Angel

Some while ago I posted about an XY-plotter I made. In fact it had a Z dimension in that it could lift the pen off the paper. The X direction was a platen roller. The Y direction was the pen carriage travelling along a true steel rod which I had salvaged from somewhere, about 12mm diameter, mounted over and parallel to the platen. I wanted a key-way slot milled down the length of this rod, into which the pen carriage was keyed so that by turning the rod the pen would lift.

On discussing my plan with my father he arranged a visit to an "angel" who, if my memory serves me, lived at Ovington House. I think this man ran a 5" gauge (or thereabouts) railway in his grounds and was one of my father's business clients, but I cannot find any reference to the railway in Google. In any case he, who must have been an angel, led us into his workshop where he had a milling machine. After I had explained what I wanted and why, he set the machine up and, wonder of wonders, told me to work it. Meanwhile he turned down the end of a small bolt that would follow the key-way. After profusely thanking him, he asked me to show him the plotter when I had completed it. That action I never took, and I live to regret it.

According to Google, the "angel" was Harvey Hoare of Hoare's bank. Whether so or not I remember one anecdote - my father told me the man would take micro-naps during the day, sitting in his chair, during which he would be totally non-communicando but after a few minutes would wake and be fully attentive.

The aerial view below might be Ovington House and the outbuildings arranged in a triangle strike a small chord in my memory - we had to walk outside to get to his workshop. And there are extensive grounds which could have housed a miniature railway.

Ovington House

Young Theo here wanted bits of wood which I gladly supplied. I asked him what he was making - it was, I think, "something to fire corks". I too would have loved to see his completed article working. Not because I want to see some inferior childish construction, but because I'd love to further inspire Theo's creativity. Like my grandfather once did who watched my disappointing attempts to make things and took me aside and helped me make a small wooden box that actually had at least a suggestion of precision and purpose.

The moral? Be an angel - facilitate but never discourage a creator-in-the-making.

The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa

Talking about agonisingly beautiful I was reminded of the amazing sculpture "The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa". It is almost too beautiful, too perfect, for perfection and beauty go hand in hand.  Teresa of Ávila lived in the 1500's and the sculpture by Gian Lorenzo Bernini is meant to represent her experience of religious ecstasy in her encounter with the angel and she described it as follows:

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying.

I suppose it was a vision. I do not think I have ever had a vision unless the angel on the chimney stack beyond my childhood bedroom window counts. I do have dreams, some very vivid. But what was its source? She and doubtless my Catholic friends claim it was God. Fundamentalist Christians might say it was the devil. Or was it a very fertile imagination fueled by her closeted lifestyle and possibly too much cheese the night before.

We have very little understanding of the human brain. The E&T magazine quotes theoretical physicist Dr Michio Kaku as saying the human brain has 100 billion neurons, each neuron connected to 10,000 other neurons. Sitting on your shoulders is the most complicated object in the known universe. Some say that religious experiences (and dreams) are 'only' an artefact of the brain's inner workings, a sort of side effect.

Pain accentuates beauty. Rather like basking in a hot shower after returning from a long, arduous and cold run. Pain and its resulting suffering and endurance, then, are too oft despised gifts without which we would become wimps. 

These coronavirus restrictions are a bit painful. We will not be overcome by evil, but will overcome evil with good. 

Where are all his wonderful deeds that our fathers recounted to us?

I feel a bit like Gideon must have. There are many needs that I thought God had placed on my heart and I have prayed for these for what I thought was earnestly and for a long time, yet I do not see the answers I expect. Even so, I am not yet going to stop asking: God isn't going to get off the hook that lightly! I know about the importunate widow.

William Blake - the angel of revelation

Now the angel of the LORD came and sat under the terebinth tree at Ophrah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, while his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the winepress to hide it from the Midianites (who were oppressing Israel).  And the angel of the LORD appeared to him and said to him, "The LORD is with you, O mighty man of valour." And Gideon said to him, "Please, sir, if the LORD is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our fathers recounted to us, saying, 'Did not the LORD bring us up from Egypt?' But now the LORD has forsaken us and given us into the hand of Midian." And the LORD turned to him and said, "Go in this might of yours and save Israel from the hand of Midian; do not I send you?"

Gideon continues to be hesitant but ends up leading an army and saving Israel from her oppressors. You can read the rest of the story in Judges 6.

I too am weighed down by the apparent present day lack of the sort of "wonderful deeds" we are told that Jesus and the early church performed.

The difference for me is - where is the angel? 

Besides, I find myself reappraising many of my "Christian" ideals. Songs I sing with lyrics that now grate, like the hymn "I would love to tell you what I think of Jesus - since I found in him a friend so strong and true...". A lovely tune, and such endearing words, but I have become unsure about this "personal relationship" bit. Sure, I still pray for folk in need, still constantly ask God to make himself real to me, but I wonder about those times I thought I had "heard" God. Like: where is the angel? Don't get me wrong, I haven't trashed everything - I believe in God, etc. and that there was a man Jesus who made the supreme sacrifice for folk like me, and am happy enough to call him my Lord and would dearly love to hear his voice and know him as a friend - just that - where is he?

Having survived the morning meeting, had lunch and done various odd jobs I ran, barefoot as usual, not too far; swam briefly, possibly the last swim of the year; and stood, alone, on the shore and revelled in the beauty of the lake and the mountains on the far side. How thankful I am for this safety valve.