Fred's Fertile Fish

Years ago, when I lived in London, I rented a room in a large house in a well-to-do part of this Capital city.

My landlord lived with his wife upstairs, and I had a room and small area comprising of a kitchen and bathroom downstairs.

My Landlord, Fred by name, (to protect his true identity of Frederic Banksworthy), was something important in the City. Finance I believe it was. I never quite understood what he did, but he mentioned things like debentures and loans and so on. At first I thought he meant dentures and he was some sort of dentist. But he looked down at me from on top of his spectacles and said, "No young man ... I am talking finance here, not false teeth!"

Anyway, Fred was a posh sort of man and everything he had was top quality and of the best. I recall once he and his wife invited me upstairs to their part of the house for Sunday lunch. There were so many bits of cutlery, (all real silver), on the table that I did not know which to use first. I am very common you understand, and had never heard of asparagus or  Lobster Thermidor, whoever he is.

One Saturday morning a group of workers turned up at the house with a huge digger and started making a big hole in Fred's front garden. He was there, supervising the work like a proud Roman Emperor building his latest mansion. I asked him what was going on and he said, "Wait and see!" as he touched the tip of his nose with his index finger.

Eventually, the workers had built a large pool in the front garden. Not the sort of pool you would swim in - it was about five metres in length and say four in width but only two metres deep.

The intention was that he would put in it some fish which would swim serenely and make him happy every morning and evening as he went and returned from work.

"It will raise the tone of the neighbourhood!" he said to me as he stood next to his wife with a proud smile as a new parent welcoming his new born child.

Once the fish where in, he covered the pool with a thin yet sturdy wire net to keep away prowling birds. I am not sure what he expected to find in London. The last time I checked we had a shortage of sea eagles, cormorants, seagulls, herons, or any kind of fish-eating birds. The best we had were sparrows, robins and wrens; all of whom would need the help of a crane to lift a goldfish from the pool considering the birds' size.

Anyway, Fred and wife were proud of their dozen swimming offspring and did not miss an opportunity to tell everyone about them. I saw them many times talking to neighbours, and when friends visited them, proudly showing off the pool and goldfish to all and sundry.

And that's when I had this silly idea. Let me explain that the goldfish were ordinary fish. Nothing special. The sort of fish which you can buy at any pet shop for a few pennies ... which is what I did!

At first I bought just three. I got them home without anyone noticing me; and at night, when everyone was asleep I got out and put the three fish in the pool.

Imagine Fred's surprise when he set off to work the next morning. I hid behind the curtain and watched him. He stood by the pool as always, then suddenly the wheels started turning in his brain. He stuck out his index finger towards the pool and counted the fish. There were now fifteen. Three more than the previous day. He counted them again. Then he went in upstairs and I heard him telling his wife. They thought their original fish had new babies. They were elated by the good news.

As he came down again I pretended to go to my kitchen. He told me all about his new babies. I congratulated him on being a parent once more.

That night, I added another three similar goldfish to the pool.

Fred was over the moon at the fertility of his children.

The next night I added three more. He could not believe his eyes having counted the twenty-one fish over and again.

That's when I stopped playing my silly game. His fish all lived happily together for a long time.

And I never told him what I had done.

More Questions Than Answers

In life, there are often more questions than answers. And that's what keeps me awake at night. I lie there pondering and wondering the answers to so many questions on my mind. Perhaps you can help me solve some of them.

Why is it when you pour yourself a cup of coffee and stir it sometimes the bubbles of air gather in the middle of the cup, and sometimes they go on the edge of the cup?

When you open the window in your house in winter, does the cold air come in the house, or does the warmth escape outside?

Do fish ever get thirsty and need to drink?

Does the earth rotating round slows down the bigger the world population? Over the years many people have been born, died, and buried. Surely this must add weight to the earth.

(Men only)

Is it better to sleep with your beard above or below the bed covers?

Every time we have the Olympic Games athletes get better and better and break new world records at running. Does this also apply in the animal world? Do animals get faster year on year compared to animals in years gone by?

Do animals and birds have different accents depending on where they are from?

Is the zebra white with black stripes, or black with white stripes?
Do zebras need/have horse shoes?
Domesticated horses are fitted with horse shoes for protection.
How about wild horses? Don't they need protection too?

