Sweden had played.  It appears that either a direct portrayal of her vision of the nativity, or an unconscious echo of it, is evidenced  every time a painting has a brighter light radiating from the crib than the one from the candles pictured.  She may also be the one responsible for other details such as Mary’s hair being long and golden.

She also mentions the ox and ass, which had in fact been long included in the scene via legend which, I was reminded elsewhere, developed not so much the hint about the manger in the Gospel account but rather made a theological statement based on to Isaiah 1.3  - the ox knows its master, the donkey its owner’s manger, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand.

And, most intriguing of all, Neil McGregor observed that subsequent painting came to be more likely to include the magi as three kings than to include the shepherds.  His suggestion was that the commissioning and financing patrons were simply more likely to want to include sumptuously dressed and even crowned figures like themselves.

Which inevitably reminded me that a heavily pregnant young women being shuffled round the country to meet the administrative convenience of occupying forces and quickly then driven out in fear of the child’s life evokes a picture for us more like a Syrian refugee camp than anything else, notwithstanding the status of the displaced family having relatives among the staff of the temple in the capital.

And which did make me notice for myself that the mistake of imagining instead that the place to look would be in the company of kings is actually one that goes back to the very beginning, with the magi as not-so-wise-men-after-all having the next best thing to a neon light pointing them to the right place but instead pitching up at Herod’s Palace as if it was the obvious place at which to inquire instead.

Christmas workload

A further dip into the Haworth registers shows that Patrick Brontë took seventeen christenings and four weddings on his first Christmas Day (1820).  The logistics alone are mind boggling.  I think I was aware that it was an unusually popular day for weddings – simply because Bob Crachit wasn’t the only one for whom it was a rare day off – but I hadn’t anticipated it being so for christenings as well, let alone anticipate such a number.

There had been none on that day the previous year when there wasn’t an incumbent and presumably there wasn’t an alternative clergyman easily available, which reminds me of the arguments going on in those years about enforcing clerical residence – it was said that the non-availability of a resident parson would severely restrict timely access to ministry and in this case (through vacancy rather than habitual non-residence) this was true.

The thought about Bob Crachit made me dip one step further.  Twenty-three years later, in the year that Dickens’ A Christmas Carol was published (1843), things had eased off a bit.  There were two Christenings on Christmas Eve and two on Christmas Day, one Wedding on Christmas Day and one on Boxing Day.  But I note in particular that – forget Tiny Tim – he buried one year old Frances Sugden on Christmas Eve and five month old James Roberts on Boxing Day.

The picture is one of Giuseppe Penone's tree installations at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park.

Self-absorption

I find that the only new photographs on my camera are of the picture hanging in the lobby of the Bronte Parsonage Museum of the Duchess of Cornwall's visit in February (I'm in the middle of the reception line and it happens to be my hand she is shaking) and of a section of the Incumbents Board in theParish Church next door (to which my name has just been added).  Make of that what you will.

Meanwhile, I have, as requested, prepared a prayer to use on the platform at Haworth Station this evening when the annual steam Carol Train will pull in and disgorge passengers and a brass band for a carol, a Bible reading and a prayer before they return to the warmth of the carriages and refreshments and move on to the next station:

The angels proclaimed peace and goodwill towards all people,

so we pray for those who will try out patience and goodwill most in the next two weeks. 

We pray for those among our in-laws, relatives and visitors who need a prayer most.   

For those who will monopolise our bathrooms, our drink cabinets and our TV remote controls. 

For those who vote differently to us, and who will tell us why;

for those who don’t vote at all, but who will still put us right anyway.

For those who will want to stay safe indoors when we fancy getting out on the moors,

and for those who will urge us into the cold when we fancy staying snugly inside.

For those who play charades.

For those broadband providers, queues and waiters who we will find too slow.

For those children, neighbours and pubs who we will find too loud.

For the young and old whose temper or stupor will indicate they have had too much.

And we give thanks for those who make it easiest for us to love and appreciate them.

Above all, we pray for the great miracle of grace which would be needed

for each of us to be less judgemental, less irritating and less self absorbed ourselves.

We pray for the peace, and for the good will to all people, of which the angels sang.

Advent apparitions

Cloud lying at the bottom of the Worth Valley (as seen from near Ponden this week) and a newly created arrival at St James', Cross Roads.

Mingled yarn

The twice yearly Bradford Area Episcopal Forum took place in the week.  Not so much this time to consult and explore as to brief and encourage those not involved with the Diocesan Synod.  So we heard briefly about its budget (and the human cost of redundancies in diocesan staff was mentioned), the operation of an Intern scheme (where the questions about what is appropriate remuneration and fair access for those unable to finance themselves were not probed) and the importance of parishes having ‘leadership pipelines’ (for the active nurturing and sending on of new leaders, to which the evening’s brief Bible Study related).

