My Goose was Well and Truly Cooked

It’s the day after Christmas, and I’ve been reflecting on the day before Christmas and Christmas Day itself. Responding to a widespread rumour that Christmas was a religious festival I went to Church on Christmas Eve for the Midnight Eucharist – my first time in Church for ten years (apart from the increasingly frequent funerals of friends). As always, I was able to feel some connection with God, though not on account of the fancy dress or the liturgy or the singing of carols. Indeed at one point I nearly lost all sense of connection – ironically in the process leading up to the taking of Holy Communion. As I read the words on the service sheet my brain was forced to ponder that part of the Christian message that appears to have more to do with cannibalism than remembering Jesus Christ. I balked at the words leaping out at me from the page as I was exhorted to “partake of the flesh” and “drink the blood”. Whoa! Hold up a minute!

My take on the Last Supper is that the bread and wine are wholly symbolic of the person of Christ, i.e., his body and blood, and the exhortation to partake of the bread and wine is to remember Him. We are most certainly not eating His flesh nor drinking His blood. Well, that’s my considered opinion after much thought and prayer with the brain God gave me, and if any person or persons try to convince me otherwise I regret to inform them that they are wasting their time.

I had other problems that night in Church. I noticed that the choir included a man, engaged as a Church Warden, whom I know personally to have acted in a wholly unpleasant (not to say un-Christian) way towards his neighbour over a long period of time.

All these thoughts occupied my mind as I walked back home in the light drizzle of the first hour Christmas Day and retired to bed.

The first half of Christmas Day saw me and wife at the home of our son, his wife, and our delightful 4-year old grandson for an exchange of gifts. The joy on the face of our grandson as he played with his new toys and opened yet more presents was the best Christmas gift that we could have hoped for, and the realisation that we were in the presence of the most special people in our lives was a more spiritually uplifting experience than my Church visit had been some hours earlier.

When we returned home a goose that had been cooking in the oven for some hours had spilled fat over the surface of the oven; the smoke alarms were audible outside the house, and when we entered the house we found every room filled with smoke. We opened windows, turned on extractor fans, and lit scented candles. Our goose was well and truly cooked.

A memorable and stimulating Christmas!

We are still lighting scented candles. The atmosphere in the house should be back to normal by next Christmas. Happy New Year! (And by that I mean a year free from any more mad adventures by the idiots Bush and Blair)