Happy Birthday John Delaney

Regular readers will know that my good friend (of nearly thirty years standing) the mad physicist and I have a regular Bromance type date every school holiday. He is 56 today. He says 52. Come on folks, who do you really believe? We are the definitive "attraction of opposites": I am witty, charming, urbane, articulate, intelligent, socially skilled, good looking and, most significantly, self-effacing. John is none of these.

Following a lengthy lunch we found ourselves, possibly the worse for alcohol, doing some last minute shopping. This found us in Marks and Spencer's Leeds and, in some strange stroke of fate for two guys who never meet a pupil in town, behind - no, really, you'll laugh - our beloved Boss from the knowledge college.

"Look who it is, look who it is." one of us called John said (perhaps a tad too loudly.)

The Boss and his wife turned to us looking, one has to say, a little like rabbits caught in the headlights.

It's his Birthday. I managed, weakly, (wishing I were somewhere else) as if that somehow explained all.

The Birthday boy, however, came up with "Hehehehehe ..... back passage."

I'm not sure what the Boss said in repost as I was dying a lonely death of humiliation in a corner of menswear.

"Back passage? BACK PASSAGE?" I say to John over (another) restorative beer.

He grins sheepishly. "I have no idea."

What are the chances either of has a job after Christmas?

Sunday Sermon. The Angel Gabriel and Mary: Luke 1.26-38

I hate this time of year: Christmas music in the shops for weeks, the city festive lights on for so long that the novelty has worn off, bookings for Christmas meals flagged up in restaurants since July. What ever happened to Advent? At our Christmas do at school on Friday I got a special mention in the "Twelve Days of Christmas" spoof rewrite. "On the twelfth day of Christmas Sir said to me "It's still only Advent." There was much hilarity and on reflection I may have gone on about it a bit with my one man campaign to reclaim Advent. Have you noticed that Adent has been contaminated by Christmas creep?

Take a typical conversation in the classroom last week:

“No, go on Sir show us a film. It’s Christmas and its our last lesson.”

No, actually it’s Advent.

“No Sir, seriously, it’s Christmas.”

No. It’s Advent.

“What’s that then?”

It’s the period of preparation leading up to Christmas.

“No, it’s Christmas now. We’ve had cards; my mum’s been buying mince pies for weeks; she’s bought sprouts too; there’s Christmas music all over the place; I’ve bought my younger brother a computer game and everyone’s arguing. Of course it’s Christmas.”

Trust me. It’s Advent.

On today's Sunday Programme on Radio 4 there was a discussion about how the supernatural in the Bible stories is a direct cause of a decline in faith. Young people particularly have no truck with it. What would the average class of 16 yr olds make of today’s Gospel extract? Or, perhaps, more to the point what does the average adult in this country make of it? There are many adults who struggle with today’s story. What do you make of it?

Most people understand ideas like symbolism, analogy and myth as proper genres of Biblical expression. Most people know that – America apart, obviously – very few people understand the Bible as 100% literally true; they know that such literal interpretations are a fairly recent phenomenon and yet presented with this story, as one of my classes were as part of my preparation for this morning, they immediately went for the superficial understanding of the story - and dismissed the story as a consequence.

They couldn’t see the wood for the trees. Or perhaps, more to the point, they couldn’t see the annunciation for the angel. Is this a story about an angel giving amazing news to Mary? Or, is it a story about an angel giving amazing news to Mary? Rather than seeing a story of wonder as shown in a theologically unique idea that God would choose to become man, what I got was: “Angel? Oh come on Sir. As if!” Does that secretly represent you’re misgivings?

What does the word “Angel” actually mean? I ask them. Silence. Do you know what the word “Angel” actually means? It simply means “messenger” as in “God's messenger.” Medieval artists have a lot to answer for. Imagine for a moment that a Medieval Pope has had a new cathedral built and that he commissions an up-and-coming artist to paint its ceiling with the annunciation. The artist goes away and looks up the story.

“Mary. Check.”
“Nazareth and environs. I’ve never been but I can paint a rural hamlet I suppose.”
“An angel …….. Ooo-er! An angel? Not sure about that at all.”

