Death, the Olympics and Easter Day

About the time of the Olympics last year (2016) an alarming thought crossed some people's minds.  It was that the previous London 2012 Olympics had been cursed.

The trigger for this alarming thought was the death of Australian rower Sarah Tait from cervical cancer.  On its own Sarah's death was an ordinary (but genuine) sadness - but she was latest in the line of very many others.  British consciousness had been heightened by the deaths of sailor Andrew Simpson in a 2013 sailing accident and our tennis player Elena Baltacha who died of cancer the next year.  A French swimmer, boxer and triathlete had all died, but so had 12 others from around the world.  It seemed crazy that by the next Olympics 18 of the previous Olympians were dead and gone.

There turned out to be good news and bad news when it was researched.

The good news was that, in simple terms, over four years about 32 in a 1000 people die. There were over 10,000 participants at the 2012 Olympics so hundreds, statistically, should have died before the next Olympiad.  Except that Olympians are young and fit.

Some whizzy research yielded the expected death rate for the average age to be 25-30 over four years.  So if the 18 were the full number (though some athletes from obscure regions [e.g. North Korea] might not be known about)  it would a below-average death rate.

And this means what, exactly? Well that is the bad news.

I think it shows how unrealistic the living are about death.  Of course we know that death and taxes are the only certainties - but we live as though we will never die.  One reason why not enough people are excited enough about Easter morning is because they do not acknowledge the scale of the problem, the general curse, from which this day and its Lord potentially sets them free.

It is a mistake of Olympian proportions.

History or Testimony?

Ponty's Week

Few historical figures have been attributed as little to commend them as Pontius Pilate.  This seems unfair in the whole scheme of Roman Empirical life.  He was not a nice man, but you might choose him any day over Caligula, Nero or Domitian, let alone any number of unnamed lesser officials.

We approach the week which makes him famous though he could hardly have known so at the time or even on his final earthly day.  Even 2000 years later in lands unknown to his Empire people speak of 'washing their hands' of a person or a situation in a tribute of sorts to the week that secured Ponty's fame.

And that's not all.  Every day and all over the world people in their acts of divine worship repeat his name . . . .

he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;

he suffered, died, and was buried.

 

Ponty's inclusion in the Christian creeds, in the words of Robert Runcie, "binds the eternal realms to the stumbling, messy chronology of earthly time and place". Perhaps.  It also makes Ponty as well known as almost any Roman in the long history of that Empire.

 

He is also genuinely famous Biblically.  His name appears more times in the Bible than Matthew or Mark or Luke or John (the apostle).  We meet his wife (which we rarely do with Bible characters) and we know where and when he lived and what his job was.

 

Ponty rose to all this prominence by a simple decision that he made.  One day God stood in front of him.  It doesn't happen often, so you have to have a little sympathy for the poor chap.  But uniquely he got his moment in the spotlight as the judge of the Judge of all the Earth.  Wow!   

 

And Ponty's decision was?

 

His decision was not to make a decision. "It's your responsibility" he wailed as he wiped his hands on his empirical towellette. 

 

It is one thing to be pilloried for ever for making an evil or a ill-judged decision.  It is soooo regretable to get one's fame from not making any decision at all.  As I come to Passion Week I must remember the lesson of all this - either to get my hellish reputation by crucifying the Son of God afresh, or a heavenly one by taking up my cross and following Him.  But nothing could be more embarrassing or humiliating than to attract the angst of eternity for dithering and diplomacy while heaven and hell clash in front of me. 

Prayer and Worcester Sauce

Could you not keep watch with me for one hour? .. Take heed, watch and pray ... Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself ... My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning ... He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty ... They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.

What are the ingredients of prayer? On the back of a packet of anything, unless it is something as simple as honey, vinegar or milk, you find a list of them. Very intimidating, too, at times. What, for example, will potassium sorbate or pantothenic acid do to me?

Sometimes, like Marcus, you just taste something that is sooo good that you want to know the ingredients in order to make it for yourself. In the days when Bombay was Bombay, Marcus Sandys (we should properly call him Lord Marcus) sat in the sunshine and tasted something sooo wonderful he knew that on finishing his time as Governor of Bengal he must take the recipe back to England. On arrival here he gave the recipe to his local chemists, Mr Perrins and Mr Lea (all right, Lea and Perrins if you prefer). They dutifully and expertly concocted the brew.

The result was awful. Marcus himself declared that the result tasted "filthy". The grim broth was consigned to the depths of the chemists' store.

And that would have been that if it were true that all ingredients are the kind of things that can be listed on a packet. But, unbeknown to Messrs Lea, Perrins and Sandys, there was a missing ingredient.

Liturgies, closed eyes, Amens, bowed heads, bedtimes and chapels. And maybe many other things.  In fact the ingredients may stack up to quite a long and daunting list. Yet perhaps still our prayer life, if not awful, is at least tasteless. Anyway, back to Worcester and the rear comer of the chemists' storeroom.

It was months later that, during a clearout, the two chemists happened upon Marcus Sandys' revolting brew. They intended to dispatch it down the drain but decided first to have one more taste. In that moment Lea and Perrins' Worcester Sauce was born. 

The missing ingredient had been time. Worcester Sauce, like even the simple things - honey, vinegar, milk, fresh fruit or vegetables - needs the added ingredient of time.  

And prayer needs time.