Will We Remember Them?

I kept the Two Minute Silence alone in the house, with Radio 4. With a tear in my eye, which is not usual in all the years I’ve done this publicly at the War Memorial.

Perhaps it was thinking of Branse Burbridge. Before he was in his late 20s he had spent years risking his life night after night behind the controls of his Mosquito. After that experience, how could he not love life and live it to the full? But of course, there are lots of veterans who didn’t, who went on to live bitter and impoverished lives. Perhaps you also have to love the Giver of life, and want to share that love with others?

Or perhaps the tears were because of the state we’re now in. How could we, as a nation, forget history, and vote to cut ourselves off from the most successful peace-making and -keeping union there has ever been? How could we listen to, and vote for, right-wing demagogues whose language sounds so much like that of previous leaders that people like Branse risked their lives to defeat?

What ever happened to Lest We Forget? And We Will Remember Them?

At the Esperanto Museum

In Vienna, I found the Esperanto Museum. It was not, as I supposed, the shop window of a local Esperanto Society, where I would be greeted by samideanoj with cries of “Saluton! Ĉu vi parolas Esperanton? Kiel vi fartas?”, but was rather a department of the Austrian National Library. The Museum was founded in 1927 by Hugo Steiner, and opened in 1929. It contains over 35,000 books, 2,500 magazines, 22,000 photographs as well as thousands of other items. After the Nazi annexation of Austria in 1938, it faced the same hostility from the regime as did individual Esperantists. The German authorities demanded that the books be moved to Berlin to be housed in a library of disapproved books, but the director of the Austrian National Library insisted that the collection belonged to the nation, and so was able to resist the edict.


Reopened in the late 1940s, the Museum is now part of the Department of Planned Languages. The public display is small and limited: some important volumes for the history of the language, from different editions of Zamenhof’s Unua Libro onwards, to posters and other artefacts illustrating much of what I already knew about the history, but also shedding fascinating new light.

What emerges from the display is the persistent idealism of the movado. In the early decades of the 20th century, Esperantists had a vision for a unified Europe that was far ahead of its time. They also made two attempts at setting up a unified international monetary system, which both failed for lack of interest from governments or financial institutions.

Living in the midst of the misery and fear of a world post-Brexit, and facing the possibility of a Trump presidency, I am confirmed in my love of Esperanto’s interna ideo. As Esther Schor writes in her new book Bridge of Words:

“Multiculturalism, which is the lifeblood of Esperanto, has acquired prestige in our day as the last, best challenge to militaristic nationalism and violent sectarianism.”

Anything whose lifeblood represents the last, best challenge to those world-threatening evils, deserves our fullest, most whole-hearted involvement and support.

Turned Into Roman Catholics

Well. Today, in a cathedral which shall remain nameless, we were treated to a gratuitously anti-Reformation sermon, which strongly suggested that the Reformation was a mistake, that it was not only possible, but desirable, to pray to the saints, and that all those 16th and 17th century English people who made political choices based on fear of being turned into Roman Catholics were mistaken or deluded. We were ‘celebrating the Feast of the Assumption’, and the preacher remarked that the readings appointed in the Lectionary were surprisingly short and what was a preacher to do? (I’m presuming that saying there is no scriptural warrant for the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin was not considered an option. And the gift of the Gospel reading of Mary’s Magnificat, with all its radical political implications, ditto.)

Now, times have changed, and I never denounce the Bishop of Rome in my preaching. I pray for the Pope and all our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters. But I also thank God that we successfully removed Stuart kings who would have turned us into Roman Catholics, and so were able to remain Reformed Christians.

After the service we were greeted by a lady I recognised, and it turned out we had worked together a couple of times some years ago. As it turned out, I was glad I didn’t start talking about what I thought of the sermon. She turned out to be the preacher’s wife…

Searching for the Bread of Life

I hadn’t expected that one of the issues to deal with in retirement would be finding somewhere (and when) to receive the Bread of Life. As a working parish priest it was always easy enough to get to Communion: I was always doing it at least once a Sunday. Now that we’re in that funny in-between time – still living in the Vicarage, but not expected or supposed to be going to the church which has been ‘ours’ for 25 years – we have to make other arrangements. And this turns out to be surprisingly not easy. Many of the smaller parishes out near where we’re going to be living, don’t have a main service of Holy Communion every Sunday. And especially not in the summer holidays, or on a 5th Sunday. Last Sunday we went to the parish church, whose website announced that the 10 o’clock service would be a Eucharist, only to find the website had misinformed us – it was actually the (non-Eucharistic) Civic Service.