The first stumbling block in today’s gospel for many people comes in the very first line. In the sixth month the Angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee. Could you describe an angel? Of course you could. You might have more of a problem rationalising that description. Has it occurred to you that our standard image of an angel comes direct to us down the ages from the imaginations of our Medieval artist and his colleagues? People read “Angel” and mainly think M. & S. nightie, pigeon’s wings, tinsel halo and harp – or possibly trumpet. In trying to represent the indescribable our artist has garnered such clues as he could find from scripture – very often from the apocryphal writings - and invented a strange creature which has cursed our understanding of the stories and caused many to dismiss them.

The next problem comes in the second verse. That angel came to …. a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph. My pupils roll their eyes. “A virgin? Oh please.” Does that also secretly reflect your discomfort in the story?

You could spend hours on the INTERNET looking at the theological debates and discussions about the virginity of Mary. Here’s one example: The word rendered from Hebrew in Isaiah’s prophecy into English via Greek was “almah”. The nearest English word is “maiden”, as in young unmarried woman. While this may imply virginity it is not a required part of the definition.

“Sir, you’re shattering my illusions.”

I’m sorry?

“This business about angels and the virgin Mary. It’s not what we were taught.”

But you don’t believe it anyway.

“That’s not the point.”

So I ask them: What are the story of the annunciation and the nativity story all about?

“What do you mean?”

What is the point of these stories? Reduce them to their bare minimum. What’s the central element of the stories?

“The birth of Jesus.”

Is that it?

“Well, Christians believe he was the son of God.”

So it’s a pretty dramatic point?

“Yeah, maybe.”

Maybe? God sending his son into the world. It’s about as dramatic as it gets, surely?

“I suppose.”

Are the bits about the angel and virginity – and for that matter the star, wise men and so on – central to these stories?

“Probably not.”

Then why are they there?

There is silence while they digest this.

They are signposts to the significance of the story. This is the most dramatic event in human history. It needs some gravitas. How about this then: if God exists and is all the things that religious people say he Is – and then some – then like the angel says in the story, anything is possible right?

“Yes.” (Cautiously.)

Then the story could be true in all its detail, yes?

“Yes.” (Very cautiously.) “But Sir, you said it was a mistranslation.”

No. I said some people argue that it is. To me it doesn’t matter either way because the key part of the story is that God becomes human in Jesus and today’s part of the story is setting that up.

How many Nativity plays have we been to? How many Advent and Christmas Carols have we sung? How many times have we heard this annunciation story and the nativity stories? I have a theory that there is such a thing as “The Tinsel Factor” and at this time of year our understanding of our key gospel stories is subverted by it: over familiarity with the stories – including this one - and a life time of watching primary school kids in tea-towels and tinsel can actually inoculate us from what the story is teaching us and it becomes about the event rather than the message. Unless we are on the ball, the story trumps its teaching.

How many people, I wonder, have got hung up on the details of the story and because they can’t accept them as literally true, they can’t accept the key element of the story and so dismiss it in the same way? It’s not about angels or a virgin - or a star or wise men for that matter: it’s about God intruding into human history in the form of Jesus with an agenda of salvation.

To illustrate the idea and to make that point I tell people this little story. We’re only a week away so I hope you’ll forgive me that it’s a Christmas story rather than an Advent story. Are you sitting comfortably?

Marlene's Nativity

“Now, take my friend Marlene: she's a very artistic type. You probably know the sort - dangly Trade Craft earrings, pencils and paint brushes pushed into her hair geisha - style: half-moon glasses precariously perched an the end of her nose and a pair of Doc Martens - one red and one green. ('I've another pair like this you know.')

She's a leading light in regional amateur dramatics with a name for her radical re-workings. Her trans-gender 'Phantom of the Opera' is still talked about in hushed tones …… in Bramley. Marlene is also a bit of a committee junkie, an inveterate organiser and with a reputation for not tolerating fools: (i.e. most other people she knows). So I wasn't particularly surprised when she agreed to the Church Councils' request to stage last year's Nativity.