ABBREVIATION

Why is abbreviation such a long word?

If a tree falls in the forest
and there is no one there
to see it.
Does it still remain upright?

At what time do you have to leave home
to get to the forest
before the trees get there?

Who first thought of,

in video cartoons,
having a character run at speed off a cliff,

hanging there in mid-air for a few seconds,

moving his legs fast, and then,

fall when gravity does its thing?

I've tried this several times

and

ended up with great pain and bruises.

What is the point

of burying a time-capsule

so that future generations might learn about us; 

if it contains a video on Betamax tape?


AND FINALLY

You are on a luxury cruise in the 
Mediterranean.

A passenger falls overboard and
is drowning.

Do you:

A: Make a video with your cell-phone?

OR

B: Take better quality photos with your camera?



Can you please help answer some of these questions?

Laugh N Pray

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A unique book combining both the author's sense of humour with his devout beliefs as a Christian.

A leisurely read whenever you need cheering up or just for inspiration at times of prayers.

Share in the author's zany, peculiar, sense of humour, as he makes you smile, giggle or laugh.

But more important, consider the more serious Christian articles which will hopefully make you think about your personal relationship with God your Creator.

The Christian articles ask serious questions like: Why did Jesus have to die and suffer for our sins to be forgiven? Could God not have forgiven us without the need for this cruelty and sacrifice?

How did man get to believe in God in the first place? What led humanity to the conclusion that God exists? Is Jesus God? 

Why does God test us if He already knows how we will react and respond to temptations and difficult situations?

What is true forgiveness? What if the other person does not want to be forgiven? 

The mix of funny and serious will keep you guessing what's coming next as you turn each page.

Modestly priced. Buy two copies and read them in stereo.

This book has been written slowly and carefully to cater for those readers who cannot read fast.

Contains words from the English dictionary placed in a particular order to make sense - or not.

Can be read by daylight or with the aid of artificial light where available.

Kindle version available for those who would rather not throw the book away after use.

This book is suitable for Christians and non-Christians. God will see it gets in the right hands.

Available from Amazon or from Amazon as well as from Amazon.

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Heavenly Verdict

A man dies and goes to Heaven.

He is surprised to be lead into a well-furnished room where St Peter is sitting at a large desk in front of a computer.

St Peter invites him to sit down and taps his details into the computer.

“I’m surprised to see a computer here,” says the man hesitantly, trying to make polite conversation, “I thought you’d have a big book with parchment paper and all our names written there …”

“Oh … that’s a common misconception,” replies St Peter, “we replaced the big books years ago … they were a bit unwieldy and heavy … and they were a bit slow to use … you know what it’s like … searching pages after pages for someone’s name …”

“Yes …” says the man nervously, “computers are much faster …”

“They sure are …” smiles St Peter clicking away on the keyboard, “a few key strokes here and there and we have all the information we need on view … the whole of one’s life is here for me to read …”

“Does the computer ever go wrong?” asks the man, sweating a little with concern about his prospects of entry, “I know they often went wrong on earth …”

“Oh yes …” replies the Saint chuckling quietly, “computers are computers whether on earth or here in Heaven … it’s just a machine … and all machines go wrong now and then … not like a book … what is written there remains there … unless it is altered or the page is torn away … which is obvious to the eye … you can easily see an alteration in a book …

“But computers sometimes freeze up … or play up every now and then and you can’t move forward to the next screen …

“Thumping the computer on the side doesn’t always work … I find that Control Alt and Delete does the trick. Either that, or I just switch it off and on again … ha ha ha … that sorts it all right!”

St Peter stops for a while chuckling to himself and scratching his long white beard before deciding what to input next on his computer.

“But … but … what if the database is wrong … an input error somewhere in the system …” splutters the man in a panic, “you could send a poor soul in the wrong place by mistake …”

“No one goes to hell by mistake … that never happens,” said the Saint confidently, “we have a fail safe system for that …

“God is supervising every transaction in another room. He has a monitor on His desk and He automatically checks every decision I make here on my computer. He is good that way … and he NEVER makes mistakes …

“The other day I had a guy here who had been a good man all his life. Never broke the law, was faithful to his wife, loved his children, worked hard … that sort of thing … he even went to church now and then.

“But he’d only done one good thing in his entire life … he once gave ten cents to a beggar in the street.

