A Quick Graph Laugh

As the Vicar gears up for the forthcoming Saint Nick’s Day Fayre by colouring in pictures of mitres and painting jam jars (yes, it’s a dull life in the Infirmary), we present this little offering:

 
 

(No offence meant to dyslexics.)

To End All Wars

A British soldier pays his respects (1917)

Today at 11:00 am, we commemorate 90 years since the end of the First World War, the “war to end all wars.”  When it started in August 1914, most people thought it would be over by Christmass. 

Four years later, 9.4 million lives had been lost on the battlefield, and around 15 million men were left permanently crippled by physical or mental disabilities.  Some 750,000 German civilians died as a result of the Allied trade blockade; 82,000 Serbian civilians lost their lives through disease and starvation; and the attempted genocide of the Armenian people cost around a million lives.  After the war, Europe was left with a legacy of political upheaval, economic hardship and social dislocation.  Truly, Albert Einstein was right in 1914 when he said: “Europe, in her insanity, has started something almost unbelievable.”

Six German soldiers killed in the Battle of Passchendaele, 31st July 1917. They died in the fight for Pilckem Ridge, a British offensive which lasted for three days and gained two miles of enemy land.

 

At first, the Church of England (like most people in Europe) generally supported the war, and encouraged young men to sign up and go out to fight (for more information, have a read of the excellent book The Church of England and the First World War by Fr. Alan Wilkinson, a good friend of our Parish).  But as reports came through of the carnage and horror at the front, more and more people came to doubt whether Christians could really be so jingoistic.  Fr. Dick Sheppard, who went out to the front as Chaplain to a military hospital, wrote home less than a week after arriving: “War is awful.  More awful than I supposed possible.”  He became a lifelong pacifist.

The Church has always had a complex relationship with armed conflict, probably causing as many wars as it has opposed over the centuries.  Even now, when most mainstream Christians are convinced of the Gospel imperative for peace and justice, opinions are divided over how best to achieve it.  Some Christians are convinced Pacifists, whilst others believe armed resistance is sometimes necessary to stop great injustice or suffering.  But none of us should ever forget the horrors war brings.

Back in the third century after Christ, the Church Father Tertullian wrote of the soldier’s laurel wreath of triumph:

Is the laurel of the triumph made of leaves,

or of corpses?

Is it adorned with ribbons,

or with tombs?
Is it bedewed with ointments,

or with the tears

of wives and mothers?

 

S. Cyprian of Carthage, also writing in the Third Century, spoke in words which resonate in our own times:

The world is going mad in mutual bloodshed.

And murder, which is considered a crime when people commit it singly, is transformed into a virtue when they do it en masse.

 

But perhaps today the last word should go to Saint Martin of Tours, whose Feast Day it is today.  Martin started his adult life as a soldier in the Roman army and ended it as a Christian Bishop who worked tirelessly for peace, justice and reconciliation.

The most famous story of Martin recalls how, as a soldier in France, he was confronted by a beggar.  Having nothing to give the poor man, Martin took a sword and cut his heavy Officer’s cloak in two, giving half to the beggar.  Later, the Saint had a vision of Jesus wearing the cloak, and saying to the angels: “Here is Martin, the Roman soldier who is not Baptised; he has clothed me.” 

The vision recalls Christ’s words about the Judgement, in which it is not our creed but our justice and charity which determine our love of Christ:

“I was naked, and you clothed me.” (Matthew 25:36)

After his Baptism at the age of 18, Martin refused to fight for the Roman army, and became a hermit.  Later, he was reluctantly made Bishop of Tours by popular demand, though he always felt himself unworthy of the office, and seldom left his monastery.  His few departures from Tours were always in the cause of justice and peace, pleading for the welfare of his people, including condemned prisoners.

Martin was known for his lengthy fasts, and in the Middle Ages his Feast Day was the last day before the pre-Christmass fast, which came to be known as the “Martinmass Lent.”  People traditionally feasted on Martinmass, often eating goose (recalling the legend that a goose honked to let the people of Tours know where their reluctant Bishop-to-be was hiding).

Now that Advent starts a bit later, and winter seems to be upon us already, perhaps there’s little reason for us to keep up the Mediaeval tradition of this mini-carnival on S. Martin’s day.  But if we no longer keep carnival (carne vale, saying farewell to meat), perhaps we can pray for a farewell to the carnage and slaughter of war. 

As Christians, we still have many things for which to fight, but we are called to do so not with guns and bombs, but under the banner of the Prince of Peace.  At 18, Martin refused to fight for the Romans with these words: “Hitherto I have served you as a soldier: allow me now to become a soldier to God.  I am the soldier of Christ; it is not lawful for me to fight.”  At the end of his life, this faithful soldier to God prayed thus:

Lord, if your people still have need of my services,

I will not avoid the toil.

Your will be done.

I have fought the good fight long enough.

Yet if you bid me continue

to hold the battle line in defence of your camp,

I will never beg to be excused from failing strength.

I will do the work you entrust to me.

While you command, I will fight beneath your banner.

 

Let us fight for peace beneath the banner of the living God, who makes wars to cease in all the world (Psalm 46:9).

Saint Martin refuses to fight for Rome, and becomes a soldier of Christ.

Saint Martin de Purrs

Today is the Feast of S. Martin de Porres, a.k.a. Martin of Charity or the Saint of the Broom.  He was born in 1579 in Lima, Peru, the illegitimate son of a white Spanish knight and a black freedwoman.  Martin inherited his mother’s dark skin, much to the disappointment of his father.  Although his father acknowledged paternity, he refused to provide for Martin or his sister, and the family lived in poverty.