The committee gathered in her large kitchen, all shaker style furniture and IKEA fittings - very Headingley. Oh, and she had an agenda. “To bring this story alive it has to be brought into the present. We must make it relevant!” And so she set about her task with relish - carrying the rest of us, I have to say, rather in the slipstream of her enthusiasm.

Marlene used her contacts at the University to cast the Wise Men who turned out to be Justin, Trevor ... and Brenda … and you probably remember that Marlene and Brenda have not been on civil terms since the unfortunate incident at the Turkish bath.

Well it won't matter' said Marlene, all hurt pride and a large gin. “No one will notice the difference: all they'll see is three moustaches – and that’s before the costumes are on.

Her neighbour's daughter, Sigourney, was cast as Mary, notwithstanding the fact that at 14, she was pushing the boundaries of virginity somewhat.

“But she's ethnic. Don't you see she's perfect for the part: so 21st century marginalized.” and that was that. Marlene brooked no contradiction.

“Anyway,” she said, gesturing to an open copy of a book by Walter Bruggerman on the vicar’s desk, “If you knew your Hebrew you’d know that it doesn’t actually say Virgin.”

“Oh she thinks she’s a theologian now does she?” muttered Brenda to Justin.

“Look, we’re demythologising here so don’t expect a star anytime soon either.” Marlene retorted. “Difficult to believe Herod didn’t see it. He must’ve kept his windows shut that week, eh?”

The rest of the casting fell into place: the local Imam graciously declined the role of the Angel Gabriel. "Well you can take multiculturalism to the point of political correctness and then where would we all be? Answer me that?" observed Brenda. Terry, the local postman took his place in a stunning piece of symbolism that no one got, even when Marlene, to considerable consternation insisted that he performed in his uniform.

“Philistines.” she said, as she explained with elaborate patience for the third time the symbolism of postman as messenger of God.

“Actually, Marlene, point of order. The Philistines were a very cultured people”

“Actually, Trevor, any more points of order and you’ll be the back end of the donkey."

Sigourney's boyfriend Cameron was drafted in as the innkeeper. A night-club doorman by trade he had little difficulty with the lines - “You can't come in here, we're full' although he did tend to keep fooling around at rehearsals and ad-libbing: 'You can't come in mate, but you can, love, we're letting in girls for half price tonight”.

Joseph was to be played by Len, the church caretaker.

"But he's about 1000 years old Marlene."

"Joseph was older than Mary you know. Anyway, it says a lot about the exploitation of women in a patriarchal society."

Rehearsals came and went.

"Marlene, I'm sorry to interrupt but I'm having trouble with my character in this scene. What's my motivation here?"

"Go away Trevor. You’re a palm tree. Any more of that luvvy-talk and you’ll be the back end of the donkey.

"Len, please! How often have I told you? Don't smoke during the birth scene - the baby Jesus is inflammable."

"Marlene, if I hear another religious person say: 'and Wise Men seek him still . . . .' I may run screaming from the building"

"Brenda, they're not religious, they're Church of England."

"Sigourney, Darling, no more piercings please - at least not before Christmas.

“Point of order, Marlene, technically, its not Christmas, its Advent, which means….”

“Someone bring me the donkey suit!

“That would be a problem Marlene. None of the Gospel stories mention a donkey at all.”

“Are you trying to trample on people’s long held beliefs Trevor” Brenda flounced. “I really don’t think this is the time or place for Atheism do you?”

“Terry. Drop the line about 'Special Delivery' Darling, it's not working-"

And so the evening arrived --- and Marlene was proved right. It was a triumph - dramatic, moving and powerful: very incarnational. The stable became an old garage, back-lit in moody tones, the manger: the boot of a jacked-up wreck. Drug paraphernalia littered the floor. Three local characters shared a bottle around a brazier and stray dogs sniffed around the set. Everyone delivered their lines perfectly, and on cue it snowed.