No wonder so many retired clergy end up wanting to get on rotas that will let them attend the kind of services they like best: the ones they’re doing themselves.

Why I love Esperanto

At the Universala Kongreso de Esperanto in Nitra, Slovakia, the president of the Universal Esperanto Association Mark Fettes gave an inspirational opening address to Congress. Others may have translated it better or differently, but this is my Esperanto translation exercise for today.

Esteemed and honoured guests, dear members of Congress,

“From the eternally warring world,” here we have arrived once again, “peaceful warriors”. There has been no lack of proofs in the past year, that our striving is still actual. Vast numbers of people around the world are suffering because of wars, persecutions, lack of the basic means of life. Even greater numbers are suffering because of social exclusion, intolerance, injustice. We in this hall are fortunate, amazingly fortunate. And – if I may slightly adapt a phrase from the world of picture strip heroes – with great good fortune comes great responsibility.

Our congresses prove that human beings can meet together, without regard to anyone’s ethnic origin, native language, social class, or other differences. Our congresses prove the power of a neutral human language to bridge the barriers that divide us. Yes, everything that we experience at each step and each minute during the conference week. But Esperanto was not thought up only to give joy and enjoyment to those few speakers, who have been able to find the money or the time to travel to the congress. It is a means of changing the world.

So I want to speak to you a little about that world, and about our contribution to it. And where better to begin, than here in Nitra, the charming and alluring city, which is hosting us this year? Ancient cradle of Christianity, seat of powerful kings, long time centre of agriculture, more recently the nucleus of a growing electronic and auto industry, a city rich in culture and tourist attractions – Nitra clearly shows how a modern city can be established on the foundation of a complex past.

Because you have probably already observed: from whatever direction you came to Nitra, whether from north or south, from east or west – you crossed borders between countries, cultures and languages. This beautiful and fertile plain, at the foot of the Western Carpathians, is also an historic crossroads of civilizations and peoples. At times in this region the Roman world confronted the German tribes, the arriving Slavs met the Franks of Charlemagne, the warlike Hungarians won, then lost a kingdom, the Muslim Ottomans struggled against the Christian princes, Protestant armies surged forward, Catholic armies back; the Hapsburg Empire rose and fell, the first democratic state of Czechs and Slovaks was nibbled away by fascism, and for 40 years after the Second World War, the Iron Curtain divided Eastern and Western Europe.

It is easy to focus on these divisions and conflicts. They were real. Much blood has flowed here over the centuries. But the real miracle is this: that they did not last for ever. Whenever some armed force, or dogmatic creed drew a border on the earth, other forces – the liberating forces of ideas, trade, friendship and curiosity, of art and spirit – succeeded in crossing it, undermining it, transforming it into something else.

Here is a story about that.

Long ago in this region the state of Great Moravia came into being. This is the first Slavonic kingdom about which we have documentary evidence. Its first ruler was Prince Mojmir I; its centre was Nitra. At the invitation of Mojmir’s successor Ratislav, in the year 863 the Greek missionaries Cyril and Methodius came here, bringing not only the Christian faith, but also a system of writing which they worked out for the Slavonic languages. Because of their conviction, that religious truths should be communicated in the language of the people, the two brothers had to fight against priests, kings, bishops and popes. You could write an epic about their linguistic-political odyssey, which lasted to the end of their lives.

By the usual standards, Cyril and Methodius were eventually defeated. Their disciples were driven out of Moravia, fleeing to the south to the territory of the Bulgarians; the Roman Church remained for a long time attached to the ancient liturgical languages, Hebrew, Greek and Latin. But that apparent defeat nevertheless planted seeds, which afterwards grew into the vast forest of sub- and eastern Slavonic literatures, still written today in alphabets adapted from that original script of Cyril and Methodius.

