Anyways. What do vicars do after church?
Well. We put Elaine Paige on Radio 2 for a few minutes, then remember that (i) I hate show tunes and (ii) she has the world's second most annoying laugh. So we turn her off.
In the nicest possible way, stop laughing!
This last Sunday, I went hospital visiting, and as I sprinted up the steps to H ward, I discovered that someone had spilled half a mug of tea (or possibly the whole of a small cup of tea) on the middle landing.
Unfortunately I discovered this by skidding on the spillage. There were no witnesses, so take my word for it that my recovery was worthy of Torvill and/or Dean. Torvill mostly, I think. But having Bolero-ed to a safe stop, I had to think of other, less nimble and agile users of H ward steps, whose tea-skidding misadventures would end with broken hips and torn ligaments, so as I made it onto the corridor I also found two nurses and reported the tea.
Elaine Paige is back, this time with scissor kick and jazz hands...
With a smile. They weren't the tea-spilling culprits, so hey.
"Is there much of it?" they asked.
Yes, about half a cup, I said. Or maybe a whole cup, if the cup were very small, like one of those posh china ones.
"Sugar?" asked the nurse.
Hmmmmmm. No, I said, it didn't feel especially granular underfoot.
These are some of the best conversations. I only just managed to stop myself having a mishap, I volunteered.
"How did it look?" asked the nurse, so I demonstrated my Bolero and facial expression. Mild expletive omitted.
"Do that again," she requested, so I did.
Sorry.
How brilliant was that? Three professional people having fun in the pursuit of preventing further accidents to the less lithe. The spill was quickly wiped up.
Dramatic reconstruction.
The nurses held the door for me, but I was going the other way. "I could have been in one of these beds," I said. "I'm a bit tired, so if there's an empty one I may yet have a lie down."
"I'd join you," said one of the nurses. I don't know whether it was flirtatious or just acknowledging how long these angels had been on their feet, but it was a good point of humour as we parted.
Not like this at all.
That's what vicars do after church. We flirt with nurses. My friend Chris says I flirt with everyone, but (i) that's just friendliness and (ii) I certainly don't flirt with anybody I might actually fancy. That would be too much like common sense.
I love that class of people, the ones you can talk to a little and be reminded you're human. Where connections can be made. Nurses and charity shop staff and vicars - we have dog collars to invite people of various mental hues to talk to us, and to explain why we sometimes smile and say hello to complete strangers (and so that when schoolchildren run up to us in the street and shout hello, it's easier to explain to their parents how their child knows a single man in his middle years.
Who've you connected with recently? And does the world know that you're open for business? Today's gospel reading was the baptism of Jesus, when heaven opened and God spoke, saying "this is my Son, with whom I am well-pleased." The sermon was about words of encouragement. And I wondered whether we all knew just how brilliant it is when a person of grace talks to you. It really can be like heaven opening. Without the dove, but certainly with our words - sometimes burblings about tea, sometimes profound musings on prayer, but always worth connecting with.
Heaven opens. Stuff happens. Be part of it.
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