SATURDAY/SUNDAY/MONDAY

Busman’s holiday to Nottinghamshire to conduct wedding. Catch up with old friends, laugh a lot and get hugged to pieces by sundry churchwardens, sacristans and former drinking buddies. Slightly concerned at what folk might think when they see the huge box of empty 1.5 litre sherry bottles in back of car, kindly saved for me by 80 year old prayer group member, who remembered my comment two years ago that they would be perfect for my home made wine. Fear that my influence on her spiritual life may have had unforeseen side effects. Return from heat wave and drought in Nottinghamshire to wonderful Dartmoor dampness, and spend day in garden contemplating devastation wrought by slugs and snails despite husband’s continuous attempts at sluggicide. Turns out to be the quiet before the storm.

WEDNESDAY

Get telephone call to say that fellow curate has been sent to A+E in Exeter. Inform hospital chaplain, who then leaves message gaily announcing that he’s been discharged and is on way home. Phone hospital in disbelief, only to be given same message. Spend next two hours frantically trying to locate him, before hospital eventually owns up to having had him safely tied down in the Emergency Medical Unit all the time. Am reminded again of the wise old priest who tried to teach me something of ministry, also coincidentally called Father Michael, who said “There’s something of the headless chicken in all of us!”

THURSDAY

Try to reattach head in order to be of some use to my brother in Christ when I visit the RD+E. Grab nearest book in case I have to wait for him to come back from scans. Only realise later that “The Theology of Laughter”, which I’d been reading as background to Sunday sermons, was a bit of a bizarre choice in the circumstances. Do my best to be helpful and supportive, only to discover later that I’ve upset assistant chaplain by spreading holy oil around with gay abandon without having informed him. As it’s same chaplain who inadvertently led me up the garden path yesterday, suppressed headless chicken inside me mutates into raging wounded elephant. Good job that by the time I find out I am safely home and out of charging distance. Not sure whether to laugh or cry, so after evening’s wedding preparation meeting, accept husband’s offer of nightcap in local pub. Another bizarre choice of action, but come home with spirits lifted by unsuspecting friends and neighbours.

FRIDAY

“If you can keep your head, while all about you are losing bits of theirs” . . . Spend day waiting for news of operation. Relieved to hear that aforementioned brother has survived the first hurdle and is even trying to make jokes with the nursing staff. Go back to sermon preparation and the story of Abraham and Sarah, both of whom are reported to have laughed in the face of the impossible promises of God, who offered them hope where they seemed to have no reason to hope. Decide to finish book on theology of laughter which may after all have been an inspired choice. Find at the end a quotation from another theologian who sums it all up by saying that “laughter is the last weapon of hope.”

SATURDAY

Take time out in abbey petitioning Blessed Virgin Mary on behalf of colleague and neglected parishioners.

WEDNESDAY

After busy few days of pastoral visiting, inspired by quiet time in abbey, spend afternoon with Holne garden group learning about flower arranging. Demonstrator asks whether any of us have a lunatic corner in our gardens – a surprisingly pertinent question for this particular group of people. After much hilarity, she hastily explains that she was talking about strange plants, but I secretly wonder whether our reputation hasn’t preceded us.

TUESDAY

Have interesting conversation with local mums in pub about ‘Spirituality Shopping’, a new programme on TV. Discuss relative merits of Christian meditation, Hindu yoga, Sikh charity kitchens, gospel singing and pagan drumming, but fear that once again my influence is not quite having the desired effect, when generous offer to buy next round of drinks is greeted with broad grins, comments about ‘spiritual’ corruption and speculation as to whether I will own up to leading my flock astray in the next issue of the Diary. . .

SUNDAY

Ask forgiveness for my incompetence and give thanks for the gift of laughter, and all who bring us joy and hope in a world where life is often uncertain.

Copyright © 2005 Corynne Cooper.

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