It's hard to believe that it was nearly a year ago now, and here we are again getting ready for this year. It's going to be different this year though. After Marlene's triumph the church council members met in emergency session. Words like uncomfortable, inappropriate, trendy and travesty were bandied about.

So we're back to the traditional again - shepherds in tea towels carrying cuddly sheep and angels with tinsel halos. The incarnational, the relevant and the up-to date, it seems, have no place in the Christmas story.”

My personal challenge over the next week or so it to try to avoid “the Tinsel Factor” and to grapple with the meaning of the stories. I invite you to share that challenge.

Advent stuff

At the knowledge college staff have been buying into the idea of not sending each other Christmas cards, but contributing towards charity instead. That's a great idea. What's not so great was the flurry of internal e-mails that came round explaining that, and wishing everyone a merry Christmas. On December 8th.

REPLY ALL. What's with all the Christmas stuff? It's Advent. Stop it at once.

"What?"
"What?"
"What?"
"What?"
"What?"
"Eh?"
"?"
"What are you on about?"

--------

"When are you preaching next?"

Next week as it happens.

"Good, I've got my new hearing-aids.

Great. Were they expensive?

"PARDON?"

-------

We arrived home, my beloved and I, from our usual Saturday chores/date. She has been a bit fractious recently as she's been stalking something on the INTERNET and it's not worked out.

"Now I know what Advent is really all about. Waiting and being disappointed."

The postman's been. Nothing for us.

"But we must be the most important - if not the mpost popular - family in the street."

--------------

For those following with bated breath the story of my form's party, I am now £30 down on the cost of crisps, pop and chocolate mini-rolls.

"I don't see why I should contribute. I don't want to come anyway."

Bah Humbug!

I am not in a particularly good mood.

This has been a long term and I don't seem to have recovered from the clocks changing even though I gained an hour. I can't be doing with the early start in the cold and dark and the nightmare of winter motorway driving. I could particularly have done without the appearance of this morning's heavy gusting sleet the moment I hit the motorway. There is no joy to be had when you can only see hundreds of pairs of break lights suddenly light up as all the vehicles in front decide as one organic body to slow to a crawl from a very fast speed at the same time.

The school website carries a slightly sinister picture of the school with what appear to be seasonally clad single celled organisms wishing us a merry Christmas. I take my one-man "let's all celebrate Advent" campaign to the technician responsible via e-mail. I have had no reply. ("Oh God, it's him again on his soapbox. Ignore him and with luck he'll go away.")

So far there has been no evidence amongst the kids of any particular Christmas spirit. I've not yet had the "Advent conversation" with any chancers hoping for a DVD instead of a lesson. ("But Sir, it's Christmas.")

However my cup will soon runneth over.

I am a stand in Form Tutor. Mrs. Rashid is on maternity leave and I've copped for her lot. They are a perfectly reasonable crowd: mainly nice with a couple of irritants, one out and out nutter and a couple of dodgey characters. Par for the course, I'd say. At the pastoral meeting this week talk turned to the Christmas party. (But it's only Advent. "Shut up, no one cares.") By which I really mean Christmas parties, as in parties by form. I have to provide an event for my lot (Sorry, Mrs. Rashid's lot) for an hour before their final assembly.

You are joking? I'd rather lick my own a**e!

My beloved, as ever, is very upbeat about all this. (Perhaps she'd like to come in and host it.) We discuss what the kids might like to do.

They're fifteen. I say. They don't want to do anything.

"Shall I do a pass the parcel?"

At registration this morning I mention the party, herein to be referred to as "an hour of my life I'll never get back". As usual they choose not to respond and carry on with their own coversations, hitting each other, stabbing each other with pencils, hiding each other's bags and the rest of the usual stuff.

Eventually I get through to them. This would be best achieved by multiple texting but (in theory) they may not have their mobile phones on in school.

How about mince pies? as I get out my pen.

"Eeuuwww! Gross!"

I take it that's a no then?

"No sandwhiches either. They only get thrown away."

I've never done this before (much to the amazement of many of my colleagues) and so it's all a bit of a mystery to me. We end up with the following menu:

Crisps ("Only Pringles, Sir.")
Chocolate mini-rolls.
Coke.