What to my mind is remarkable in that story, is not simply the vastly expanding power of well-thought-out linguistic invention. Behind that lies a more profound idea: that language is a means of bringing together and empowering ordinary people. Even more importantly than the Cyrillic script itself, that idea would go on living more in European civilization. You will find it again in the Lutherans, insisting on the right of individuals even to read the Scriptures in their own language; you will find it in the movements of national liberation, insisting on the value of newspapers, literature and history written in the language of the people; you will find it in the movements for popular education in the 19th and 20th centuries, which would regard a vast growth in literacy in one’s own language as a basis for democracy. In fact, it is not possible to imagine modern Europe without that idea.

Here then is the point I want to emphasise: that in this same region, where over the centuries battle after bloody battle was fought over boundaries of power, creed or nationality, there came to birth also an idea with potent liberating and unifying strength. One does not have to accept the governing customs about language and communication; one can, by human genius, create new resources, new imagined forms of community, new norms of human solidarity and human freedom. For let us remember, that Cyril and Methodius were motivated essentially by an idea of human brotherhood. For them, Christianity superseded all local identities; under its roof, all human beings would be equal and of equal value.

Zamenhof, the author of Esperanto, born only 800 km north of here, inherited from his cultural environment not only the Cyrillic alphabet, but also this idea. We see in his works a growing emphasis, that the most profound goal of Esperanto consists in its ability to raise people above the limited vision of their ethnic and social identity. But for him, living a thousand years after Cyril and Methodius, the role of individual religions in promoting human brotherhood had already proved inadequate, in the same way as the role of individual languages had done. In his Declaration of Universal Humanity, which appeared in 1913, he wrote:

I am a human being, and I regard all of humanity as one family; the dividedness of humanity into different mutually hostile races and racial-religious communities, I regard as one of the greatest misfortunes, which sooner or later must disappear and whose disappearance I must accelerate with all my power.

I see in every human being just a human being, and I value every human being only according to their personal worthiness and actions. Every kind of offence against, or oppression of, a human being on account of their belonging to another race, another language, or another social class from me, I regard as a barbarity.

In the world of 1913, those words sounded radical. But now listen to this other text, which appeared 35 years later:

Whereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world,

Whereas disregard and contempt for human rights have resulted in barbarous acts which have outraged the conscience of mankind, and the advent of a world in which human beings shall enjoy freedom of speech and belief and freedom from fear and want has been proclaimed as the highest aspiration of the common people,

Doesn’t that sound like Zamenhof?

Whereas it is essential, if man is not to be compelled to have recourse, as a last resort, to rebellion against tyranny and oppression, that human rights should be protected by the rule of law,

Whereas it is essential to promote the development of friendly relations between nations,

Whereas the peoples of the United Nations have in the Charter reaffirmed their faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person and in the equal rights of men and women and have determined to promote social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom…

By means of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the world received a new formula to express the value of every single human being. But that could be attained, only by travelling that long bloody road, whose traces are found also here, in Nitra. And the roots of universal human rights are also the roots of Esperanto – of that neutral human language, which today unites us.

For the theme of this year’s Congress, we have chosen explicitly to link two ideas: social justice and linguistic justice. The first is largely well-known. We all understand, that different people experience marginalisation and exclusion in our contemporary societies, that fundamental necessities such as housing, food, clothing, clean water, health care and education are unequally distributed; and that these situations cannot be changed only by laws or parliamentary decisions, but sometimes it is necessary to change the structures of society itself. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and other related declarations, such as the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights – both 50 years old this December – help to make concrete our ideas about how a truly just society would look. Even if that society is not fully realizable, the work of trying to realize it is in itself valuable and necessary. That is an essential attribute of social justice.

But the second part of our theme, linguistic justice – that is a less common concept. Language is such a fundamental part of the structure of a society, that it is often invisible, like water to a fish. We often fail to notice it when other people experience marginalisation or exclusion because of language, in the same way as we fail to perceive how language is a part of those essential social services like health care or education. And yet try to imagine, how you would feel if in a clinic or hospital no one understood the language that you speak, or if in school the teacher addressed you in a language you did not know. Language is a profound part of our humanity, and we cannot feel fully human, if our language is not met with recognition, respect and response.

