Gunpowder, band-wagon and lot: Part 2

There was once a boy, born not long after the war when food was still in short supply and when you ate everything served on your plate and Sunday School sandwiches were graced with no more than a feint smear of butter and fish paste or Marmite. He was an unusual boy, not talkative, hating organised sport, preferring his own company, searching the library next door for books about electricity when others took fiction, running when most folk would walk.

Broad Haven, Wales

This boy was enchanted by the wonder he discovered in music, flowers, colours, sunsets, building imaginary water-works in sand, messing with bulbs and batteries, getting his father's model trains to act as if they had inertia. And, just occasionally, by literature in passages like:

I stood on the shore of a wintry sea, with a wintry sun just a few feet above its horizon-edge. It was bare, and waste, and gray. Hundreds of hopeless waves rushed constantly shore-wards, falling exhausted upon a beach of great loose stones, that seemed to stretch miles and miles in both directions. There was nothing for the eye but mingling shades of gray; nothing for the ear but the rush of the coming, the roar of the breaking, and the moan of the retreating wave... A cold, death-like wind swept across the shore, seeming to issue from a pale mouth of cloud upon the horizon. Sign of life was nowhere visible. I wandered over the stones, up and down the beach, a human embodiment of the nature around me. The wind increased; its keen waves flowed through my soul; the foam rushed higher up the stones; a few dead stars began to gleam in the east; the sound of the waves grew louder and yet more despairing. A dark curtain of cloud was lifted up, and a pale blue rent shone between its foot and the edge of the sea, out from which rushed an icy storm of frozen wind, that tore the waters into spray as it passed, and flung the billows in raving heaps upon the desolate shore. I could bear it no longer... Phantastes, George Macdonald.

or, recalling his own childhood experiences of fever, his head feeling as if it were detached, swollen into an infinitely hard, throbbing globe, too heavy to be raised from the pillow but about to shatter into a thousand pieces if it had, like: "Then the bed no longer had limits to it and became a desert of hot wet sand. I began to talk to a second head laid upon the pillow, my own head once removed..." Or, coming out of the fever, when "I surfaced at last from its endless delirium the real world seemed suddenly dear... I heard its faintest sounds; streams running, trees stirring, birds folding their wings, a hill-sheep's cough, a far gate swinging, the breath of a horse in a field. Below me the kitchen made cosy murmurs, footsteps went up the road, a voice said Good-night, a door creaked and closed - or a boy suddenly hollered, animal-clear in the dark, and was answered far off by another. I lay moved to stupidity by these precious sounds as though I'd just got back from the dead. Then the fever returned as it always did..." Cider with Rosie Laurie Lee.

This boy had had a sheltered conservative Christian upbringing and "gave his heart to the Lord" when ten. Attending a small dame school he at first failed the 11+ not realising that one went to school to learn but, having opportunity to resit and heading his father's injunction to try harder, passed, went on to grammar school and finally university where he attained a 1st class Honours degree. Encouraged by other believers there he left university with a heightened desire to "serve God". 

Years passed. He trained as an electronics research engineer, served actively in church, prayed for the baptism of the Holy Spirit and assumed it "by faith", met and married what would become his best friend, together doing what normal people did in buying a house on a mortgage and starting a family, until...

His parents were aghast on hearing his decision to give up a well-paid and secure job and the qualifications that went with it, and to sell the house he was renovating with their help, all evidence of their love and care for him, and to join a religious community to stake out a life apart from the world system as far as was feasible, along with others who, destitute, afflicted, mistreated, wandering about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth and, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised.

No regrets: he knew better. This movement he had stumbled into was radical, cutting-edge. He would become part of the first-fruits, destined to rule and reign, to live forever, being no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose. 

