Not Quite Peace On Earth...

...I blame myself - and so does H which more or less confirms the matter - I should have briefed the fellow more closely on local protocol. For the wires have been verily humming this merry Christmas Morn, though sadly the note has been one more of ire than, as it ought, of simple, joyous delight at the birth of Our Saviour.

You'll remember Curate Cuthbert, mentioned some while back, as he who has been posted to sojourn under my wing a while in a general learning-the-ropes capacity. (Haven't said much about him here, as he deserves some privacy while finding his way and his place in the scheme of things.)

And a thoroughly helpful soul he is too, for which mercy great thanks. Bit of an eager beaver in a 'God bothering' sort of way, as these young clerics tend to be - brings back even so many memories of one's own youthful enthusiasm - but fresh blood fired with true Gospel passion is never an ungodly thing despite leading as it must to the occasional unholy row.

Such as we have had today!

Cuthbert I striped down for the Dawn Mass - as we still like it call it round here. Midnight is mine of course as befits my station, and the main family mass also belongs to the senior cleric, plus wife and family. The Parish would have it no other way, so that is the way they get it.

Call it though what you will, it is ever the first service of a Sunday morn, taken quite early - around eight of the clock and no later - and attended by the quieter souls who prefer a less crowded venue for a more restful liturgy. (Some would argue that they come this hour to get it out of the way in as swift a time as possible, but that would not be an awfully charitable thought. So long as they come at all, is my concern!)

It - this early doors service - is what is known formally as a 'said Mass', differentiating it thus from the 'sung Mass'. The clue is in the title: no singing. Not everyone wants to sing, not all enjoy it for many reasons. Off-key bawling may be laudable in worshipful intent, but can be terribly hard on the ear and on the gentler soul wishing a quiet word with his or her Lord.

Now our Cuthbert has himself a fine natural voice and can hold a good tune in season and out of season, in shower and again out. (Should really have been a choir monk, but seems to prefer the 'outdoor' life of an active cleric.) But a gift or charism can be a tricky thing, leading to such syllogistic fallacies as: "I can sing, therefore they can sing. I want to sing because I can sing, therefore they too must want to sing."

But that is precisely the point. Some of them can't and none of them want. That is why they are there at that time, in order not to have to sing or be sung to.

So what does sweet Cuthbert do but announce to an instantly hostile crowd that as it is Christmas Morn they are to have three carols! Iris on the door handing out the sheets was the first to phone an advance warning. "There'll be trouble," she advised rightly H. "The Colonel was furious. Turned quite purple he did before he even got to his pew. Gladys needing help down the nave. Thought she was going to pass out on me." (Gladys has her place behind the third pillar where she can neither see nor be seen. That has been her custom these sixty years and it has kept her on the straight and narrow - if not entirely sane - path of life, so who am I to question?)

Blameless Cuthbert - as I say the fault was mine entirely - arrives back for his breakfast just as Colonel X mounts his charge. 'Tis he himself this time on the telephone. "What's all this bloody Darwinian nonsense doing here eh?!" That, I admit, threw me. Was expecting a rant about 'If I wanted to be a roaring Methodist I'd be down the chapel', but not some loud hectoring about evolution as the science of the anti-Christ - that being the Colonel's take on the subject. (Crisp, if a little unengaged with modern thinking on the matter.)

Seems then that not only did Cuthbert have them warbling - an irksome if venial sin - but he also mentioned something about how in God's plan for man He has turned us from four to two legged creatures in order that we might look up to Heaven and not down to Earth for the way forward.

Personally I've no theological problem with this. I am not persuaded by ardent Creationists that I must be either for them or against them and God. It was though perhaps more than the odd step too far for the early birds of The Wolds.

Cuthbert is beaming through his toast. He did give a cracking homily - this I know because he showed it me in advance and it was a belter - so he believes he has done nothing but sprinkle God's light and love this morning. Well yes he has. He has done the Lord's work mightily as ever. But like dear Saint Paul he has left a trail of havoc in his wake! 'Twill then be for me, though, to do the rounds today seeking to settle frayed nerves and irked spirits.

The turkey must wait until peace on earth is restored in The Wolds. Just a bite of cold turkey sandwich before Evensong shall be my festal lot I fear.