"So no alcohol then?"

Dream on.

Oh, and I forgot to mention - my form room is a science lab with fixed tables.

Just to add to my joy, one of the Christmas assembly activities is some community singing. Last year every form was given a verse from "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to sing. I say sing. What I mean is SCREAM because the powers that be decided to make it an inter-form competition. This year the premise is the same but each form has a line from Slade's "So here we are, Merry Christmas", a piece already characterised by it's over-the-topness.

I am expected to "rehearse" them.

I'm sorry, but you may be confusing me with someone who gives a sh*t.

I can hardly wait. Bring it on!

A church within a church.

I have concluded that I belong to a church within a church and it makes me feel quite proud. I like the image above because the juxtaposition of the two churches in their different states of repair sums up my sense of where it's all at.

A week or so back, accompanied by my beloved's vicar, I went to a meeting of Changing Attitude, an Anglican based organisation which exists to challenge the received wisdom and orthodoxy of the "traitional Christian" view on human sexuality. It was quite well attended by a mixture of the lay and the ordained, straight and gay and was chaired by our patron the Rt. Revd. John Packer, Bishop of the Diocese of Ripon and Leeds.

We did not plan the overthrow of the church, (although we did talk about organising a joint social with the group from a neighbouring diocese). Our discussions were not behind closed doors with secret knocks and people leaving at different times to avoid being followed with the consequent risk of the door being broken down at 3.00am. The following day no one was arrested, no one was threatened with the loss of a job or college place or was harassed in the street with attendant threats to family members, or beaten. No one experienced "corrective" rape.

I mentioned my having been to this meeting to one of my colleagues the next day and, as ever, there was a combination of a lack of interest and a general sense of perplexity about what all the fuss was about. In this country at least, as far as the unchurched go, homosexuality is pretty much a non issue outside the orbit of the usual right-wing hate suspects. Even within the church my observation is that many members of many congregations are off message in relation to their Conservative Evangelical leaderships' stance and I know of a couple of clergy who, free from their Conservative Evangelical former placements, are reevaluating the whole issue. Outside Conservative Evangelicalism I sense even less interest in issues of human sexuality within the church but I do sense a fear of the reaction of other churches abroad. One small denomination in Britain - I won't say British denomination, was all set to be very proactive and forward looking over the gay issue but quietly let it drop for fear of alienating and losing its African and Asian congregations which seemed to me to be an acknowledgement that the tail does, indeed, wag the dog.

It isn't as if the theology on human sexuality was questionable. It isn't - even though some who should know better still argue that it is and lead those who do not know better astray, but the long standing scholarly disciplines of Biblical Criticism and its understanding of the subtleties of the ancient writings of the Bible and their cultural and political influences and compromises can be sacrificed on the altar of .. well I'm struggling for the phrase here. Any suggestions?

I was pondering this afresh when I read in this week's Guardain the inspiring story of Cameroon gay rights lawyer Alice Nkom, who is leading the fight to overturn anti-gay laws in the 80 or so nations which still have them, 42 of which are member states of the British Commonwealth. I was equally surprised (and gratified) to discover that criminalising homosexuality is illegal under international law, according to Jonathan Cooper, a human rights barrister who is the chief executive of The Human Dignity Trust. Among the legal authorities establishing that precedent is a 1994 ruling by the UN's human rights committee based on a case in Australia.

H.D.T's first legal challenge is against section 53 of Belize's criminal code, which states that: "Every person who has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with any person or animal shall be liable to imprisonment for 10 years." What has so upset and shocked me is the discovery that Belize's evangelical, Anglican and Catholic churches have united to oppose the challenge. They are expected to set out their objections in a pre-hearing review on Friday and seek to introduce evidence that homosexuality can be "cured".

Really? That old argument is still doing the rounds? Dear God!