“I didn’t know what to decide … so I emailed God. A few seconds later He replied:

“ ‘Give him his ten cents back and tell him to go to hell!’ ”

Moral of the story:

"Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do." Matthew 7:21

It's not fair

It’s not fair. Just because I hate my greens I cannot leave the table until I’ve eaten all my vegetables.

It’s not fair. Just because some children did something bad at school the whole class had to stay late and miss a break.

It’s not fair. I can’t watch TV until I’ve finished my homework.

It’s not fair. I have to be back at home by 11 o’clock.

It’s not fair. Just because other youngsters drink and drive, dad will not let me borrow the car in case I have an accident.

It’s not fair. Just because some people went on strike, the company is in financial difficulties and many of us will lose our jobs.

It’s not fair. They’ve arrested a man in the park. They’ve brought Him to court under false charges. They brought forward lying witnesses who made unsubstantiated claims against Him. They then beat Him up, spat on Him, placed thorns on His head, tortured Him, nailed Him to a Cross and killed Him.

It’s just not fair.

The Real Presence

Catechism lessons with the 15 years-old at the local Catholic school were often a challenge to Father Ignatius. The youngsters were unremitting with their questions and they certainly pulled no punches. Today was no exception.

“Is it true that the Host and Wine at Communion are actually the Body and Blood of Jesus?” asked one of the pupils.

“Why would Jesus want us to eat Him?” asked another.

“That’s cannibalism” retorted a third. And so the questions went on.

Father Ignatius waited until they had stopped and then said calmly:

“Our Faith is full of mysteries. That’s why they call it Faith. If everything was explained to us by God, with every little detail made known, and every fact analysed by scientists, learned people and so on; then it wouldn’t be Faith would it?

“For reasons best known to Himself God has chosen to keep certain things hidden from us. And just as well I think, considering how we managed to mess up the world so far.”

“But is the Host the Body of Christ?” interrupted an impatient youngster.

The priest smiled and continued: “Catholics are invited, by the Church, to believe that the Host is indeed the Body of Christ, and the wine is His Blood.

“Many people have difficulties in believing this; and I can understand why.

“They can’t see what Christ meant at the Last Supper when He uttered those words we know so well. Was it symbolism? Was it fact?

"Also, we read in the Gospel of John Chapter 6 verse 52 onwards; Jesus says again that unless we eat His body and drink His blood, we have no eternal life. Some of His followers did not understand this; as you don't right now. They got up and left Him, to follow Him no more.

"What did Jesus do? He did not call them back. He did not say, 'Hey ... wait ... let me explain what I meant!' He just let them go. I guess He forgave them and let them go.

"He also asked His disciples whether they wanted to leave too. Peter, speaking for everyone there, said that they would remain with Jesus as His followers."

“So what do you think Father? Is the Communion we take in church the body of Jesus?” asked a young girl sitting up front.

Fr Ignatius habitually cleaned his spectacles as a natural pause and to allow the class to settle. He now knew he had their attention. All eagerly awaiting his reply to the challenging question.

“Let me tell you something first before I answer you” he said.

“Many years ago, about seven hundred years after the Birth of Jesus, there was a Basilian monk who lived in Italy in the Church of St Legontian. He doubted, like many others, the Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

“One day, as he was celebrating the Holy Mass at the moment of Consecration the Host turned into live flesh, and the wine was changed into live blood.”

“Gosh …" gasped a young girl.

“This flesh and blood have been preserved, totally intact until today.”

“What? How is this possible?” asked one of the boys, "unbelievable!"

“That’s true … the flesh is the same dimension as the large Host used in Church, it is light brown in colour. The Blood has coagulated and is slightly brownish yellow.

“Various scientific tests have been undertaken over the years on the flesh and blood and it was discovered that the flesh is real human flesh and the blood is real human blood. The flesh is essentially a human heart.

“The flesh and blood are the same blood-type, AB. That’s the same blood type uncovered in the Holy Shroud of Turin.”

“Wow …” said one of the children.

“The preservation of the flesh and blood still in their natural state for all these years, over twelve centuries, is an extraordinary phenomenon,” declared the priest.

“After all this time?”

“Yes,” said Father Ignatius, “after all this time the flesh and blood still exist in their natural state. Why don’t you do some research in the library in time for next week’s lesson.

