Resolutions

I saw a series of resolutions for the New Year today...they were of the variety...think positively rather than negatively. Not in itself a bad idea. This week's readings for example invite us to "give thanks in all circumstances" (I Thessalonians 5:18)
I could see as I was talking about this on Sunday last that some of my flock were finding it difficult... how could S give thanks for her son's death age 18, particularly when his birthday was this week..
I came across this schmaltzy little passage from Corrie Ten Boom's :The Hiding Place ....perhaps it is not so schmaltzy as chastening to a world that is cynical and superficial:

Christians sisters Betsie and Corrie were assigned to Barracks 28 of Ravensbruck. They smuggled a Bible in with them, and eventually began to open it up to share with their fellow prisoners, who crowded around them as they read it aloud, clinging to its promises.

Betsie urged Corrie to give thanks in all circumstances–Betsie insisted that Corrie give thanks for the filthy facilities, soiled bedding, claustrophobic spaces stacked with piers for beds stacked three high, and the fleas. Oh yes, the place was teeming with fleas.

She excitedly invited Corrie to join her in thanking God for every single thing in their miserable new barracks.

Corrie was doubtful.

Then Betsie pointed out a few obvious things: being assigned together, the Bible they were able to smuggle in. Corrie agreed and then chimed in with thanks for the fact that there was no inspection when they entered.

Betsie added that they should be thankful that they were packed so close–so that more would hear! She prodded Corrie to pray that, too, so she did.

Then Betsie brought up the fleas. To give thanks for the fleas.

But Corrie’d had enough. There was no way even God could make her grateful for a flea.

Betsy reminded, “Give thanks in all circumstances,” not only in pleasant circumstances. She wanted Corrie to give thanks for everything that was part of the place where God had put them. So she stood there in the filth with her sister, and they gave thanks for the fleas.

They invited all the women crammed into that dormitory to join them for worship. They sang hymns and read Scripture, translating into the various languages represented in the room. They were bold. They preached and prayed and worshiped. In spite of almost constant surveillance everywhere else in the barracks, the dormitory was virtually ignored. They were barely supervised, if at all. They couldn’t understand it, but they certainly took advantage of that rare freedom.

Then, much later, Betsie was working in the dormitory knitting alongside some others who were too weak for the hard outside labor, and they called for a supervisor to settle some confusion about their assignment. The supervisor came, but wouldn’t set foot in the room.

It was the fleas. The supervisor said that the place was crawling with fleas and refused to enter.

(the story is found in The Hiding Place , by Corrie ten Boom, Bantam Books, New York City, NY, 1971)

Maudlin, magdalen, mawdlin'

Can't help but feel that my recent entries have been a little maudlin.
I am feeling faint rushes of panic about whether or not everything has been done for Christmas, the end of the year, going away in January, preparations for study that has to be done in January so I can have 6 weeks off in May-June (for which the ticket is now booked).
I have attended one discussion with some colleagues about ongoing concerns about work conditions and changed work circumstances, lack of consultation and what on earth can be done about it. (precious little seemingly). We are required to sign a series of documents the basic thrust of which I agree with but some specific details of which seem positively Orwellian ( what a prescient genius that man was...see here for an eclectic Wikipedian collection ). We are required to give consent to information being collected which we don't even know exists, to that information being shared, even though we don't know what it is, where it came from or whether it is accurate. On top of that we indemnify (so it would seem) absolutely everyone so that if process abuse (or emotional and / or psychological abuse) transpires then no one is to blame other than ourselves!! It would make a good novel, I can think of a good title 2084 but someone told me that something like that has already been taken. What about Kafka meets George? If for a moment I knew enough about either then I would be so moved.
In the meantime (maudlin coming up) I am trying to coalesce a good Christmas poem, so lots of phraselets are buzzing around unrelatedly in my head, "Swoop birds flicking from tree to bush".
And this morning as I was reflecting on Luke 1:39-35 (When Mary meets Elizabeth ) I was sitting in the garden and witnessed "When Maggy meets Tilly"---and it seemed to echo. The magpie came and picked at the dog's bowl and they seemed to be at peace, and to delight in each other's company. You see quite nice, but all so maudlin.