That realization is found at the basis of the Esperanto movement. We are working to build a world society, in which every person can be fully human, including linguistically. Even if that world society is not fully realizable, the work of trying to realize it is in itself valuable and necessary. We are convinced, that a neutral human language brings an essential contribution to that work. That does not mean, that we have an answer to every question. We alone cannot say, how to better organize our societies to bring about linguistic justice in primary health care or in school, for example. But we insist on posing those questions. We insist, that linguistic injustice does not become more just, if one ignores it or declares it unobtainable. We insist that one can, by human ingenuity, create new measures for the protection and empowerment of people, and that these measures can also be linguistic. We insist that our language Esperanto is such a measure.

About the power of that measure I do not need to convince you, dear listeners. You indeed have gathered here to experience the unique ethos of the world congress, in which we meet as human with human. Enjoy the week! But I invite you also to think about the very many people, who every day experience the lack of linguistic justice, who every day experience the lack of social justice. If those thoughts draw you to one of the meetings about the theme of the congress, or to other sessions about related topics, so much the better! Our congresses should be not only entertaining but also educational, not only friendly but also activating. We have much to do. I hope, that the congress week will give you many ideas, energy and inspiration for that great work.

(The original of this talk can be found on the website of the Universal Congress.)

The Last Sermon

Last Sunday morning Alison preached a cracking sermon, didn’t she? I thought it was one of the best I’ve heard her preach. So, she’s set the bar pretty high, and I’m afraid I can’t emulate that, I don’t think this will be one of the best sermons I’ve ever preached (I’m feeling a bit too emotional for that). But with God’s help it will be ‘good enough’. And it will be the Last Sermon I preach from this pulpit – at least, as vicar of this parish.

Richard Baxter, the 17th century Puritan hero who was vicar of Kidderminster for many years during and after the Civil Wars, wrote, “I preached, as never sure to preach again, and as a dying man to dying men.” So, last sermon is good. Any sermon a preacher ever preaches could be their last, whether through personal accident or mishap, an asteroid hitting the earth next week, the Second Coming, whatever. So a preacher should always perhaps have in mind, If this is the last time I can speak to these people I love and have a responsibility for, the last time I can give them some word of encouragement, instruction, admonishment, exhortation, so that they go on growing deeper into the love of God and into all that God wants for them, what should I say?

Not all biblical texts lend themselves equally well to this, but today’s passage from St Paul’s Letter to the Colossians is good enough. And yes, it is one of my favourite passages from St Paul. So, thank you, Lectionary.

It really starts in mid-sentence, because Koine Greek was entirely innocent of full stops. St Paul is speaking about the Son (the One by whom God has rescued us from the power of darkness and brought us over into the Son’s Kingdom) who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. It would be great if you would read this chapter yourselves, during the next few days. But for now, just stop and think about how extraordinary this whole passage is. This letter was probably written, to the young church in Colossae, in the early 50s of the 1st century AD, maybe 53 or 54. So it was not much more than 20 years after the death of Jesus. People would still be alive, who remembered and could talk about Jesus, what he was really like, and the impression he made on those who heard him. Paul himself – we don’t actually know that he had seen or heard Jesus while he was alive, but quite possibly he had – had been utterly convinced after the crucifixion that Jesus was not, could not be, the Messiah. He tried to quash the idea that he was, by killing these Jesus people or throwing them in prison. And twenty years on, here he is calling him not only Messiah, Christ, but Son of God. He is making a claim that Jesus of Nazareth, and this divine being, are one and the same. That this Being was pre-existent with God from eternity, was a party to the creation of the universe, is in fact the cohesive principle of everything that exists, the meaning and explanation of everything, the source and goal of all things.

This is A Big Claim. It was for the people of the 1st century, whether Jews or pagan Greeks; you may think it’s even bigger for us who know so much more about the scientific origins and nature of the universe, whether that’s Big Bangs or black holes or Higgs boson particles or all those other things I know nothing more than the names of. (How many of us understand more than the littlest thing about them?) How many of us fully understand what St Paul is talking about? He is not talking science. He is talking Mystery, a mystery we could not work out unless it was revealed to us, but which claims to make sense of everything. We may not grasp it, yet it can so move us that, if we give ourselves to it, our lives will never be the same. And the Mystery is that at the heart of our life and of all things, is love. The great Unknown which we hope or guess at, has a name, and the name is Love. It’s like Dante says, after his journey through Inferno, and Purgatory, and Paradise, and he finally beholds the Reality, and it is

l’Amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle – the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.