“Here are some clues on what to look for. Search for Eucharistic Miracle, Lanciano, Italy, 8th century AD, The Real Presence.

“I think that’s enough clues to keep you going for now.”

Manly Advice

This post is for MEN ONLY.

Let it be a warning to all MEN before they utter those two simple words "I do ..."

Those two words can sometimes lead to a lot of unhappiness and regrets - believe me.

I'll never forget that day when I uttered the words "I do". They were the beginning of a long period of sadness, anguish and remorse in my life, which seemed to last an eternity.

Those two innocuous words uttered unthinkingly so often with a heart full of hope, happiness, trust and joy, can lead many a desolate soul to a sorry state of affairs from which there seems to be no come-back.

I really loved that woman. In fact, I still do and will do for ever. Yet ... I regret, as I have done many times since, having uttered those two words "I do".

I always believed that true love is based on mutual respect, genuine caring and good communication; but most of all honesty between two people committed to each other for life.

But I learnt, to my anguish and deep shame that this is not so. Certainly not honesty! Honesty can lead you down a path you never meant to take, from which there is no U-turn or coming back to where you started.

There are many times in married life when it is better to lie.

Yes ... I remember it as if it was yesterday, that day I said "I do".

She stood there looking radiant and full of pride and asked me "Do you think this dress makes my backside look big?"

 I REPLIED: "I DO ..."

Face to face with Caesar

When I write humourous articles here, and elsewhere, the intention is to amuse people, you, my readers, whom I cherish and appreciate for your support and encouragement. It is not my intention to upset or offend anyone. If I have done so inadvertently; I apologise.

In our town there is a pedestrianised street to allow people to shop and sight-see away from any vehicles and cycles. The area, a street about a mile long, is blocked at both ends by bollards to stop any vehicles from entering.

I was there the other day and noticed that they had erected a small stage in the middle of the wide street and a few amateur dramatic actors were performing Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra; or bits of it, as an advert for their performance at the theatre nearby.

A small crowd had gathered to watch and I joined them.

The man playing Octavius Caesar recognised me. To be fair, I'd recognised him too, although not by name. I'd seen him a few times in the library lecturing about Shakespeare and he's been in the newspapers often about his various roles as a Shakespearean amateur dramatics actor. We never actually met or spoke but somehow he seemed to recognise me more than I was aware of.

He got off the stage and started shouting at me: "You're the man who keeps writing those silly Shakespearian stories full of inaccuracies!"

I said nothing. The crowd was astounded. He came towards me and continued.

"You confuse people with all your stories, and lesser learned people will believe all the nonsense that you write. History is history and it should be related accurately. You tend to humourise the whole thing with your articles."

I slowly backed off trying to walk away. He followed me and continued as the crowd looked on. They probably thought it was all part of the acting.

"We take great care when we perform our Shakespearean plays," he declared, "the narrative as well as the costumes are very accurate and authentic. This toga I am wearing is authentic and made exactly as the Roman emperors would have worn it. Yet you spoil it all with all your silly history lessons and your jokes. You're a disgrace to historians everywhere!"

I smiled feebly, almost apologetically, and said nothing. The crowd grew interested and kept watching. Octavius Caesar was furious.

"What steps are you going to take to remedy the situation?" he asked.

"Large ones away from you," I thought but did not utter a word.

I started to walk away hurriedly. He followed me still ranting and raving. I walked a bit faster. So did he. I began to trot, or was it a gallop? He continued after me faster. Some of the crowd followed still thinking this was all part of the acting.

As I began to run, (or walk rather hurriedly), I noticed that he must have stepped on the edge of his toga which was made of several bed sheets wrapped together around him. Somehow they all became undone and fell to the ground like dried leaves off trees in Autumn, revealing that he was wearing absolutely nothing else underneath. Really Roman authentic!

Is that really how the Romans dressed? Wrapped in a few sheets with no underwear underneath?

Anyway, there was Caesar with absolutely nothing on. Naked as the day he was born. The Roman Emperor had no clothes.

As he bent down naked to gather bits of torn sheets from the ground he was joined by Cleopatra who helped cover his Roman Empire with her hands.

At this point the crowd applauded in unison, no doubt still believing this was all part of the act.

