Frogspawn in copious quantities!

Oh, sorry - you were having lunch....

Notwithstanding the weather, the Scottish variety of the European Common Frog have managed to exhibit all the appropriate spring-like behaviour. Hamish and Morag the Scottish frogs have been at it and there are now huge gollops of frogspawn in every available puddle and pond. These little black dots will all be swimming around as tadpoles in a few weeks.

Caireen was joking with me a few months back about how it could snow on our wedding day. At the time it seemed an unreasonable concern.

Well sir, this is Penicuik right now - two weeks to the day before our wedding.

It will warm up. It will warm up!

Awake, O Sleeper!

A picture taken in the church yard at St Mungo's Penicuik. The words below are from an ancient homily for Holy Saturday (ca. fourth century).

Something strange is happening. There is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the king is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh, and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parents, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives, Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. [...]

I am your God, who for your sake, have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants, I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. [...]

For your sake I, your God, became your son. I, the Lord, took the form of a slave. I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back, see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.

I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you. Rise. Let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. [...]

The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers, swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.

Quite a decent day, really!

Service in West Linton this morning and only a few things to do in the office afterwards. I meandered home to Penicuik on the Moor Road and took this shot of the Pentland Hills in the distance. Marriage prep tonight with a couple from St James.

My own marriage prep this weekend! The shoe will be on the other foot!


After having bitterly complained about the very existence of my wife-to-be's terrier/collie/rat admixture I must grudgingly admit that he's coming along. He doesn't chase chickens for a start. Since he's been spending more time with Clio he's decided that he enjoys the company and will try being (relatively) good for a change.

Why we have the internet

So that a couple of Vietnamese lads with baggy T-shirts and badly wanting a comb can give a boost to an upcoming Sunday sermon on the Road to Emmaus.

Diem Xua (Old Charm) by Trinh Cong Son

I remember this cover of Time magazine from the summer of 1971 and I remember the article! As I read the opening lines this morning I found myself completing the sentences. I was thirteen years old at the time. I can remember the hammock I was lying on at my grandfather's cottage in Ontario and being woken at night by loons on the lake - feeling strangely troubled - and turning the light on to re-read the article.

That October there were two 'Jesus people' staying at the Catholic Charities Hostel for Men on the corner of Robson and Cambie in Vancouver where I stayed after absconding from home for a week or ten days. I trailed along with them to a prayer meeting at some sort of 'Upper Room' in Vancouver. These two had decided to 'live light' like the 70 or like the deacons in the Acts of the Apostles. It was a strange time - the beginning of rather a lot of things for me.

In the words of Dr Shadrach Meshach Lockridge
Thanks to Scott Gunn for this

Full Circle

The last decent camera I had was given to me by my mother in about 1972 (or so). I can't remember whether there was a connection between how badly I was doing in Junior High School and the gift of an only-slightly-used Pentax SP1000. Perhaps it was hoped that I'd develop an interest in something other than cutting classes. The camera served me well during my three years at Hippie Alternative School in the Yukon Territory. Chums with much posher cameras saw their shutters freezing up at extreme low temperature. Anyway - light meter batteries for the aforementioned Pentax now need to be ordered from specialists. The mirror flips up and stays up for some reason with slower shutter speeds and, besides, it's not digital.

Mrs Rabbit and I will be heading off to Cuba for a honeymoon in just a few weeks and so it seemed a good idea to browse around Ebay and see what was available in the only-slightly-used Pentax range and so here it is. The instruction manual is 220 pages long. I've pushed every button - 50% of the time I've pushed the wrong button. I've recorded some great photos in the wrong format. Technology is not my strong suit.

I feel a bit like the Peter Sellers character in the video below.

Quick, the sun's out!

A nice day in Penicuik. We haven't had overly many of these and one takes advantage of the very moment the sun is out because it won't be out in an hour or so.

The leaves haven't even emerged yet. The leaves are all out down south. Edinburgh even has leaves and blossoms. Penicuik is just a little higher up. We've had what seems like a very long and dreary winter. I get the feeling that there's a magnificent Spring just waiting to jump out at us.

Fr Nick Knisely's long quote from an essay by Anne Hunt made me think: I've never actually preached a sermon on Christ's descent into Hell (or "descent among the dead" as the cleaned up version would have it) in all the years of my ministry. I must rectify that before Pentecost.

Amongst all the media caricatures of clergy which are a constant source of irritation and resentment there are a few which are an awful lot of fun. Fr Dougall and Fr Ted get lost in the lingerie section. Fr Jack ends up in the toy department.

No question that we remember things better when we sing them

Amazing coincidences

On Monday as we were driving back from our long walk in the country the step-dog passed wind rather nastily in the back of the car. The step-son-to-be could not let this go without comment accompanied by waving arms and all the requisite facial expressions. I took the opportunity to tell him the story from the 1001 Nights called How Abu Hasan Brake Wind. Wanting to be a good step-father and knowing, as I do, the degree to which small boys thrive on stories which make references to farting I supposed it would be a good bonding exercise.