At age 12, Martin was apprenticed to a barber-surgeon, and learnt from him some medicine and care of the sick.  At around 15, Martin joined the Third Order of the Dominicans, and went to live in the Dominican Priory of the Holy Rosary in Lima as a servant.  As time went by, his humility, holiness and devotion to the care of the sick and poor began to convince his superiors that Martin was called to the religious life.  They dropped the rule that “no black person may be received to the holy habit or profession of our order,” and Martin was professed as a lay brother in 1603. 

Martin was placed in charge of the Priory’s infirmary, where he nursed the sickof the city, including victims of the plague.  Martin showed the same care and attention to all his patients, regardless of their ethnicity or social background, and only left the infirmary to pray and to beg alms for the poor.  He set up an orphanage and a foundling hospital, distributed food to the poor throughout the city and ministered especially to the slaves who had been brought to the Americas from Africa.

But it wasn’t only humans who benefitted from Saint Martin’s care.  He set up an animal shelter at his sister’s house in Lima, and cared for the the many stray cats and dogs who arrived there in need of food and medical attention.  Most of his contemporaries simply couldn’t understand why Martin cared about animals, much less how he could be so successful in healing them and have such a close relationship with them.  But Martin realised that even the smallest of creatures are children of God, and worthy of care and attention.

On one occasion, his Priory became overrun with rats scavenging the food supplies, and the Prior ordered Martin to put down poison to eradicate them.  Martin, out of holy obedience, complied; but then he went out into the garden and softly called the rats to a meeting. He reprimanded them for stealing food from the Priory, and warned them about the poison. But he said he realised that they were hungry, and promised that if they stopped annoying the Prior, he would feed them in the garden every day. The rats agreed, and never bothered the Priory again.

We have long been fans of this gentle Saint, whose image has pride of place in our little statue collection in the kitchen.  The Vicar has always liked him too, because of his care for animals, his abstention from meat and his concern for social justice.  But recently we discovered a story about him which makes him a perfect patron for the Vicar.

Once, Martin was out on a picnic with some novices from his Priory.  Suddenly, they realised that they had lost track of time, and would be late for prayers.  Quickly, Martin (who is said to have been graced with the gifts of bilocation and the ability to walk through locked doors) told the novices to hold hands.  In the blink of an eye, they found themselves standing in the Priory grounds. 

Nobody (not even the novices involved) was able to explain how they had travelled a distance of several miles in mere seconds; but if someone could teach the Vicar how to do it, life at the Vicarage would be a lot less stressful.

Most humble S. Martin de Porres,
whose burning charity embraced not only your needy brethren,
but also the very animals in the field:
Splendid example of charity, we hail thee and invoke thee,
from the high throne which you now occupy.
Deign to listen to the supplications of your brethren,
that by imitating your virtues,
we may live contented in that state in which God has placed us,
and carrying with strength and courage our Cross,
we may follow the footsteps of our Blessed Redeemer
and His Most Afflicted Mother,
that, at the last, we may reach the Kingdom of Heaven,
through the merits of the same Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.

Salve Faelis

The Vicar is in high dudgeon.  Yet again.  For the last two weeks, all sorts of cruel and uncaring people have used the fragility of her health (cries of “for goodness’ sake, it’s only a cough” notwithstanding) to prevent her doing fun and exciting things. 

She was stroppy when she couldn’t go to the seaside, belligerent when banned from her bicycle and – most uncharacteristically – extremely annoyed about having to stay in bed all day.  But today, things have really hit rock bottom.  Today, the Vicar was summarily excluded from a trip to the local music shop, thereby missing out on the chance to acquire her very own Hello Kitty guitar.

Of course, the fact that the Vicar can’t actually play the guitar seems to have passed her by, along with the thirty other good arguments against her owning one of these things (e.g. it’s pink; it’s noisy; people might start thinking she’s an Evangelical…).  The sad truth is, the Vicar has harboured a secret penchant for Hello Kitty stuff ever since she became the proud holder of a red Hello Kitty bus pass holder (circa 1982).

In a bid to make the Elf feel even more guilty, we did a little trawl online for Hello Kitty products, and found a surprising selection.  Perhaps one of the following might be more suitable for the Vicarage, a.k.a. Saint John’s Infirmary for Bewildered and Cantankerous Clergy:

1.  Hello Kitty Antibacterial Soap

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2.  The Hello Kitty Blood Pressure Gauge

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

or even (no, really)…

3.  The Hello Kitty Rectal Thermometer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We found all these things on possibly one of the best and funniest blogs of all time (apart from this one, of course) – namely, Hello Kitty Hell.  The poor man who writes it has a wife who is clearly obsessed beyond the point of all reason with Hello Kitty.  Their house is full of Hello Kitty everything, including four different types of loo paper.  Apparently, their whole toilet is wall-to-wall kitsch.  At least the Vicar wouldn’t stoop to that.

Of course, like those atheists who spend all their time and energy telling us why they don’t believe in God, the writer of said blog is at least as obsessed in his hatred of all things HK as his wife is in love with it all.  As a result, his blog has become the online source for information on strange and frightening Hello Kitty products, including handguns, tattoos and … er … Japanese love hotels.  We (and no doubt every parishioner of Forton) now live in fear of the Vicar ever seeing this photo:

 

 You might think it couldn’t get more alarming.  But, gentle reader, be not fooled.  The worst is yet to come. 

Who do you think might wear a costume like this?  Those of a nervous disposition, please don’t think about it.  Everyone else, click here.