Wash and Brush-up!

Last time I wrote about going through a door and shutting it behind you.  Now I want to take my reader through just one particular door: one which is, by convention, almost always shut behind the entrant.  This week I'm in the bathroom, a place where - with the possible exception of mothers of toddlers - one is usually alone.

I want to draw your attention to two common household items often found there.  The first one is a mirror, the prime function of which is to reflect a near-perfect image of the one looking into it.  The prime function of the second item, a sponge, is to soak something up, usually water or soap, hopefully in order later to discharge its contents in the course of washing a body.  Unfortunately the second stage of this operation is not essential, as can sometimes be discovered on cleaning the bathroom, when a sponge might be found somewhere inconvenient in a cold and saturated condition!

I think it will be readily agreed that these two are opposites, in that one is hard while the other soft; the function of one is both instant and constant while that of the other is delayed and finite.  They have one thing in common, however, in that they can teach us something about human relationships.

If, in your childhood, you read Revd. Charles Kingsley's book The Water Babies - or had it read to you - while you may have, like me, forgotten the plot completely, the names of two characters will surely come to mind: Mrs Do-as-you-would-be-done-by and Mrs Be-done-by-as-you-did.  Considering the vocation of the author, it won't surprise you that these have a biblical foundation, to be found in Jesus' teaching on active goodness and mercy in Matthew 7:9-12.

My bathroom-based reminder focuses on just one tiny aspect of this very broad topic.  Suppose you meet someone whom you know quite well, but not intimately.  You might well greet them with, "Hello, how are you?" or, "How do you do?"  To either of these an acceptable social response is to repeat the question, which achieves nothing for either party.  Sometimes a brief answer is offered, such as "Fine, thanks" or "Not too bad.", which again convey very little, and often terminate the exchange.  If you know the person a little better, you might enquire, "This is a pleasant surprise, what brings you here?"  Here, now, is a direct question that demands an answer.  The nature of that answer will depend on all manner of things, most of which will be determined by the circumstances, feelings, demeanour or other inclination of the one giving it.  There might be a dismissive, "nothing special." or at the other extreme the enquiry might prompt a lengthy explanation that could, in turn, lead to expressions of sympathy or practical advice.  You will probably notice how the shorter sentences are colder and crisp like a mirror, while the final lengthy example more closely resembles the sponge's absorbing and discharging properties. 

The descriptions above are very much given from the point of view of the confident initiator of the exchange.  Suppose though, you are - whether by nature, or as a result of particular circumstance - going into this encounter in a more timid or fragile condition.  You might not want to enter into any conversation at that time, or with that particular person.  You might not wish to appear impolite, so prepare one of the short crisp rebuffs and respond, breaking your journey as little as possible <acting like a mirror>.   At the extreme, you might ignore the enquiry completely, not stop and say nothing at all <acting like a broken mirror!>.  At the opposite end of the spectrum, you might be pleased with the encounter, feel that this is just the person to whom you could unburden your situation or problem and you're delighted that they have greeted you in a way that invites your, perhaps lengthy, explanation. <acting like a sponge>  If you continue your unburdening beyond the point where the enquirer would dearly love to move on, then perhaps your attitude could be likened to the cold, saturated sponge on the bathroom floor!

Somewhere in the midst of these examples is another scenario.  You're the more vulnerable of the two, but you draw up from the depths the courage and confidence to speak first.  "Hello, how are you?", you ask, hoping - perhaps, based on your knowledge of the other person, expecting - that the answer will be, "Fine, thanks ... and you?", which gives you the 'in' to an unburdening.

In a short piece like this, I'm not seeking to assign 'right' or 'wrong' labels to any of these behaviours.  I'm simply suggesting that there are many different ways of meeting friends and acquaintances, and that they may vary between the same two people from one time to another ... and that we all ponder, regarding both ourselves and those we meet, "am I a mirror or a sponge today?"

Behind Closed Doors

The aim of Gospel Around Us has always been to link faith to the common things of life and, in this post, I'm exploring links with something most of us do many times in a day ... never mind in the whole of life.  How often do you go through a door and close it behind you?  It may be when you pass from one room to another in your home, or at work; the door may have a self-closer, so it shuts automatically behind you.  It might be to join others, or to be alone away from them; it could be that, at the end of a hard day, you pass through your front door, lean back on its strength and say, "Thank goodness that's over!"

'An Englishman's home is his castle', so it is said.  It was established in common law in the seventeenth century and William Pitt (the elder) said in 1763, "The poorest man may, in his cottage, bid defiance to all the forces of the crown.  It may be frail, its roof may shake, the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter, the rain may enter, but the King of England may not enter!"  It's every young couple's dream, as they prepare for marriage, to have a home of their own, a front door that they can enter and lock behind them, secure from the rest of the world.

My attention was drawn recently to King David, and the Lord's promises related to him by Nathan the prophet, of which we can read in 2 Samuel ch. 7.  Verse 10 has particular significance just now: "I will provide a place for my people Israel and will plant them so that they can have a home of their own and no longer be disturbed."  In discussion at the time, we appreciated that this verse is held to support Israeli claims on the West Bank and justify their settlements there, in contravention of a UN Resolution.

There is another political, and even more topical relevance, as Brexit takes effect and potentially hardens the borders of our own country against the rest of the world.  We also related the verse more generally to the security offered by 'a home of our own'.

Paul, writing to the Corinthians, spoke of 'less honourable or unpresentable parts', that were 'treated with special honour or modesty' (1 Cor. 12:22-23).  Was he talking about anatomy or elements of our behaviour?  Either way, there are certainly things we would only do in the secure privacy of our own home.  I won't embarrass my reader by offering a list.  In centuries past, monarchs would invite nobles to attend their 'levée', or dressing.  This started in France and Louis XIV raised it to a ceremonial level.  It spread to England under Charles II, and thence to America, but had all but died out by the end of the eighteenth century.

You'll be glad to learn I'm not advocating the revival of the levée, but I wonder whether we might guard too carefully the secure nature of our homes.  I recall a time in my accounting career when I had been accorded the privilege of an office of my own on the first floor.  Not only did my position bring responsibility for a room full of people on the ground floor of the same building, but also for similar offices in two other towns.  I found the isolation of my own office very counter-productive and it was easier to control the two outlying offices by driving there and working on the side of someone else's desk than it was the people at my 'home base'.

Perhaps there are times when we should think 'outside the box', as it were, both as individuals and as a nation.  By valuing too highly the privacy of home, are we overlooking the potential benefits of having visitors?  Instead of holding meetings in a public hall or across the table at the pub, should we consider inviting the participants to our lounge?  I realise that for some of us, by virtue of our domestic situation, this would be impossible, but for others, it might prove beneficial.  At a national level, have we forgotten the humanitarian kudos we earned in 1939 with Kindertransport?  Should we be opening our borders to more refugees, rather than 'battening down the hatches'?

Are security and isolation two opposing sides of the same coin?  Can we be paying too high a social price for our security?