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I knit, I sew, I run, I look after children and hamsters, I take truly terrible pictures, I cook, I complain.  Sometimes all at the same time.

Sunday, 22 January 2012

Not quite in the right spirit

I go to church most weekends.  Sometimes, if I can tie it in with childcare, I like to go in the week, but that's not really been happening much since Hattie stopped reliably sleeping for half an hour at ten.  While I have terrible problems with the hierarchy, the way the message has been corrupted over the past 2000 years, the way the Church has historically treated its members, St Paul and other minor characters, I am basically a Church of England supporter, a Christian and a fully paid up member of our local religious community.  I am not interested in being told that I am wrong about this; I will not force my views on you, please don't tell me I'm an idiot for believing in God and Jesus and the resurrection and the life of the world to come.  I also don't think that church is only about after you're dead, I am doing my bit to make things better on this side of the grave too.  I am as heavily involved with the homeless shelter that is run out of the Church Hall on a Monday night as I can be (I do a bit of washing and I cook the occasional meal) and I teach Junior Church.

Ah.  Junior Church.  Why do something with a modicum of professionalism and efficiency when you can get a whole bunch of people involved and run it by committee?  I am a teacher, I may have mentioned this before, and I have a professional attitude towards my little class; I turn up late with a massive hangover, two screaming kids and no resources.  This has only happened once, and I am never, ever going out on a Saturday when I have to teach on a Sunday again in my life ever.  That minor aberration aside, I do try to plan something that is relevant to the children, loosely based on the text, and interactive and fun. 

This morning, as I sat in the car on our, late again, way to church, Simon asked me whether I wanted to take the girls to creche, or stay in church and sleep listen to the sermon.  I opted to stay in church, on the grounds that someone would try to get me involved with this week's Junior Church lesson if I showed up there.  We hadn't been there 5 minutes when one of the leaders asked me to fill in as someone wasn't there.  To cut a long and increasingly dull story short, I ended up teaching on no notice, with no materials and no real knowledge.  The woman I was covering for had printed out the wrong week's work and had prepared completely inappropriate resources, so I basically busked for 45 minutes and then put up a display. 

I was a bit cross about this, but being the consummate professional, just got on with it.  After the service, I was chatting to Angela when along marched Colonel Mike, husband of the woman I stood in for, who proceeded to be a total regimental tit for about five minutes.  Fortunately Hattie can be relied on to be sick after three biscuits, so I was able to dash off while he was hauling Angela over the coals for not running Junior Church the way it would be run in the Army.  My slapping hand was itching so hard, but I know it's not the done thing in church.  I so desperately wanted to tell him that we are not subalterns on a charge, so he should just shut up and listen to us when we explain why things aren't run the way he thinks they should be.  Honestly.  We have a get together next week, and I really hope he and his wife aren't there; I am annoyed by her letting me down - I know your son is unwell, but in your position, I would leave Daddy at home with the ill one, and take the well one to Church so I could fulfil my commitment. 

Nothing says "lovely little Christian community" like a strong desire to punch someone in the nose.

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