I learnt from the newspapers later that the performance at the theatre was totally sold-out within minutes. Perhaps people had enjoyed our little advert and believed that it was a taster of what the show was like.

Hairy Manhood

This Blog has never shied away from controversial subjects so ... in the hope I don't offend anyone ... here goes:

I read a very disturbing article in the paper the other day which has left me totally speechless. In fact, as speechless as the day I lost my dictionary and I did not have any words to describe my utter desolation. By the way, that's a word meaning sadness; a word I discovered when I found my dictionary again.

Anyway, back to the newspaper article.

Apparently, half of men in the UK shave their legs. Why? I asked myself but did not answer.

I can understand male athletes, particularly swimmers, shaving their legs and chests to make them more aqua-dynamic (Yeah ... right!) and thus gaining an extra fraction of a second when competing with other swimmers. But this article mentioned nothing about athletes.

The article referred to ordinary men shaving their legs, chest, back and other body parts, (the painful ones), to make them more attractive to the females of the species.

Now I tell you, I look a proper Adonis whether or not I have shaved my legs. I was told once I am a sex symbol for women who don't care. I don't need to shave body hair to be alluring.

But not so according to the newspaper article.

Apparently, many men go to special beauty salons, it seems, not only to shave their unwanted body hair but some have resorted to using hot wax, or other means, to make them as smooth as a boiled egg.

And it doesn't stop at legs, arms and chest or back. No ... they even defoliate very private areas too!

Can you imagine lying naked on your back on a couch whilst a woman you've never met before, (for it is often women who perform this task, it seems), pours hot wax on a man's delicate bits? The very thought of it makes one shrivel to minisculity, (if there is such a word - where's my dictionary?) - anyway, you can imagine what I mean.

And then ... minutes later have the wax stripped off in what I can only imagine is extreme agony.

Why do men undergo such pain and humiliation? Are their women folk turned on by their hairless bodies and smooth-looking dangling bits?

What do you think?

I am really HOT !!!!!

A friend of mine is quite an inventor. He is always in his little hut at the bottom of the garden making different gadgets and things “to make life better”. Or so he claims. I must admit that some of his inventions are somewhat innovative although I can’t see them catching on and becoming best sellers. For example he has put a little red LED light at the back of his cap which lights up when he goes out walking at night so that vehicles can see him. Practical? Yes … Fashionable … I don’t think so!

The other day he asked me to test his latest invention.

He has somehow managed to weave a very thin wire backwards and forwards inside the lining of a jacket which he bought from a shop. He then connected the wires to a battery the size of a small book which he placed in the inside pocket of the jacket. By flicking a switch the wires warm up gently and keep you warm on cold winter days.

Now I’m sure that I read about similar devices somewhere or other; but my friend assures me that his system is different … I couldn’t understand a word of what he said in techno language, so I nodded politely and smiled.

He took my nodding as acquiescence to testing the “Warma-Coat”; as he calls it.

I put the jacket on one cold and breezy morning and walked to the local shops to buy my newspapers and some chocolates. I just can’t read the papers without chocolates. Somehow they make me concentrate better. But I digress.

On my way to the shops the electric system in my jacket must have short-circuited because I got a slight twinge in my right shoulder which made me wince a little.

I ignored it and carried on walking when it happened again, only a little stronger.

Fortunately, it stopped for a while whilst I was shopping, but when I came to the check-out to pay for my goods … it happened again but much stronger this time. I recoiled a little and grimaced somewhat at the electric shock.

“Are you winking at me?” asked the beautiful young female cashier.

“No … I’m not.” I replied embarrassingly as I winked at her once more.

“There … you did it again” she said, “what’s the matter with you?”

I was about to reply when a further electric shock made me smile involuntarily and wink at her twice.

“You’re being suggestive … you are!” she cried in a loud voice, “I’ll call the manager!”

Seconds later the manager appeared out of nowhere with a security man. She must have pressed some hidden panic button, I suppose.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her.

“Mr Thornicroft … this customer is making suggestive innuendos by winking at me!” she complained.

“Is this true sir?” he asked, “we take exception to improper behavior by our customers towards our employees!”

“I assure you that I did not do or imply anything improper” I replied as I winked at him twice.

“Sir … you are quite out of order” he said sternly as he saw me wink, “I’ll have to ask you to leave these premises or we will call the police!”

