Simon Marsh

A MOVE FROM ONE PARISH TO ANOTHER just after Easter this year involved packing up a 9 bedroomed Victorian Vicarage, despatching the contents off into storage, somewhere over the rainbow, (Trafford Park to be more precise) and moving temporarily into a (lovely) 3rd floor two bedroomed flat. Trouble was that every time I needed a file, or a book, or a pair of socks between April and November “they’re in storage”. It’s driven my fairly-organised-self nearly round the bend!

I’ve learned in the same period that whenever the phrase “new build” is applied to the construction of a new dwelling one needs to add six months (at the very least) to whatever timetable is being proposed at any given moment. And I’ve sent myself to sleep drawing up imaginary letters to the Editor of The Times about the inconsolably dreadful nightmares that are now part and parcel of any necessary conversation with service providers — telephone, gas or electricity. I think there must be as many computerised robots who are experiencing “unexpectedly high levels of demand” in Great Britain today as there are people! What really drives me potty is the fact that when the computerised voice at the end of the line has taken half an hour to establish that it can’t help you it passes you on (when you’re gasping) to a real live human being who tells you that he / she can’t help (Sir) either! Aaaagh!

But then I remember recording the Vicarage answerphone message - something unheard of when I was first ordained — though I can’t remember being permanently available at the end of the telephone, just in case anyone rang, either! And I remember my — and our — reliance upon computers for everything from information and emails, to vital life-saving equipment in hospitals and surgeries, to last minute shopping. We all play a part in building the society we live in. And we all have to live with the consequences, good and bad.

Meanwhile, and thankfully, Jilly and I are unpacking the newly delivered crates of the stuff that makes up house and home. Ah! It’s lovely to have my own bed and pillow again. Lovely to have my books and files and socks to hand. I’m grateful to the dozens of men and women whose labours have built this house. And I’m grateful and — not for the first time — more than just a little humbled by our extra-ordinarily temperate and kind Saviour. For I recall that though foxes find rest and the bird has its nest “The Son of Man hath nowhere to lay His head”. We are, indeed, very richly blessed. Thanks be to God.