In a joint statement earlier this summer, the churches in Belize declared: "In every country that has granted a new 'right' to homosexual behaviour, activists have promoted and steadily expanded this 'right' to trump universally recognised rights to religious freedom and expression. The people of Belize will not surrender our constitution, our moral foundations, and our way of life to predatory foreign interests." No scaremongering there then. These leaders have very un-Latin American names. They are: Catholic bishop Dorick Wright, the Anglican bishop Philip Wright and the evangelical Rev Eugene Crawford. Would I be cynical in suspecting the hand of American or Australian GAFCON types at play here?

And yet I am in the same church and it depresses and upsets me that this is so. Can I repent on behalf of others? I think not but I want to. I belong to a church within a church I have concluded: a minority who seek to put into practice the teachings of its founder in terms of inclusivity and care of the marginalised rather than the tendentious teachings of the Old Testament. I have long had a term for such Old Testament Christians - LEVITICITES. Their teaching seems to me to be as far from the essence of the the teaching of the carpenter from Nazareth as it is possible to be.

I sat in church this morning and listened to the Gospel:

Matthew 25:31-46

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Could it be much clearer? Well, seemingly so. It doesn't mention homosexuals, you see, so clearly an application to them within the spirit of this teaching is clearly a non-starter.

"There are none so blind as them who will not see."

Read Alice's story here

Lauren, the immovable force.

I've had that lot again this week.

I groan inwardly as I read my timetable.

They pour in like an overflowing drain, their hormones and mouths on overdrive.

When I teach Science and Religion I am used to individuals expressing doubt or cynicism about the traditional Genesis account. This lot, counterculturally, have a problem with the science. No matter how many times I say The Big Bang Theory is currently the most widely held explanation for the creation of the universe and if you don't accept it, it is up to you to convince the examiner that you have a credible alternative. Good luck with that they still argue.

"But the scientists could of (sic) made it up."

Why. WHY?

"For the money." (They know the price of everything but the value of nothing.)

Are you serious?

They are.

You must be careful when you answer the questions that are evaluative.

"What does that mean?"

The ones that ask for your opinion.

"Why?"

Because you can be marked down for going off on a rant and spouting rubbish.

"But if it's our opinion...."

No. It doesn't work like that. Your opinion has to a common-sense opinion and based on factual accuracy. You can't ague black's white and expect the examiner to throw marks at you at GCSE because it won't happen. You could end up with no marks for that section.

"But its our opinion."

And you still won't get any marks.

"But if it's my opinion it can't be wrong."

Yes it can.

"But it's my opinion."

I think we've established that and if it's not based on common-sense or factual accuracy its a wrong opinion.

"But it's my opinion. I don't believe in either of them."

I know I'm going to regret this but, somehow I can't let the moment pass.

What do you think caused the start of the universe then?

"Why should I know? I'm 14. I wasn't there."

I see my life begin to pass before my eyes. Is talking to Lauren a bit like drowning? You know, you are submerged by a more powerful, uncompromising force.

"The exam's rubbish then."

I decide to move on.

"Can I ask you a question? Sir, can I ask you a question? Why can't I ask you a question? I only want to ask a question. Sir, I want to ask a question? Can I ask a question? I only want to ask a question. Why can't I ask a question?"

Not just now Lauren.

"But you aren't doing anything just now. Can't I ask a question? I only want to ask a question. Why can't I ask a question?"

I'm waiting for quiet.

"That's what I mean. You aren't doing anything right now. I only want to ask a question. Why can't I ask a question? I only want to ask a question. Can I ask a question sir? ...

I'm waiting for you to be quiet.

"But I only want to ask a question. Why can't I ask a question? Can I ask a question? ............."

No.

"I don't think I'm being taught to my potential when I can't even ask a question. Why can't I ask a question? I only want to ask you a question. Can I ask a question? I never get to share my opinion."

Lauren. That's all you ever do.

Later that day I have a Year 11 class I inherited from a much loved colleague who retired recently. How she kept her hands off them I'll never know.

At the recent parents' Evening a number of parents complained that the behaviour of a significant number of the boys in this group is stopping others from learning. It's a view I agree with.

"Well that's not very mature!"

