Pointless Vicar: Penguins And A Pantomime Horse

One of my roles in life was film-making on a teenage outdoor pursuits venture. And one of the things you could safely and easily spot in these short films was a certain indebtedness to The Mighty Boosh, The Goodies and Trevor and Simon (fantastic fact: Simon's mum used to go to my church. She still goes, but it's not my church any more).

These explain a lot.

And as my friend Rob said one day - probably after a curry lunch and from the back half of the pantomime horse - "Why am I always the arse-end?"

Me and Rob, yesterday.

Good question. My argument was that I was bringing a certain je ne sais quoi to the front end, taking horseplay to new frontiers of horsery. And - not to put too fine a point on it - "shut up and get back in there. We're on a tight schedule and breathing is a luxury."

So. Rob. Sorry mate. That was deeply inequable. In-equin-able. I'll make it up to you one day. Although, considering how many soakings, shaving-foam-pies and desperate indignities Rob had heaped upon him in those halcyon days, I suspect the posterial permanence of his position is the least of his grievances (but see our early 21st century film, "Rob's Internal Monologue").

Back to the penguins.

And if you've ever watched that parade - a "waddle" - of penguin males marching across the frozen wastes of ~~North Manchester~~ Antarctica then you may well have felt some pity for the ones at the front, bearing the brunt of the weather. Or the ones at the rear getting their penguin bum-ends frozen off. Or the ones at the sides, where the countervailing winds are bitterest. Do these extreme penguins envy the ones a-waddling at the heart of the huddle? Is there pushing and shoving and lobbying for a warmer walk?

It seems not. It seems that these penguins work together. It seems that within the waddle, our flightless feathered friends are, indeed, friends. They circulate, spending some time at the heart to warm themselves up and take a breather from the blizzard, and then a stint at the hintermost boundaries, yes, getting chilly, but yes, giving a break to those who had previously been on the frosty fringes.

Being largely black and white, it's hard to spot from a distance. But it happens.

Does it happen in churches too? Are Christians practitioners of the penguin protector/protected pattern?

Well, are they?

Good churches, I guess, are largely full of people who are broadly aware of each other's needs, so that when someone needs a break from the rigours of life, there are people who will cosset and huddle and squeeze in with a pastoral wing and an offer to lighten the load until the crisis passes. When problems pile in or bereavement looms, when depression saps or some kick in the teeth has been delivered, we need people to stand around us. And when our brothers and sisters are laid so low, we need to step up to shelter them.

There's something about it in Ecclesiastes where the geezer (that's a theological term) says:

Two are better than one,

because they have a good return for their labor:

If either of them falls down,

one can help the other up.

But pity anyone who falls

and has no one to help them up.

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.

But how can one keep warm alone?

Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

It's like he'd seen penguins already!

You need help sometimes, and I need help sometimes as we waddle along with Christ. It's a cruel cold world, and without each other, we'll just wander off into the wilds or else lie down and stop caring whether we live or die.

I've been in need of a huddle quite often, and I'm massively grateful for the people who were there to hem me in behind and before, in the style of God (I think that's a quote from Psalm 139. Somebody check, please).