You can get whole books of phrases we take for granted in everyday speech but which all come from Shakespeare. One fell swoop, the course of true love, heart on one’s sleeve, protesting too much, borrowers and lenders and so on. They become part of the fabric without us pausing for too long to wonder at their original context or specifically intended meaning. I’m sure the same is true for phrases which have made the short journey from the bible or the church into collective ownership. Even the most cursory Google search yields rise and shine, fight the good fight, wolf in sheep’s clothing, the powers that be and a whole host more. The one which springs to mind today is the concept of turning the other cheek.
St Peter’s in Wellesbourne managed to make the news last week - albeit in a very local way. The vicar turned up one morning to discover, like thousands of others every week, that burglars had called. While the church was open to the public, someone had forced open a collection box and helped themselves to the contents. In the case of the other thousand people what follows has a familiar pattern - rage against the unfairness of it all, ring the police to try to get justice, ring the insurers and see if someone can compensate this loss and then lock the doors securely and resolve not to let the outside world in again.
In the case of this church that hasn’t happened. Instead the vicar posted a polite note on the church door inviting those responsible to think about their actions and come along to a service where the forgiveness the church preaches would be put into practice.
I’m curious as to how far this concept of turning the other cheek will stretch, and if there is a point at which one will simply run out of cheeks to turn. The note is still there as I arrive, as - at the back of the church - is a ripped-open donation box as a reminder to all. But that’s all there is - no mention is made of the missing money, or the damage caused in stealing it.
St Peter’s has a decent, if slightly subdued, turnout for this family communion. It’s a fine airy church with the added bonus of a full set of bell ringers hard at work in their glass enclave.
This being Lent, the theme is about avoiding fairly hollow promises to forego chocolate or alcohol, concentrating instead on spending more time in personal and religious reflection. Self-denial is always secondary to self-education it would appear.
Perhaps this fairly inward-looking approach is designed not to pull in fresh numbers, but to make better Christians of the ones who are here. Trouble is, they all look decent and vice-free to me. Not for the first time I’m confident that I’m the youngest person here.
When it comes to communion, those with even the suspicion of a cough or a cold are implored to skip the communion cup. We are all advised to keep washing our hands and informed that blessings will, for the time being, be administered to the head of the recipient with a virus-defying gap of a few inches. Never mind the chocolate or the wine, this Lent might see us all giving up human contact.