As I tried to explain my innocence he noticed a plume of smoke rising from my right shoulder.

“Sir … have you been smoking? It is a criminal offence to smoke in public places and I may have to detain you until the police arrives” interrupted Mr Thornicroft as he motioned to the security guard to do his business.

A crowd soon gathered by the check-out as other shoppers became interested in my dilemma. Why can’t people just mind their own business and continue shopping?

“I assure you I don’t smoke …” I protested as the security guard attempted to put his hand on my right shoulder then thought it better not to.

“I don’t smoke … but my shoulder clearly does!” I said trying to make light of the situation.

And that’s exactly what happened next. The right shoulder did light up in green flames and acrid black smoke.

The manager quickly picked up a two-liter bottle of beer and emptied it on my head whilst the security guard got hold of a foam emitting fire extinguisher and covered me in foam from head to toe.

I can announce that beer and foam don’t mix. Some got into my mouth with dire results.

As I was led out of the store coughing and spluttering I heard a customer explain to another “Instant combustion … it happens a lot you know. It’s more common than you think!”

I cleaned the foam as best I could and walked back home never to return to that shop again … and never to trust an inventive friend.

The Bicycle

After much thought and deliberation I have come to the conclusion that bicycles are dangerous and should be abolished. I don’t mean motorcycles; but common old pedal cycles.

Let me explain.

In an effort to be environmentally friendly and to save the planet I’ve decided to cycle to work instead of taking the car. “Quite laudable”, I hear you say; and you’d better say it because I’ve risked life and limb to save this planet of ours from pollution and whatever else it suffers from.

Besides, gas (petrol) costs so much these days, so a bit of cycling would save me money, I thought. These days when I fill the tank it costs me more than the value of the car itself.

As I was saying before I interrupted myself … I bought a new bicycle and with it a book entitled “How to ride a bike in one easy lesson!” You should read it I think … all one hundred pages of it!

My first difficulty was reading the book and attempting to cycle at the same time. Can’t be done! Not enough hands to hold the book and handlebars simultaneously.

So I rode the bike, leant on a nearby tree on the sidewalk, and read the book.

Passers-by wondered what I was doing but I fooled them by looking at my watch every now and then and pretending I was waiting for someone.

Eventually, I was ready to go. I put the book in the little pannier at the front of the bike, and eased myself gently away from the tree.

For some unexplained reason my feet froze on the pedals and the cycle did not move. It stood still for a second or two and then fell horizontally to the left.

I hit my head hard on the grass verge, but luckily I was wearing my new helmet which softened the blow somewhat akin to being punched hard by a champion boxer. I waited for a count of ten before getting up again.

I leant against the tree, re-read the first chapter of the book, and started again.

Success! This time I fell horizontally to the right and hit my head hard on the firm tarmac. The helmet was not as effective at softening the blow.

Several falls later, five to the left and four to the right, I decided to change strategy.

This time I pressed hard on the pedals as I moved away from the tree. The bicycle moved forward a few yards but then lost momentum and fell … to the right I think!

My determination egged me forward as I eventually managed to turn the pedals a few more times and move further on … wobbling as I went.

And then disaster struck. My trousers got caught in the chain contraption near the pedals and the bicycle jumped forward like a bucking bronco throwing me head first over the handlebars and landing me hard on my back with the bike on top of me still attached to my trouser leg.

The next day I tried again. I really had to master this new mode of transport over the weekend if I’m to cycle to work on Monday.

As they say, necessity is the mother of invention.

I think I’ve invented, or to be more accurate, discovered, a major improvement to be incorporated in the manufacture of bicycles. They should all be fitted with satellite navigation systems as a standard feature.

This is essential, I believe, to avoid the dangers of cycling at some speed into trees, lamp posts, letter boxes and other street furniture.

As I managed to gain forward movement I noticed that my cycle always managed to go straight for a stationary object rather than avoid it as a car would do.

Somehow, the handle bars would wobble left and right yet still propel the bike towards the obstacle it is meant to avoid.

Anyway … what’s all this leading to, I hear you say.

Basically, it’s that this latest experience reminded me of a story an old priest friend of mine told me years ago.

Once upon a time there was a young boy of six who’d been taught by his parents that Jesus is always with him. Protecting him, helping him, and guiding him throughout life.