Samuel’s journey from before his birth to his anointing of Kings of Israel was the chosen pipeline story, something reflected on in a post here in June.  The recommended Bible Study findings focused an upbeat message – making me recast my earlier reflections in my mind:

Eli had a significant church activity and plant to run and was grateful for the diligent involvement of Samuel, an Intern working with him (albeit on terms which would give rise to significant safeguarding concerns today).  He was able to offer inspired spiritual direction to his Intern and exhibited mature willingness to take the challenging Ministerial Development Review feedback which his Intern offered.  This experience was all foundational for Samuel’s vocational discernment which eventually flowed through to a post of particular responsibility for identifying those to serve at the most senior level, although he then selected deeply flawed leaders whose lack of mental stability and whose sexual exploitation of others (among many other things) eventually brought repeated institutional conflict and crisis.

All consistent with what I have felt to be the important way of reading the confession of Peter, although perhaps I was over reacting to being in a bubble of asserted and encouraged confidence (not to mention one style of loud and repeated praise).  Perhaps I have been over influenced by the sorts of old and new quotations which have come through in the bubble of my Twitter feed in the week (not to mention one style of silent and penitent prayer):

There is an epidemic of certainty and I am increasingly aware of the importance of not knowing.  Jean Sprackland

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our own virtues.  William Shakespeare

Jolts needed

I’ve long enjoyed (and pointed out to others) the sense of joyful competition behind provoke one another to love and good deeds (Hebrews 10.24b) and outdo one another in showing honour (Romans 12.10b). 

Knowing what it is to provoke and to be provoked in a negative manner, I’ve loved the sense that Christian people and communities are intended to get a rise out of each other – to entice or incite each other – in a positive manner.  Alongside this saint, you are impelled into being better.  Alongside these people, you can’t but help reacting well.

When the text came up in the set readings last Sunday it made me notice that, while the pew Bibles in St Michael’s do give provoke (they are the New Revised Standard Version), those at St James’ instead give spur (New International Version).

There are obvious links between provoking and spurring but the discovery sent me back for the first time to the Greek.   I found paroxysmon – which, of course, gets directly into medical English as paroxysm with its sense of involuntary recurring outburst.  Its only other occurrence in the New Testament is about the sharpness of the disagreement which broke out between Barnabas and Paul at Acts 15.39.

So my previous playful reading of the text perhaps missed the suddenness and startlingness of what may be best rendered as to goad or to needle.  Not some gentle supportive environment bringing out the best in me but some definite and unexpected kicks up the backside.

I’ve now just had a quick look at what the New International Version does with the New Revised Standard Version’s outdo one another in showing honour.  It offers honour one another above yourselves. 

Here the root word is proegeomai, which doesn’t show up anywhere else in the New Testament at all.  Its use elsewhere reveals two possibilities.  There is a literal use: a leader setting the example by doing it first.  There is a metaphorical use: preferring.  Either way, my sense of friendly competition (outdo one another) rather underestimates the challenge of pioneering an example and laying aside a focus on my own preferences.

The pictures continue to come from Venice.  It is the lion (with a gospel book) as a symbol of St Mark - and it was everywhere.

The redemption of captives in Algiers

Records of Baptisms, Marriages and Burials at Haworth date back to 1645.  This is about as early as anywhere, although it isn’t unusual (for example, my direct line Mullins ancestors can be traced back in similar records at Box in Wiltshire to the mid seventeenth century but not any earlier). These sorts of records predate registers with standard formats and take the form of annual lists submitted to the Bishop.

The early records at Haworth only survive because in 1786 John Shackleton, the local schoolmaster, made a proper copy in a single volume of the deteriorating, occasionally jumbled and partially lost records.  Twenty years ago Steven Wood, indefatigable local historian, transcribed Shackleton’s work, and has now given me a disc with his transcription.

An interesting feature of the early Haworth records is the notes which appear at the end of each year’s list.  There is nothing systematic about them, simply being what someone like the Parish Clerk at the time thought remarkable – beginning with a huge thunder storm in July 1646 and the Battle of Preston, thirty miles away, in August 1648 (the Parliamentary victory there being welcomed by the writer).

The feature of seventeenth century church and community life which stands out for me is the regular collections made for churches and individuals in need around the country.  Specific references to ‘collectors’ and ‘letters patent’ indicate that someone travelled round the country and turned up with a licence (I discover elsewhere that the term 'church brief' was used) to request or make each collection.

The first reference in 1663 is to supporting the repair of what might be Harwich church and steeple in Essex.  In 1666 there is the first reference to supporting an individual (one shilling for Jo. Osborn, Russian Merchant - for a ransom?).  Ten years later some collections begin to be named for what may be a poor community (two shillings nine pence for the inhabitants of Newent in Gloucestershire) as the poor of Towcester and Wem are named as such two years later.

Different bits of national history emerge.  In 1680 contributions are made for the ‘redemption of captives in Algiers’ and the following year a much larger sum than usual (ten shillings and six pence) for ‘the relief of French Protestants’, so slavery on the North African coast and Louis XIV’s ramping up the persecution of Huguenots would have been well known  in Haworth, and both reappear in subsequent collection lists.

Ten separate collections (a quite unusual number) are recorded in 1683, one in October ‘according to Order for the relief of the poor of the Parish of Newmarket, in Suffolk, impoverished by fire’.  I cross referenced this to a local history site there which records the Great Fire of Newmarket which destroyed half the town five months earlier; the King (who had been staying locally) issuing a ‘fire brief’ which brought in £20,000, to which Haworth records show we contributed four shillings and one penny.

The Virgin and Child is in Venice.