Reader Writes January 2024

Great spotted woodpeckers drummed vigorously in the ash trees; and dunnocks sang from

the thickets of old hedges. Never mind that it was only January, but the sun was bright and

calling on birds to mark out their territories. A flock of woodpigeons flew over in tight

formation, almost certain, he guessed, to be on their way north after wintering in Spanish

oak woods. Father Idris leaned into his fork; now was the time to get those dandelions and

thistles out of the vegetable plot. His mare Menai was restless to get out on the road,

whinnying her encouragement from the stable, but there was still work to be done!

His wife Benazir, a neurologist in the hospital on work days, came over with a flask of

dandelion coffee. They lived in a very different world; a century previously this community

would have been adjusting to a second Trump presidency, and the latest round of UN

climate-change negotiations had convincingly failed. Increasingly violent and damaging

weather events had at last come to the rich north. In Britain back in the 2030s, a series of

catastrophic storms had convinced builders and foresters alike that more had to be done

to achieve zero carbon. Farming likewise had shifted dramatically from industrial

agriculture to a mix of precision arable and free range stock production.

So you’d be forgiven for wondering how on earth the church fitted into this much reduced

rural community that none the less had adapted to survive. Although medieval church

buildings were often in need of roofs, the numbers of practicing believers had grown

unrecognizably over the last century. Father Idris’s chief expense was probably oats and

hay for Menai over the winter. He spent happy hours riding over these hills, praying as he

went, to visit his large and wide-spread flock.

He hoped their church resembled, in lots of ways, the early church. There was a ready

willingness to practice hospitality and share needs informally. The breaking of bread most

usually took place in homes. Teaching, fellowship, prayer and healing were also centred

around small groups. The dramatic unravelling of aggressive market economics had

created communities where people needed and wanted to work together and share what

they had. Without much formal planning, Father Idris and his family had provided a

template for the community to dare to live differently. It really had worked out that the chief

engine of growth was the local church. As it puts it in Acts 2:47, “Day by day the Lord

added to their number those who were being saved.” God was at work!

No thistles this year, surely. He surveyed his veg plot with a little pride. And good gracious,

I see some garlic coming up; that really is exciting! He tasted his bitter “coffee” and kissed

Benazir on the cheek. I must be off soon; he’d promised he would go over to Titley and

see how their home groups were doing. And that’s the point my Benazir, they are working

together, and God is adding to their number. Menai and I shall just pray and talk as we go.

A green parakeet flew overhead, quite possibly hoping to find some garlic; Menai stamped

quietly as he pulled the bridle over her ears. He chuckled to himself, “without vision the

people heave a sigh of relief!”

Robert MacCurrach