One Sunday afternoon they all went out cycling in the park. Mom and dad on their bicycles followed by the six-years old on his small tri-cycle!

They cycled gently until they reached a small hill. Easy enough for the parents to climb; but a little hard on the little boy, despite his parents' encouragement.

He pedaled as hard as he could with his little legs but the tri-cycle would not move forward; in fact it was sliding backwards somewhat.

Eventually the boy got off his cycle and said: “It’s no use Jesus. You’ll have to get off the bike and help me push!”

Now why can’t we have as much Faith?

Is this food for thought?

Our boss decided we should have a Saturday meeting to discuss a special project. I was not keen to give up my weekend.

She also suggested that we should meet at her house. I was even less keen on the idea.

For some reason, the other colleagues looked forward to it. So on the appointed day six of us met at my boss' house for the said meeting.

Forgive me for being a party-pooper, or a cynical old fart as welcome as breaking wind in a space suit; but let's be honest, we could just as well have met at the office. It is open on Saturdays and there are plenty meeting rooms available.

I guess the whole intention was to show off her palatial mansion. With surrounding gardens, a swimming pool and wall-to-wall luxury. She did mention that her husband was something important "in the City", (meaning London), and in conversation she did name-drop as to who famous so and so came to her garden parties. She mentioned politicians, celebrities and other people I'd never heard of; but sadly she did not mention our garbage collector, or postman as ever having been invited to her parties.

Unlike my colleagues, I felt ill at ease about it all. But then, perhaps there's something wrong with me. I even chose a glass of lemonade instead of the fancy alcoholic drinks on offer.

Then came the food nicely served by two maids out in the garden.

There was cous cous mixed with lentils, garbanzo and pinto beans salad, quinoa, (pronounced "kinwa" you plebs), tofu, pomegranate seeds, guavas, and some green stuff which looked like cut grass, (I think she said it was a product from seaweeds), sun dried tomatoes on a bed of bulgur wheat tabbouleh,  and a variety of other similar delicacies that an ignorant lower species like myself had never heard of.

Not a hamburger or French fries in sight. Not even a Kentucky Fried tortoise or squirrel from her wildlife abundant garden.

She went on to expound the benefits of a vegetarian diet. How healthy it is for us. And how it could save the planet.

Uncharacteristically of me, I kept quiet. But inside I was boiling over and wishing I had a nice piece of steak to chew on. Better than the table leg sawdust she was offering.

Why is it that vegetarian people like to convince you to be like them? I don't go around encouraging everyone to eat meat. If they don't want meat, then good. There's more for me.

And what is all this talk that not eating meat saves the planet? If we don't eat meat there will be more and more animals, cows, sheep, pigs, chickens and so on roaming around. Is her plan to kill them all to extinction? Is that how she will save the planet? Does she really believe it possible that everyone will stop eating meat to save the planet?

As I said, I kept quiet and said nothing. I played around with my fork moving the cous cous here and there on my plate and wished that this meeting team-building event was soon over.

And another thing ... why do you have to say cous cous twice? Why not just say it once ... cous? Does it taste any nicer when you say it twice? 

God Personified

John 14:6-14

Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know Him and have seen Him.’

Philip said to him, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.’

Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father”? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does His works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it."

This is perhaps a little bit confusing at first, and we probably read the passage and move on to something else. The message we get, at first sight, is that Jesus says He is at one with the Father; God.

But let's analyse what He says a bit more.

Here Jesus is saying something that the disciples do not understand. They think He is saying that He is the Son of God, He is at one with God. But what He is in fact saying is, "I am God. I am God, personified. I am God in the shape of a human."

Jesus often taught people to refer to God as the Father. And He often said that He is the Son of God. This must have scandalised the Jews and their elders who crucified Him for the blasphemy of saying He is the Son of God.

Can you imagine their reaction had He said outright, "I am God!"

This is the closest He comes to saying just that. And His disciples still did not understand.

"Whoever has seen me has seen the Father," meaning, "I am God personified."

He goes on to say, "I am in the Father and the Father is in me," again, explaining that they are one, He is God in human form.

He repeats this message and explains that the works He has done (miracles) are done through God Who lives in Him.

From olden times, as far back as Abraham, Moses and the prophets, the Jews believed in God. One God. One living God.

