a blog post in which Grace doesn't know what to write

Before I begin, thanks to all of you who were so nice about my last post. I've decided simply to put it all down to the priest in question having allowed the sub-zero temperature to freeze over his repository for tact. It happens to us all sometimes. Or to me, anyway.

Which is why, at 4pm on a Sunday afternoon, I'm sat in bed piled into three fleeces. The heating has chosen the coldest day so far this winter to pack in and as darkness descends, icicles are beginning to crystallise on the insides of the window panes and a thin film of frost is beginning to harden over the dregs of my lastest cup of tea. I'm exaggerating, of course. But I'm not warm enough. Neither, though, are many people around the world. I'm simply spoiled by having lived my whole life either in warmer climes or with central heating.

I've reached yet another point of being unsure where to take this blog. I began Jesus Wept as an anonymous place to think and write about things one wasn't allowed to think or write about in my then job. Its original title was going to be The Secret Life of a Church Administrator (which I changed my mind about as a bit too revealing) and my original pseudonym was going to be the ironic Eulalia (in New Testament Greek, loosely translated as she who says the right thing, which I can't remember why I changed to Grace). Now, however, that I'd left Place of Former Employment and am free to believe, consider, discuss and write about anything, I can no longer maintain the frisson of intrigue and suspense of what might happen if I were to be Outed. By now, I suspect, Place of Former Employment have better things to worry about.

The moment of greatest pathos and irony was when, at the meeting directly following my appointment to New Job, I was informed that my alleged evangelical credentials had made them slightly uneasy about inviting me to interview.

It's proving hard to blog anonymously about New Job as it's all a bit, well, specific to what it is. And my concern is not them finding out about what I might or might not believe (which they ask me, I've told them, they're fine with) but them discovering the more emo laden bits of content here. At New Job, I'd prefer to keep my personal dramas separate from my working life. (If I manage that, it'll be a first...)

So what, then, for the future of this blog? I could de-anonymise myself and try and make it into something all academic and deep exploring the spirituality and theology of my new area of work. Or I could remain anonymous but ensure that I never write about work but concentrate on random faith questions and the general chaos clattering through my mind. Or else I blog about something totally, entirely different. Either way, I'm not entirely sure of how a blog readership might respond...

Any ideas, anyone?

Church Search 666. Grace causes offence and doesn't want to apologise

They're very nice, those gloves of mine. They were given to me by a friend of my mother's who, as well as also being nice, is very much a respected, respectable and respectful member of a high Anglo-Catholic church. And so, given how cold it has been here recently, I wore these gloves to the church we attended this morning. I greatly admire those for whom being cold is a spiritually enriching experience, but for me it isn't. And I was told at the communion rail that, until/unless I removed these gloves, I would not be permitted to partake of the eucharistic host. And I was not told this politely, either.

I mean, WTF?

If a veto or taboo or prohibition on hand coverings were well known throughout certain echelons of the Church of England, I'd have been aware of it by now. It'd have been liturgicalised as follows

"Draw near with faith and remove your gloves.
Receive the body of our Lord Jesus which He gave for you
and the blood which he shed for you.
Eat and drink with bare hands in the remembrance that he died for you.
And feed on him, in your hearts - which though your hands by now may be stinging with cold, will be warm - by faith, with thanksgiving..."

Wouldn't it come across as rather, somewhat... legalistic? Pharisaical?

I mean, I had purple nail varnish underneath my gloves. I've been in African Indigenous Pentecostal churches with such a veto or taboo on painted nails that I'd have been instructed to don gloves in order to take communion. And if I were ever to have made First Communion in a Roman Catholic church, I'd have to have worn gloves. And it goes without saying (I hope) that Jesus has nothing to do with this. It took a few years after Jesus for the Church to consider its theological bases for sharing bread and wine and a few centuries for the Church to develop this into such fixed rituals.

So essentially, they were offended that I wore gloves. And they thought that I should have known that they'd be offended.

And that, for me, is the nub of the question. Should one, when visiting a place of worship, approach in fear and trepidation of how one might offend, be seen as inappropriate, not fit in? Or should one approach with openness, warmth and a readiness to engage with the people and their g/God/s?

And should one, when welcoming a newcomer into one's place of worship, scrutinise the finest points of the way s/he is dressed or behaving? Or should one just take them as they are for the time being, and leave the finer questions of their hand coverings as a matter of secondary importance to the gospel of Christ?