And yet he found that, whereas others testified to dramatic feelings when baptised in the Holy Spirit and a renewed desire to read the Bible, and appeared to get ecstatic during praise sessions, he was left largely unmoved. When, after church, others said how much the praise and the "word" (preaching) had uplifted them, he obligingly smiled, but to him church meetings were something Christians were expected to endure in order to be, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some. It wasn't that he was incapable of being moved: he could not deny feeling strong emotions of wonder when, for example, reaching a mountain peak or enjoying a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, even though this composer had no profession of faith in God. For years he had starved himself of such "worldly" music for the sake of the gospel, supposing that it might be demon inspired. Similarly, after giving in his notice, he had kept away from anything electronic for many years during which, unknown to him at the time, the IBM Personal Computer had made its debut. Such was the zeal he imagined he had: ten out of ten for effort but disappointing results.

But worse was to come...

(continued in Part 3)    (go back to Part 1)

A bygone era

N, HO and O gauge

Sorting through stuff during Ali's Major Spring Clean I uncovered the above remnants of a bygone era. My own N gauge Treble-O-Lectrik by Lone Star which would be collectors' pieces if only they were in good working condition. The next by Triang and KitMaster both from my father's extensive railway room layout. And finally a piece of Lima O gauge stock which I think my father had purchased for a future but was never-to-be outdoor layout.

My parents had invited a young man A to Sunday tea. He was the son of the lead elder in my parent's church, and would in due course go on himself to become the present lead elder. He is also a major character in another story. Oh, cruel memories! Now my father often sneaked off to the the railway room of a Sunday afternoon, much to the chagrin of my mother who thought Sundays should be family days, and I would shortly follow suite and so we would be entrenched until my mother called up the loft staircase "tea time!" But on this occasion it would not have been decorum to so disappear - instead my father asked A if he would like to come and see the model railway. A declined. What an anti-climax! What a revelation into the mind of this young man - I mean, who, in their right mind, would decline such an offer? What a recrimination on church leadership! Did this mean you could not reasonably be a model train enthusiast and a fully committed Christian 100% for God? At the time the choice was obvious for myself. Model trains ruled, OK?

And, just to prove that I do not spend all my time side-stepping figuring how to pose the continuation of my Gunpowder post, here's the lake looking downstream from the Blessington bridge, the photographer having been conveyed there by his trusty bicycle.

 

Gunpowder, band-wagon and lot: Part 1

 

This post has nothing to do with Guy Fawkes or gunpowder except insofar that strong personal beliefs can lead people to do whacky and horrendous exploits. Many of these, thankfully, are relatively benign but they can still adversely affect innocent peoples' lives. And every so often a belief will culminate in something as severe as a plot to overthrow a government.

Some examples include the flat earthers, holocaust deniers, possibly even the more extreme pro-Trumpers. What about so called Christian outfits like tele-evangelist Benny Hinn, Bethel Redding, Hill Song? Or the whole Charismatic movement with its emphasis on "spiritual gifts"? Or creationists, atheists. Don't get me wrong here: I am not condemning or condoning any particular belief: let each man be fully persuaded in his own mind. But I notice that each of these entities use a mix of peer pressure, playing on emotions, mass hysteria, exclusivity, suggestion and even hypnosis to promote their ideologies, even if unwittingly. 

Sometimes labelled "radical", "extreme", "cult" or "conspiracy theory", they can be recognised through non-sequiturs and other nonsense appearing in their teachings. An example in a recent search for sanity I happened upon in a YouTube video The #1 reason evolution is impossible saddened me because the #1 reason, though thoughtfully presented, was flawed from the outset as any Physicist would tell you. Just scroll down the comments.

It has been said that we humans have a God shaped hole that yearns to be filled. Perhaps there is more in this than meets the eye. Just as a dog likes nothing more than to play catch, perhaps the need for religion is just a part of the make-up of every human which has evolved over millions of years as a sort of defence mechanism to give us some sense of meaning to life or, if you prefer, was placed there by the Creator as a proof of existence. The idea is explored in more detail here. After all, about 84% of the current world population identify with a religious group and that does not include atheists (who also take their position on faith). And 75% of US adults identify as Christian. Can they all be wrong? Well, actually, yes - if it be that humans are born with this need no more or less than being born with two legs. And if so be, it does not follow necessarily that God exists.

And so I come to relate the sad case of the Irish Dodo...

(to be continued in Part 2)