Other people had many deities like the Romans and the Greeks for instance.

The Jews had one living God. The God of Abraham and Moses Who spoke through the prophets.

Then Jesus came on the scene. He said He was the Son of God; and in time, many Jews accepted this. In their minds there was a living God in Heaven, and this Jesus, His only Son. Albeit, right now in this passage, He is telling them He is God, (i.e. part of the Trinity), but they don't see it or understand it.

After His death and resurrection the early Christians came to associate God and Jesus together. In their minds, and central to their faith, there was a living God, and this man Jesus who died and was raised from the dead was (is) His only Son.

When Jesus ascended to Heaven, as promised, He sent down His Holy Spirit, (the Spirit of God), to dwell within the disciples and to open their eyes and minds and to understand.

To understand that the three, God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, are indeed one.

God - an invisible living Being, Creator of all and everything, somewhere in Heaven.

Jesus - God personified. Appearing on earth as a human being. The only Son of God.

The Holy Spirit - The Spirit (soul) of God. Descending upon the disciples, and upon us if we ask Him, to enlighten us, to help us, and to guide us back home to the Father, God.

The Deal

There are times that whatever Father Ignatius says or advises is sure to be misinterpreted or misunderstood. Yet, his duty as a priest and guide to his flock is to teach them, as best he can, about God our Creator and His unrelenting love for us.

One day he entered the church from the Sacristy and saw an elderly lady kneeling in the middle aisle right at the back of the church. He said nothing and proceeded to the Altar where he took away the candlesticks back to the Sacristy for Mrs Davenport to clean.

A few moments later he re-entered the church to find the same old lady still on her knees but a few paces further forward towards the Altar. He approached her gently. He hadn’t seen her before in church.

“Welcome to our church” he said in his soothing kind voice, “you’re new here … I haven’t seen you visiting us before …”

“I can’t get up Father …” she said looking up at him from her kneeling position.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, “Do you wish me to help you up?

“Oh no Father … I’m able to get up … but I can’t … I don’t want to upset God.”

“I’m sure God will not be upset if you have a rest for a while …” said Father Ignatius comforting her, “here … sit down for a while … and tell me all about it.”

He held out his hand and the elderly lady got up with some difficulty and sat down on the nearest pew. He sat down beside her and asked, “Why did you think God would be upset?”

“Well Father …” she hesitated, “my son is fifty years old, and he’s just lost his job … he has a wife and three children to look after … he won’t find another job at his age … not in the current situation. So I said to God that I’d pray the whole Rosary on my knees … walking one step at a time … from the back of the church to His altar. Then I’d do the Stations of the Cross on my knees … so that He would help my son get a job.”

Father Ignatius was touched by the love of this elderly mother for her son. He smiled gently and said “It’s good of you to pray for your son … it shows how much you love him and his family …

“But God does not want you to walk all around the church on your knees.”

“I’d do anything Father …” she said, “tell me what to do … and I’ll do it no matter how much it hurts me …”

“God does not want you to be hurt …” replied the priest gently, “God loves us and He listens to our prayers as long as they’re honest and come from the heart …

“He does not want us to beg like dogs … He does not want to humiliate us and make us lose our dignity …"

He stopped for a while and then continued.

“Humiliation and loss of dignity is the work of humans. See how we humiliated Jesus when we stripped Him of His clothes, we spat on Him, beat Him and mocked Him; and eventually killed Him most cruelly by nailing Him to the Cross.

“The Stations of the Cross are a reminder of how we humiliated Him and took His dignity away. And we still do so today when we hurt and hate one another instead of loving each other as He commanded.

“God does not want you to walk around in pain on your knees … He listens to your prayers no matter how or where they are said. Even sitting at home just say to Him in your own words how you care for your son and his family … ask God to help them. I’m sure He’ll listen and … in His own way and time … He will respond.”

“But I promised to do the Stations of the Cross on my knees …” she protested.

“Hey … trust me …I’m a priest …” Father Ignatius said with a smile, “I’ll pray to God for you and your family … Believe me, you don’t need to go down walking on your knees. Just sit here for a while and say a little prayer.”

“I’ll do that Father …” she said as the priest got up to go back to the Sacristy, “although I might stay on my knees for fifteen minutes to show God I’m willing …”