Ash Wednesday as I participated

Learning a new focus of trust

This week has been one of the interesting contrasts in how to maintain focus in an environment of distractions, some harmful and others hopefully more beneficial. One thing I had decided was to be more participatory in this season of the church calendar, and this I mean, the Church of England – Anglican Communion arrangement.

I probably could have given some heed to doing something for Shrove Tuesday, I had the flour, and I could have made pancakes, yet I was exhausted and drawn away in thought and reminiscences that were quite unprofitable and redolent of interactions with seemingly sincere but quite unreliable people. Eventually, I find I can step away from the situation to reflect on how in words of the old hymnal, Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus, ‘the arm of flesh will fail you, ye dare not trust your own’, or that of any other too.

An eerie feeling of compounding disappointment and dejection seeks to occupy your thoughts and reins for which despondency intends to feed you the tears of apparent helplessness, yet you cannot relent for the hope that abounds and the love of God you are striving to understand and learning to believe beyond platitude and the scribed to experience.

A mortal in eternal purpose

The Lenten season is ushered in with Ash Wednesday and I had some excitement about attending the church service which was termed the Holy Eucharist with the Imposition of Ashes. It is one tradition I have never before participated in. When I told my mum about it earlier today, she thought it was a purely Roman Catholic tradition, I guess there are many areas where Roman Catholic and Anglican conventions overlap or are shared.

It was a solemn meeting in a medium capacity seating for that time in the afternoon. The highlight was The Imposition of the Ashes, wherein, the congregation files to the front before the ministers to have the sign of the cross in ashes placed on their foreheads. With the words said:

Remember that you are dust,
and to dust you shall return.
Turn away from sin,
and be faithful to Christ.

Taken from the second clause in the verse of Genesis 3:19, “for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

Quite a moment of spiritual recognition and an almost trembling appreciation of our humble mortality in the context of an eternal dispensation. I do wonder if it would have felt more poignant if that was said in Latin, “Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.”

Intention for guidance and direction

After that, we then participated in the Breaking of the Bread signifying the work of redemption and the new covenant in Jesus Christ as our gathering ended quietly apart from music from the majestic Stoller Organ.

This period of Lent would be used to help attuned one’s spirit to the witness and the voice of the human spirit, given the direction of the Holy Spirit, away from distractions, distortions, noise, and confusion that can so easily leave one unsure of purpose, direction, peace, and guidance.

On the question of spirituality, I am learning that it is more an individual experience than identification with creed, church, or denomination. Where you are blessed is where you should be.

The knot as I blot my paper

Naught, Nought, Not

Many a thought climbs upon a thought,
For which most a duel is frequently fought,
Even if what you desire to write is fraught,
It is a situation in which we all get caught.

Should there be way to escape and be taught,
Then maybe one might soon be on a yacht,
Yet my order of words travelled and bought,
Just as what would get read is highly wrought.

Would mean do the script much as I ought,
That to this very line we can truly be brought,
Where by now the end to a diatribe is sought,
Before a critical review begets an onslaught.

Cursing the darkness of a drunken jaunt

I sipped and swilled

Blogs are bringing life to wry observations from which you might end up with a story or even a moral tale. Now, I do not have a ready palate for alcohol, I probably lost my thirst for strong drink by accident.

At the age of 10, whilst away from home taking common entrance examinations in Lagos, I found myself at parties where my choice tipple was Tennant's light lager by the can and with all the adult supervision around me, I was granted the liberty to indulge. I never got tipsy, but there was something about my privileged status that gave me a bye when other boys would have been scolded.

I was the son of the high-flying and most successful accountant from our village, I was the proverbial white boy in black skin, with an accent that when foreign guests were visiting, I was the one put forward to chat to and entertain when the children of the host were locked away and out of sight, I probably took liberties without consequence.

More for the drink, less for the taste

Everywhere I went in the 4 months I was down south, I was feted, indulged, tolerated, excused and well, abused too. Yes, that was sexually, but I did not know I was being taken advantage of. I was already used to being taken advantage of by two of our houseboys up north, this fumbling that went further was like pleasure and play.

By the time I was 15, my uncle who had just returned from the UK was both generous with means and things apart from offering good swills of rum that it got back to me that my parents were concerned that I was being introduced to drink, little did they know, in fact, with hindsight, my parents know so much and yet so little about me, it is almost an enigmatic paradox.

After secondary school at 15, I had a job in the laboratory of West African Breweries where I carried out water tests and introduced conveyor belt quality controls that fed back down the line to improvements in bottle washing and other bottling activities. My exposure to understanding fermentation, counting dead yeast cells, the tank farm and tasting the finished product put an end to my palate for a lager, beer, ale, cider and strong spirits.

I have little tolerance for alcohol abuse

I have the occasional wine with meals and sometimes an aperitif, but bitters and the rest are completely off limits. Essentially, I am dangerously sober in all that I do where people would require Dutch courage to attempt those same things.