Here is the truth: I am loved, and you are loved, by the One who sustains the universe in being. And we are not meaningless blips in infinity, because that One knows us and our names are written on his hands and in his heart.

I stand here today because, some 46 years ago, Christ captivated me. And has not let me go, or let me down, in the years since then. Actually, of course, he was reaching out to me and trying to get my attention all the years before that as well, in fact as the psalmist says For it was you who formed my inward parts; | you knit me together in my mother’s womb. | I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. (Ps.139.13f) It just took me 21 years to catch on. And I think I’m still catching on, because of all those times when life presents us with counter-evidences. When things go wrong, or bad things happen, all the times you really can’t understand what God is doing, the times when even vicars have doubts. You know some of the things that make me most angry, and most doubting. It’s when people hate, and preach hatred, and even kill other people, and claim they are doing all that in the name of God. What kind of religion does that? What kind of God permits a religion to turn into that perverted thing, and (apparently) isn’t doing anything about it? There are other things, as well, that make even a vicar doubt. But it’s precisely in those times, that it is most important for us to know that the Love that moves the sun and the other stars is holding us. Like the shepherd holding the one lamb that wandered off and got lost, like the mother holding her newborn baby.

And this is what I want to leave you with, as my Last Sermon legacy. I want you to know, with even more assurance than you do already, that this is why we are here. Here on this earth, here in this church: to celebrate this Mystery, to know this Mystery more fully, to live the way it teaches us to live and to seek by all means to make this Mystery known to those who don’t yet know it.

Another of my great Christian heroes through the years, my patron saint almost, has been St Benedict. St Benedict of Nursia (480-547), one of the great figures of Western monasticism, author of the Rule of St Benedict which was (is!) foundational for so many of the religious orders that have sustained the Church. RSB has all the qualities which I treasure in the Anglican way, the Church of England’s way: the daily round of prayer and praise to God; a spirit of moderation and pastoral gentleness; a profoundly healthy work-life balance (as we would call it now) of prayer, work, study and relaxation; the determination that all should be included, no one in the Christian community should be left behind, or lose heart and give up, or feel that they and their gifts and abilities don’t matter; the core values of stability (staying in the place where God has called you), obedience to the Word of God, and conversion of life (even though all of us are only ever beginners, Benedict encourages us to be constantly seeking to grow). The Christian community, whether that is the monastery or the parish, is meant to be ‘a school for the Lord’s service’. (Prol.45) And it is Christ-centred, through and through. St Benedict says, the love of Christ must come before all else (4.21), and [of those who follow his Rule] Let them prefer nothing whatever to Christ. (72.11)

That’s what I have wanted, and want, for this community of our two churches here in Marston and Elsfield. And will continue to pray for, as I pray for you in the years to come.

So. Let the love of Christ come before all else, and prefer nothing whatever to Christ. Because it is Christ who is in you, who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, the firstborn from the dead, the One in whom all things hold together. And all this is so, because the Love that moves the sun and the other stars loves you with infinite, unconquerable love.

Alison and I can leave you, sadly but confidently, because you are in good hands. And I don’t mean Rob’s, and the wardens’ (though, indeed, they are not such bad hands, either.) No, you are in good hands, because you are in God’s hands, you are in those hands which flung stars into space, but were also to cruel nails surrendered, hands from which nothing can ever pluck you, or cause you to fall.

Let us pray.

Preached at St Nicholas Marston, 17 July 2016. Tony and Alison Price’s last service before retirement.


As my last Sunday on duty in St Nicholas church Marston draws near, I’m finally getting down to trying to make some progress with going through the filing cabinets and throwing stuff away. (Nothing like waiting for the deadline!)

Among the Stuff, I find a cutting from the Church Times from April 1981. As so often happens, it’s an item on the back of what I saved, that is more interesting. It’s from Rosamund Essex’s column:

I have read an old description of an incumbent running like this: “He was vicar of this parish for forty years without showing the least sign of enthusiasm.” Isn’t that curious? It was said when “enthusiasm” was a bad word meaning frenzy and fanaticism. What the commentator really meant was that the vicar was a “steady character, splendidly in control of himself and of the things for which he was responsible.”