It was an elderly clergyman in the Diocese of Montreal doing a locum at the church where I was the honourary assistant who told me the story perhaps six or seven years ago as we were sitting around the office waiting for the faithful to gather for Mass. I haven't thought of the story since. Until Monday I'd never found myself in the situation of needing such a story.

So after having told the story at about 3:30 in the afternoon on Monday and after having delivered my fiancee and her son back to their house in West Linton I poured myself a cup of coffee and listened to the downloaded episode (March 22) of News from Lake Wobegon which ended up being an updated version of How Abu Hasan Brake Wind.

Strange, non?

Mr Happy Goes to Church

From our friends at ASBO Jesus

No it's not exactly my new religion.

But it has proved a bit of a distraction during an otherwise rather busy week. It is of course my brand spanking new

which my beloved gave me for my birthday last week. I'm only now figuring out how to use the damned thing. I've subscribed to a couple of podcasts - News from Lake Wobegon, Thought for the Day on BBC 3 and the CBC nightly news programme - the World at Six.

I've got about half of my disk collection on it so far - need to go back into Itunes and join up the various movements of the classical music so that they don't get shuffled like singles.

One really interesting snippet from this week's Spectator was the interview with Dom Hugh Gilbert conducted by Mary Wakefield. In light of Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor's eventual retirement the rumour mill is speculating that Fr Gilbert will be his successor. Hugh Gilbert OSM is the Abbot of Pluscarden here in Scotland and Mary Wakefield rightly asks the question:

Why a monk? Why even consider giving England's soul to a man who's spent 33 years buried in northern Scotland?

The answer, according to the Wakefield's reading of the pulse of 'Vatican gossip' is that the Pope:

...is concerned about our capsizing country and wants England to have a devout, inspired leader - one as far removed the tired clique of England's urbane and power-hungry liberal bishops as possible

and in Dom Hugh Gilbert they've apparently found their man.

It's a good interview. The journalist admitted to some discomfort - she started with the fact that the Abbot was known as a 'holy' man and wondered aloud on several occasions what that might actually mean. Some of the questions posed to the Abbot are fairly basic: what exactly do monks do? What is the raison d'etre of 30 robed men gliding around in isolated surroundings. What does prayer do?

The best part of the interview is provided directly by the subject in the form of the short email which Mary received once she'd returned to her office and starting banging away on her old typewriter:

Dear Mary.

You may well have decided that I was not worth 'profiling', which I would quite understand. If not, am I allowed a little follow-up?

I like the idea that beauty and holiness are the apologia for Christianity. The beauty of Christianity needs to shine out more; this is where the celebration of the liturgy becomes central. And the goodness of Christianity, i.e. the holiness of self-giving love (the witness of charity) and of prayer, needs to be sustained and developed. And this too, certainly: that the one thing Christianity has to offer is Easter. Simply: Christ is risen!

Sincerely
Fr Hugh

Easter Monday walk along the old Roman road near Carlops with the wife-to-be and the soon to be stepson. We endured about five different types of weather in the course of an hour an a half including a few snow squalls. Cold pasta and hot coffee at the halfway point.

Giles Fraser in the Church Times

I'm not over fond of many of the things which Giles Fraser writes. I really liked this.

Getting things together

We've had a good Holy Week. It was a bit of a round robin amongst the local churches - 3 Church of Scotland congregations and the Roman Catholic Church. We generally had pretty good crowds and the clergy all got a chance to preach a sermon to members of other flocks. Tonight we're hauling our home-made Paschal candle up the street and lighting a fire in the parking lot of the neighbouring Church of Scotland as we add Holy Saturday to the ecumenical list. Our choir is uncertain. As for the presbies affected, they have a locum minister who has come out of retirement to take care of them during their interregnum. He's rolling his eyes a bit. I'm not sure he was expecting this but he's decided to 'go with the flow'.

Tomorrow we gather in the local graveyard at 5:25 a.m. with lit candles, say a few prayers and then make our way up to the hill behind St James with at least a mandolin and probably a guitar to watch the sun rise at 5:55. Thence to St James' hall for bacon and eggs and then back for Mass at 11:00. I'll miss it all when it's over.

What you see

on the road to Carlops

in Holy Week

The earth is black and freshly turned
The sharp and comestible smell is
walnuts and lemon or maybe
fresh leaves crushed between the fingers.

A blade reverses the settled order.

Winter thatch is sundered and uprooted.
Something vital flows from the furrows.

The tractor follows its even course along the ground
with nothing to negotiate.

A cloud of screaming gulls follows for good or ill

at a safe distance.