Re-opening an old wound

Categories: uncategorized

Date: 01 November 2004 00:49:24

On Friday evening, finally, I made it to home group. I nearly didn't. I came home tired (exhausted, more like), and the prospect of turning myself around, and driving to the neighbouring town, to an unfamiliar house, was daunting. I concluded, however, that there was a divine imperative, that it would be a step of faith to set out, against in some ways my better judgement, and 'give God a chance'.

On the whole, I enjoyed the evening, but was, not surprisingly, still tired the next day. Then wife hurt herself, scraping the back of her head against the bottom of a top bunk, necessitating our first significant contact with NHS Direct (who have taken over out-of-hours medical care in our area). Somewhat disconcerting, initially to be listening to canned music while I waited for attention, then to be talking with a nurse who didn't know how to pronounce the name of the town where we live; but she first helped us by advising us how to apply first aid, then gave us an appointment at our 'local' (the next town, in the other direction) primary health care centre (out of hours). The afternoon majored (for me) on trying to spray paint a door (leaving a patina of red oxide on every other surface in the little toilet-cum-shower where it was situated), and then the evening on creating a couple of pumpkin lanterns. Shopping for food amd preparing food occupied the remains of the day (if MJ can quote the phrase, then so can I).

Underlying this activity, Friday's decision had awakened in me a process of thought which I have generally put behind me. We had arranged this morning to go to the cinema as guests of a charity. When the opportunity arose, I really didn't think twice about the fact that we would be missing church. We feel that this charity in its actions shows itself to be closer to God than the church, in some ways. But having acknowledged on Friday the possibility that God was saying 'do this, even though you don't feel like it', I began to feel the undercurrent, which I suspect is mostly upbringing, that said 'you are a Christian, you go to church - other people shop, wash their cars, go to the cinema'. In short, I started to feel guilty about our cinema excursion.

Many years ago, concerned about my emotional state, my parents had arranged for me to be seen by a psychiatrist. The only time he could manage was on a Sunday morning. As the time approached, I was torn apart - I believed that God would be angry with me for seeking secular help on his day. But (but, but, but) the alternative, naturally, would have been to go to church, and found the help I was looking for there - surely amongst Christians, worshipping God, my emotional problems would have been addressed. (I am reminded of an article I glanced through recently, in which a pastor unctuously remarked that in his view, people who made a habit of attending 'public worship' didn't encounter serious emotional problems.) But I knew that the minister (this being my parents' church, not one I'd chosen to attend) would use his privileged status to question the veracity of the gospels - treating them more like novels than histories. Either way, my faith was going to be undermined.

I ran away. Literally. I was picked up by the side of the road by my parents' GP, taken back to the house, and then taken in an ambulance and placed in a locked ward. An image which has stayed with me is of a cable - possibly telephone or electrical - which had been spliced - I felt that I was separating from my parents - that a bond was being broken which would never be properly repaired. This morning, as I left my family at the cinema, and returned home before going out again to church, I felt the same kind of break. God had placed himself between me and my family.

In the event, I didn't go to church. I tried to do the next step of painting the door, and then didn't want to leave the house with all the windows wide open. I drove back to the shopping centre earlier than planned, just, as it happened, as the film was ending, and we all went to McDonalds to spend a voucher. I have to admit that the timing of my arrival at the cinema was miraculous (somebody was complaining about people who talk about trivial miracles - to someone else this may have been trivial, to me it was, in retrospect, wonderful). But my equilibrium has been seriously wobbled. How many times have I obeyed the injunction to get to church on Sunday, and had an unsatisfactory experience? Church is not the be all and end all. Was God saying, in the end, that the right thing to have done would have been to relax and watch the film?