I wonder what the Church of England most needs its clergy to be now? Enthusiasts? Or avoiders of frenzy and fanaticism?

Answers on a postcard (or in the Comments), please.

Post Referendum

When I woke up on Friday morning to the news of the EU Referendum result, one of the thoughts in my mind was, I simply do not know how I can speak about this on Sunday morning. It’s one of those momentous moments in current affairs which I believe needs to be spoken about from the pulpit; but I felt so disappointed, upset, dejected, anxious, even fearful for the future – St Paul’s words “utterly, unbearably crushed” even came to mind – that I did not know how I could speak.

I still think it is a bad decision that the British electorate have made, and one that we will live to regret. Among the things that most upset me, is the fact that the great majority of under 40-year-olds wanted to Remain, while a similarly large majority of over 50s wanted to Leave. It is my children and grandchildren, who will have to live with the consequences of my generation’s discontent, which has overruled their hopes and wishes.

I grieve, too, over what the whole campaign leading to the referendum has done to us as a nation. It has so divided us, bitterly divided us, and I fear will have weakened even further our trust in politicians and our ability to take part in sensible, informed debate and decision-making. Both sides have been guilty of fearmongering, threats and outright lies, though I think it has been clearly shown that the Brexit campaigners were the more guilty in this respect. The media, especially the tabloid press, have behaved abominably throughout. We’re used to that, of course, but these last few months it has been more than usually reckless and damaging. And when I look at the spokespersons for the Leave campaign, and contemplate any of them stepping up into leadership of the country in coming months or years, my heart sinks even further. Some of the possible future Prime Ministers I will find difficult to pray for if they come into office, except to pray that they quickly get replaced by someone else. (This is not a prayer I recommend: it hasn’t worked well in the past.)

So. Some of this I admit may be nothing more than uncertainty anxiety. But I hope that if any of you were contrariwise elated about the result, you will bear with me. I know that a lot of people in this congregation felt as I did. We need to hold that complex of feelings and fears here in the safety of God.

So. I was especially grateful for the Archbishops’ statement on the EU Referendum result, which the C of E released on Friday morning. You may not have seen it. It is wise, gracious, irenic, and I want to read it to you now.

Statement from the Archbishops on the EU Referendum result
24 June 2016

On Thursday, millions of people from across the United Kingdom voted in the Referendum, and a majority expressed a desire that Britain’s future is to be outside the European Union
The outcome of this referendum has been determined by the people of this country. It is now the responsibility of the Government, with the support of Parliament, to take full account of the outcome of the referendum, and, in the light of this, decide upon the next steps. This morning, the Prime Minister David Cameron has offered a framework for when this process might formally begin.

The vote to withdraw from the European Union means that now we must all re-imagine both what it means to be the United Kingdom in an interdependent world and what values and virtues should shape and guide our relationships with others.

As citizens of the United Kingdom, whatever our views during the referendum campaign, we must now unite in a common task to build a generous and forward looking country, contributing to human flourishing around the world. We must remain hospitable and compassionate, builders of bridges and not barriers. Many of those living among us and alongside us as neighbours, friends and work colleagues come from overseas and some will feel a deep sense of insecurity. We must respond by offering reassurance, by cherishing our wonderfully diverse society, and by affirming the unique contribution of each and every one.

The referendum campaign has been vigorous and at times has caused hurt to those on one side or the other. We must therefore act with humility and courage – being true to the principles that make the very best of our nation. Unity, hope and generosity will enable us to overcome the period of transition that will now happen, and to emerge confident and successful. The opportunities and challenges that face us as a nation and as global citizens are too significant for us to settle for less.

As those who hope and trust in the living God, let us pray for all our leaders, especially for Prime Minister David Cameron in his remaining months in office. We also pray for leaders across Europe, and around the world, as they face this dramatic change. Let us pray especially that we may go forward to build a good United Kingdom that, though relating to the rest of Europe in a new way, will play its part amongst the nations in the pursuit of the common good throughout the world.