What isn't Brad? The bad behaviour or the parents' complaints?

"The parents complaining."

Are you winding me up?

"No. They should mind their own business. What's it got to do with them?"

Did I die without noticing and go to Hell?

Socialising Teenagers: Is It Worth The Effort?

Ah, Friday of week 2: four periods out of five to teach - three year 9 lessons in a row on science and religion and a year 11 class on religion and prejudice.

My first observation is how different the three Yr 9 classes are. One is very focussed and hard working and, I must admit, a tad dull. The second has three key kids missing including the boy who is incredibly enthusistic and well read in scientific terms and also incredibly untidy (a boffin?) and the third has a group of formidable girls. Asma is possibly bonkers and the polar opposite of the general stereotype of an Asian girl. She is loud, earthy and all the boys are frightened of her. Lauren is like Lauren off the Telly. She doesn't know when to shut up, she's argumentative and has yet to learn that putting your hand up doesn't of itself entitle you to launch straight in to your pet conspiracy theory about aliens and God.

"No but, Sir ..."

No Lauren it's someone else's turn to talk now. (Possibly even mine, who knows?)

"No, but I've not finished talking."

But I have finished listening. It's someone else's turn now.

"No, but right Sir, If God came from another galaxy, right......"

Lalalalalalalala I can't hear you.

And then there's Deanna. Deanna's life is full of dramatic gestures and big sighs. She is a misunderstood child. She's also not used to hearing the word "no". I doubt she's ever been denied anything in her life. Everything Deanna does is a three act drama. Today she decided that her desk was wobbly. She turned folding a piece of paper to poke under the table leg into an art form which transfixed us all with her gymnastic dexterity. She is also prone to giggling.

I could slap her.

Hard.

Often.

We talk of Fr. George Lemaitre, the Belgian Priest who formulated the Big Bang theory. We have previously looked at half a dozen key scientists starting with Copernicus and ending with Bell-Burnell who were Christians and I am (foolishly) at the point of congratulating myself on having conveyed the message that religion and science are not mutually exclusive.

"But that's wrong Sir. You can't be religious and believe in science."

Yes you can.

"No. Science has disproved religion."

No it hasn't.

"But lots of Christians don't believe in gravity."

What?

"I saw this T-shirt with a woman on it arguing about gorillas and God.

I think you might mean evolution.

"No it was definately gravity. You know, Doreen."

Do you mean Darwin?

"Yeah, that's the one."

Interesting take on evolution but anyway, that's America. It doesn't count.

"Eh?"

Look. When you hear "American" and "Christian" in the same sentence you should also hear warning bells.

"That's racist."

No. It's an observation. Trust me, its another world.

During my free period Mrs. Singh pops in from next door. She teaches Sociology and kindly agreed to teach some R.S. She rues the day. She has been bending my ear about this class all term. I've transferred one kid into my group and had another who she sent out sat at the back yesterday.

We are seven minutes into the lesson.

"These boys were late to the lesson and don't have an excuse." She gestures to a boy outside the room who shambles in. He is followed by another. And another. And another. In all there are six of them. She departs to teach her class.

Why were you late? I ask the first.

"I thought it was Maths so I went there."

Oh, an easy mistake. After all, its not as if you always have R.S. week two, Friday period three. Oh! Yes it is. I work through the group. We have one lost wallet and a friend helping him find it. Why does it take two of you?

"Well, he knew where it was."

So why didn't he pick it up and bring it to you?

At this point the boy in my own class is trying to hide behind the others. This doesn't work what with him being six inches taller.

"I needed to go to the toilet."

That's what break's for. In your own time, not Mrs. Singh's

They return to Mrs. Singh. I have no confidence that they are sufficiently chastened. I return to the office and had no sooner plugged in the kettle than Mrs. Singh is back with another boy.

"He tore up a book ..."

".... didn't"

"Then he denied it ...."

" ... didn't."

"Then he swore ......."

"I only said "fuck this". It wasn't at her."

He stays in my room for the rest of the lesson.

I return to the office and ring the pensions people.

When exactly can I retire?