If Barack Obama is really the Revelation Antichrist (and a Muslim), what will it be like to be governed by him?

Nothing has generated page hits to this blog to the same extent as my semi-considered attempt at being historically analytic and slightly michael taking posts considering whether Barack Obama might be the Muslim Antichrist prophesied in Revelation Chapter 13. A week after his election several dozen people each day are still reaching my blog through googling "obama revelation muslim antichrist".

I know that some people do genuinely, fervently believe that Barack Obama is foretold here in the Bible. People believe things, and some people believe more unusual things than others. For those who believe the Bible is to be read in such a way as to foretell an Antichrist, the Antichrist will destroy and bring an end to the world. And what, then, will be like for those in the US who believe Obama to be the Antichrist to stand up for the flag and the pledge of allegiance and submit to being governed by him? Terrifying, I would have thought.

Would anyone out there like to explain, contribute, comment...?

Armistice, Remembrance. 11am, November 11th 2008

The young, young soldier is reading from the Bible. Someone standing behind Grace whispers, did you know he saw them two he joined up wiv die out in Iraq?

The two minute silence. The minister breaks in with and Lord, God, Father in heaven we thank you for the election of your great and appointed man, Barack Obama, who will save us all from war. There's crying in the congregation.

(This is Britain. Sometimes we cry about dead teenage soldiers and the dreadful things happening in the Middle East. But crying about the promises made by a politician, that's all very new.)

A message to the person who just googled "if he's the antichrist should i vote 4 him"?

See below...

If Barack Obama's really the Revelation 13 Antichrist, surely we should feel compelled to vote for him....

I mean, given that the Bible (allegedly) says that the Antichrist will come, surely we should not presume ourselves able to stop him. And surely, if we were to try and stop him, we'd be guilty of attempting to re-write the book of Revelation, and liable to all the dire consequences of that. So surely, then, the only available option is to vote for Obama.

He he he *Grace cackles merrily and wishes all those enfranchised to vote a happy polling day*

'Would you mind explaining for us the gaps in your CV?' Part Two

It’s not that I’m not still loving New Job, but the workload is overwhelming. And at seven o’clock on a Sunday night I’m still worried about arriving at the office tomorrow looking horizontal with exhaustion...

Prior to my interview for New Job, I was having the usual what-will-I-say-if-they-ask-me-to-elaborate-more-specifically-upon-the-gaps-in-my-CV panic. In the event, they didn’t ask, which is of course why I got the job. So I’ve told New Job as much as they’re legally entitled to know and New Job has asked me no more than they’re legally permitted to ask. Perfect. But that’s only in relation to the management.

Colleagues, however, are being all friendly and interested. And one would never want one’s colleagues not to initiate friendship and take interest in one another. And it’s not that I have a principled objection to them knowing all about how all my youthful education and career plans were shot to pieces by the years in a loony bin. It’s just that many people either;

a) will lack the maturity to understand such things and will therefore be forever terrified to come near me in case I interfere with their kiddies behind the bike shed

and/or

b) will feel such pity for and a need to help me as to preclude any real friendship developing between me and anyone there anyway

with both a) and b) risking

c) all sorts of conflated, irrational, totally unnecessary and possibly even malicious rumours, panic and allegations

This is why I struggle, then, to know how to respond to genial yet inquisitive questions. Maybe I should worry less. But maybe I should also take heed of the way in which a) and/or b) led to c) no less than three times in the last five years.

My initial tactic was to be as vague as possible. This worked until a few of them found me on Facebook and realised me to be significantly older than they’d assumed me to be. (Flattering, that, nevertheless...) Since then, it seems, a sense of intrigue and mystique has begun to coalesce around me. One or two people are enjoying being increasingly assertive in asking me to detail everything I’ve been doing for the last ten years of my life. And then, last week, I heard that someone had told someone that the reason Grace talks a bit posh like that is because I was born in Botswana (don’t they believe my Lambeth-issued birth certificate I provided to verify my identity?) and is here in Britain because she escaped Mugabe (who was doing what to drive people out of Botswana??). So, it seems that Precious Rambotswe may have a franchise agreement with the Rumour Department at New Job.

Whatever, however, I may have fled to get here, I’m very glad it wasn’t Robert Mugabe. From Botswana, Lambeth, Zimbabwe or anywhere else ...