This is a time for us to step up, and show that we Christians are people of hope.
What values and virtues should shape and guide our relationships with others? [Our] common task [is] to build a generous and forward looking country, contributing to human flourishing around the world. We must remain hospitable and compassionate, builders of bridges and not barriers… cherishing our wonderfully diverse society, and … affirming the unique contribution of each and every one… being true to the principles that make the very best of our nation[:] Unity, hope and generosity.

The Bible is a book of hope; our faith is a faith of hope. God says through Jeremiah to the exiled Israelites, who surely had so many reasons to despair (and these words may resonate with some of us who feel we have become exiles from the Britain we thought we lived in): “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” (29.11) And St Paul similarly writes to the Christians in Rome, a small group of believers in a hostile society, who also must have had times of being anxious and fearful. The words are about how the Christians should live together and relate to each other, but perhaps they can also be about how we relate to others in the society at large:

We who are strong ought to put up with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Each of us must please our neighbour for the good purpose of building up the neighbour. For Christ did not please himself; but, as it is written, ‘The insults of those who insult you have fallen on me.’ For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ… May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15.1-4, 13)

Unua babilado

Ĉu vi povas kredi ke ne ekzistas esperanta klubo en Oksfordo?

Mi eklernis la internacian lingvon antaŭ ok semajnoj, uzanta la interretan kurson ĉe Duolingo. Ĝi estas tre interesa kaj amuza; oni povas vere fari bonan kaj rapidan progreson. Do, mi finis la kurson… sed, kio nun?

Kiel komencanto / mezo- aŭ malaltnivela esperantisto, mi povas nun legi esperantajn revuojn, gazetojn, librojn, retpaĝojn (sufiĉe malrapide, kaj nur se ili ne estas tro malfacilaj!), sed: kiel trovi okazon por paroli aŭ babili en esperanto? Do, mi skribis al EAB (Esperanto-Asocio de Britio) kaj demandis: Kie mi povas trovi esperantiston por babilado? Mi ricevis respondon kun enkondukon al germana esperantisto kiu loĝas en Oksfordo. Li estis volonta renkontiĝi kun mi por babilado.

Kaj ĝi okazis hodiaŭ matenon, ĉe la Cous-Cous kafejo en St Clements-strato. Stranga renkontiĝo! Mia nova amiko ankaŭ havas malofte okazojn por babili en esperanto, sed li skribis blogon en la lingvo. Tamen, mi faris la plej bone ke mi povis, kaj la barilo de timo rompiĝis. Ĝis la revido, eble?

Harriet Hitchcock

Harriet Hitchcock

Harriet Hitchcock (a distant cousin of the famous Mrs Tiggywinkle, possibly?) is the Woodland special investigator, the sole proprietor of the Harriet Hitchcock Investigation Agency. For many years she has lived among the Woodland animals, helping them with their everyday problems, and occasionally investigating some more serious mystery, crime or misdemeanour. Her colleague Popgoes is a reformed weasel, originally from the East End of London, where his colourful youthful misdoings were conducted up and down the City Road.

Here in Marston it’s become a tradition that the Family Carol Service on Christmas Eve includes a seasonal Harriet Hitchcock story. These often revolve around some criminal attempt to steal the fabulous Holzbein Crib, a treasure of 15th century German woodcarving which is the proud possession of the local parish church, which the animals also love to attend, unbeknownst to the human parishioners. Many of these and other problems are resolved by a time of sitting in contemplation in front of the Crib, which wonderfully conveys the message of God’s love at Christmas, to those who look upon it.

Other important characters in the Harriet mythos include her best friend Betty Bunny, and the numerous Bunny children who traditionally all have to be named. Annie, Benny, Connie, Donnie, Ellie, Fifi, Ginny, Honey, Izzie, Johnny, Kenny, Lenny, Minnie, Nancy, Ollie, Penny, Queenie, Ronny, Sonny, Tony, Una, Vinny, Winnie, Xena, Yogi, and last (and least) Ziggy. When this first happened, some of the hearers who hadn’t spotted the built-in mnemonic asked, “How did you remember all those names?” Some years later, they’re a bit more fussy and will say things like, “You left out Xena this time!” or, “You called Fifi Fanny!”

This Christmas is the last one before Harriet, like her Author, retires. She is moving down to the West Country to live with her cousin Wilfred Prickles. Hence the title of this year’s episode: Harriet Hitchcock’s Last Case.