Heads and platters

I seem to remember that it was a threat, curdled down certain streets, to certain friends, that their mothers would, should they come back dirty, or late or otherwise disembled or discloaked, "have yer head on a platter."

I have little doubt that those who shouted could not point to where the phrase might have its origins and I have no doubt that those children had no fear of actual decapitation. There is a strange part of that culture which allows ugly words with no meaning except for a strange sort of endearment - to a casual listener it might sound very different.

I was listening to someone talk about God - or perhaps talk about someone else talking about God - the terms of endearment could be considered irreverent but this person would not and could not be considered as anything but holy. It is easy to let the familiarity of the divine slip from the tongue and fall not as the sweet dew which it is to the speaker but as a rather darker and more confusing rain for those who watch on, unaware of the courts of the beloved.

And then our conversations. I heard one the other day - a woman talking about Church - somewhere I have never been but ended up thinking I would not like to go - just snippets but what, to her, were simply facts of her life, to a stranger sounded strange and uncaring - detached from community, even detached from the love which that Church claims to proclaim.

And here is the point - do we honor or dishonor Christ in all that we say - does our ease fall into disease for others, does our concern become a manifesto of discontent and even more than that does our anger take something beautiful and disfigure it by demanding vengeance?