I have just posted a note on the front door to the effect that we are "Self Isolating" and asking all, but the postman, to ring the bell and leave their packages by the front door. And why not the postman? Because he has a long established official status, and it might be the case that an item has to be signed for, before it can be delivered. Yes others sometimes need a signature, but the way things are working just now, and for good reason, they are taking it on themselves to signin on our behalf.
Where we grew up, by the sea, on the north Antrim coast, and not far from our house, and with its back to the view, stood a "pillarbox", (letterbox), that from my earliest years established itself in my psyche as a status symbol: none of my friends had such an important and useful symbol by their front door. And here's a truth; some "young bucks" who had more testosterone than good sense, tried to establish a reputation for themselves, by vaulting over it. And talking of the "pillarbox", memories are flooding back.
One that has to do with Christmas, is of the postman, still on his rounds, being invited, and willingly coming in for a whiskey. And another, is of the speed with which the postal service could operate. If my mother sent a currier down the steps to post a letter to me at 4 pm, I was reading it in Southampton, next morning, at eight. Now I have always attached a high importance in life to the capacity to wonder, a gift that no one should allow to become redundant; and this speed off delivery, in those days, had me, - wondering.
Well of recent times the postal service has been privatised, and as a consequence I suspect that postmen, and women, are not as fit as they used to be. Today they park their red vans at strategic points along the way, upload their trolley with the appropriate red bags, and then, three wheel them from door to door. Not long ago, before privatization, you couldn't help but admire them, and especially when they passed you going up hill with fully laden satchels slung on either side of the bike: and always, whatever the weather, in shorts.
Now in the absence of anything else to share with you about post perssons, operatives, or whatever else you might like to call them, here is something to enjoy, and dare I say it, think about, and read slowly; and please do not turn off if you are not religious, psalms are poetry, and this, from the Jewish scriptures, (in the pre Christian era), is Psalm 107/108. I have read it many times before, but it had a greater impact yesterday, perhaps, because we are in "lockdown." It is a little on the long side, but in those days they had the time, and we, at this particular time, have more of it than we are used to.
"O give thanks to the Lord for he is good;
for His love endures forever."
Let them say this, the Lord's redeemed,
whom he redeemed from the land of the foe
and gathered from far-off lands,
from east and west, north and south.
Some wandered in the desert, in the wilderness,
finding no way to a city they could dwell in.
Hungry they were, and thirsty,;
their soul was fainting within them.
Then they cried to the Lord in their need
and he rescued them from their distress
and he led them along the right way,
to reach a city they could dwell in.
Let them thank the Lord for his love,
for the wonders he does for men.
For he satisfies the thirsty soul;
he fills the hungry with good things.
Some lay in darkness and in gloom,
prisoners in misery and chains,
having defied the words of God
and spurned the counsels of the Most High.
He crushed their spirit with toil;
they stumbled; there was no one to help.
Then they cried to the Lord in their need
and he rescued them from their distress.
He led them forth from darkness and gloom
and broke their chains to pieces.
Let them thank the Lord for his goodness,
for the wonders he does for men:
for he bursts the gates of bronze
and shatters the iron bars
II
Some were sick on account of their sins
and afflicted on account of their guilt.
They had a loathing for every food;
they came close to the gates of death.
Then they cried to the Lord in their need
and he rescued them from their distress.
He sent forth his word to heal them
and saved their life from the grave.
Let them thank the Lord for his love,
for the wonders he does for men.
Let them offer a sacrifice of thanks
and tell of his deeds with rejoicing.
Some sailed to the sea in ships
to trade on the mighty waters.
These men have seen the Lord's deeds,
the wonders he does in the deep.
For he spoke; he summoned the gale,
raising up the waves of the sea.
Tossed up to heaven, then into the deep;
their soul melted away in their distress.
He stilled the storm to a whisper:
all the waves of the sea were hushed.
They rejoiced because of the calm
and he led them to the haven they desired.
Let them thank the Lord for his love,
the wonders he does for men.
Let them exalt him in the gathering of the people
and praise him in the meeting of the elders.
III
He changes streams into a desert,
springs of water into thirsty ground,
fruitful land into a salty waste,
for the wickedness of those who live there.
But he changes deserts into streams,
thirsty ground into springs of water.
There he settles the hungry
and they build a city to dwell in.
They sow fields and plant their vines;
these yield crops for the harvest.
He blesses them, they grow in numbers.
He does not let their herds decrease.
He pours contempt on princes,
makes them wander in trackless wastes.
They diminish, are reduced to nothing
by oppression, evil and sorrow.
But he raises the needy from distress;
makes families numerous as a flock
The upright see it and rejoice
but all who do wrong are silenced.
Whoever is wise, let him heed these things
and consider the love of the Lord.
__________
If you have read my previous blogs, "Walking the dog in an age of coronavirus", you might recall me telling you of how, when walking Amber at the crack of dawn, I met a man coming in the opposite direction. The dog, as I told you, was not much bigger than a cat, and as it was desperately trying to get at Amber, the good man was telling it to "behave." Well we met agins this morning, with the little dog barking madly, and the good man still trying to impress upon it, the meaning of "behave." Well as we passed, (with more than the width of a broom handle between us), the gentleman looked across and said, "he thinks he's a rottweiler!"
__________
© Cormac E. McCloskey
No comments:
Post a Comment