That I have little tolerance of the inebriated and drunken is borne of the reasoning that I think the consumption of alcohol is an expression of discipline, you know when you’ve had enough and allow yourself the benefit of keeping your wits about you. We all make mistakes, but we can forgive ourselves and promptly begin to make amends.

A half-brain on a long train

So, as I was about to board the train from Edinburgh to Manchester, a man stepped in front of us with bravado and disregard to get on the train first. He did and as the train departed the station, he enquired where the train was going, the slurring of speech and the unsteadiness of his feet suggested he was all not himself, not by reason of ailment or infirmity, but for the abuse in excess of alcohol.

He was going due west to Bathgate some 18 miles away but had hopped on the train going southwest with the next stop at Lockerbie, some 76 miles away. Any other man might have comforted himself of his folly like Esau of old, but not this man. He fidgeted and buffeted, sighed and hollered, swore and cursed, murmured and blustered to the irritation of all around him that they left their reserved seats for other available seats.

For the lost of Lockerbie

He was by terms a bloody nuisance all because of drink and we endured the menace for a good hour until he disembarked at Lockerbie. Lockerbie itself brings some poignancy to me, it was where the Pan Am Flight 103 crashed on the 21^st of December 1988, which happened to be my 23^rd birthday.

That tragic event and my birthday somewhat creates an affinity with Lockerbie that I should one day disembark and visit the memorial to those who perished at that heinous act of terrorism for which I have not yet been convinced that the real culprits have seen justice.

Cursing the darkness sheds no light

However, the man railed and ranted, I thought of the proverb being played out before my eyes, “It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.” It is said to be an old Chinese proverb and at the same time attributed to a sermon titled “The Invincible Strategy” given by W. L. Watkinson and collected in 1907. The former attribution is suspect and the latter is contentious, but we have a saying to work with. [Wikipedia][QuoteInvestigator]

There was nothing the man could do other was sit still until he got to Lockerbie and hopefully he could get a train back tonight to Edinburgh and then to Bathgate, that is if the conductor on the other train was in the least compassionate, he could have contemplated his folly in the solitude of regret and silence, but he was literally cursing the darkness and it made no difference to the fact that he first had to get off the train and maybe get back home tonight.

In effect, he left an odious impression and the inspiration for this blog. Never drink yourself to not being aware of what you are doing and if you do, responsibly accept that consequences of your folly without becoming a public nuisance. Any of us could have compounded his situation by calling the police to attend to an unruly and drunken passenger at Lockerbie, in which case, he would have had free lodgings at Her Majesty’s pleasure for the night until sobriety gave him gumption and reason along with even more regret.

C’est la vie!

Do you need a miracle?

Untrammelled between trams

And I thought as I got on the tram as it wended its way towards a destination close to home, I could be on that other tram going for meal.

Indeed, I could as I was sitting; would I then end up in the other tram sat in a space nudging away whoever was occupying the seat or suddenly find myself standing erect in the aisle then search for a free seat?

It got me thinking about the need for powers and the consequences of having the power to upset the general course of nature.

Appearing to startle

With all the selfish ability to translate myself from one tram to another, I wondered if I had to scout for a place before I left the tram I was in for the other and what state I would be in as I negotiated the possibilities and the consequences.

Maybe, I could in fact be translated but there was the other issue of its effect on my community, the bystanders going about their business trying not to witness anything so stressful after a long day at work.

If I suddenly appeared, how would I have prepared the other passengers for my appearance without startling everyone and scaring them off the tram such that I would have drawn unnecessary attention to myself and ended up being a great sensation but never getting to where I had intended in the first place.

The miracle of contemplation

That thoughtfulness lead me to one conclusion, the need for miracles in most cases can be obviated with adequate contemplation and planning. If minutes before, I had already decided what I wanted to do, I could easily have boarded the other tram naturally without causing distress to either myself or anyone else.

In fact, I do not need a miracle for something I could have properly planned for and anticipated using my God-given intellect and abilities, I could achieve what needs to be achieved without upsetting the laws of nature and creating unnecessary commotion as I ingratiate myself with powers that could have been better utilised in the pursuit of more altruistic goals.

Do you need a miracle?

Suffice it to say that we mostly seek miracles for the trivial, to correct mistakes we have made and to absolve ourselves from the responsibilities we could have shouldered if we dared to be half the geniuses we were born to be.

Whereas, miracles are in essence supposed to be for the impossible, the insurmountable, the overwhelmed – not the difficult but manageable circumstances that at many times were under our control but we refused to assume the responsibility to take control until it became too late to manage in any way.

Would this account for many unanswered prayers? Seeking miracles where basic commonsense should have sufficed – I do wonder what I really would have done if I had the power to be translated from on tram to another or a one fast moving train to another moving in the opposite direction.

On reflection, I really do not need that power or rather the greatest power you can have equal or greater than the miracle you seek is to have contemplated, planned and executed to achieve what you aim for.