Week 3 of our series 'stories Jesus told' has the loose anchor 'about animals'.  In the end I went for two nearly identical parables - Luke's lost sheep and Matthew's straying sheep.  After we've done some stuff 'all together' we will be taking a look at one of them (not saying which just yet, though I have decided) in its broader, textual context and wondering a little about why it is located here and if so how we should read it.

The importance of context.  Rocket science it isn't.  Original it's not.  But a useful reminder and some groundwork for stuff coming later this year, I hope it will be.

A few years ago I recall seeing a documentary type thingy on television about the 'fight or flight' reflex, which postulated that there are actually three responses - 'fight, flight, freeze'.  The programme said that we can't control the way our reflexes work, but that knowing how they work we can then choose the 'what next.'

Last week a 'thank you' card arrived through my letterbox.  It was from someone I encountered whilst on holiday and had helped in her moment of need (she had broken her ankle at the top of a mountain, since you're all wondering).  The card commented on how I had known what to do and had quietly taken charge until help arrived in a way that made them feel safe.  My gut reaction is 'I just did what anyone would do...'  I have had first aid training in the past and as I saw her fall and scream, just found my feet carrying me in her direction, and my voice shouting 'don't move her.'  It was all instinctive.  There was nothing especially significant in what I did (indeed, had something not prompted me to make this post I wouldn't have mentioned it) it was just what 'one does.'

Over the last few months I have learned more about the fight/flight/freeze reflex in myself and in others.  I have discovered some of my closest friends paralysed as I told them my news, whilst relative (and total) strangers have found their metaphorical feet propelling them towards me, voices shouting 'it's alright...'  I have found that some people have fled, because their instincts carry them far away, as others have joined the 'walk in the dark.'  It is, it seems, just the way they are wired, and perhaps they haven't always known how to manage their instincts.

I think I am fortunate to have the 'fight' reflex, the one that allows me to walk in and calmly do what's needed (just how many times have people said 'does nothing phase you?' (yes, plenty of things, but usually it's afterwards)), the one that has enabled me to go through my treatment with a smile on my face (at least most of the time).  I also think I (and we) have a responsibility to know myself (ourselves) and 'manage' my (our) reactions to others' situations. 

A lot of the folk I've met this year, whether in the flesh or online say they are not doing or being anything special in their dealings with disease or disaster.  I don't think they are being cheesy or falsely modest, I have a feeling that they too have the 'fight' reflex.  They are just getting on with it, being who they are.  Maybe people who are differently wired find 'fighters' inspirational, and maybe I (or we) need to learn how to relate to 'flee-ers' and 'freezers' in a way that is healthy for us all?

I wonder what your reflex is?  Does it vary with context?  How can you manage it in a way that is healthy for you and helpful for those you love?

PS, how should I spell flee-er?  Fleeer maybe?!

Yes, I did mean to type 'guilt' twice.

As I already posted, I had a great time at the Tall Ships, wandering around, listening to a brass quintet, admiring birds of prey, chuckling at the antics of entertainers, smiling at excited children, smelling the salty air, slowly melting in the sun...

Then I had an attack of survivor guilt as I found myself thinking of people I knew/know who would have loved it but who couldn't have gone either because they have left this world or becuase their illness or disability makes it impossible.

And then I felt guilty because I felt guilty and I knew that these specific people would delight in my enjoyment, just as I do in that of others who do things I can't do any more.

Not planning to beat myself up over this, just noting the reality.

Not sure why the curly brackets, it was a typing slip but it looked good so I left it in.

Had a great time at the Tall Ships which was brilliantly organised.  Extra-long trains had been laid on from Glasgow (though you had to be in the front five coaches cos the platfrom at Bogston is short!) and as soon as you got off the train people were on hand to direct you towards the event.  A pedestrian route with police acting as crossing-wardens ensured swift progress to the event.  The sun was shining and it was hot when I arrived - so very glad of my sun hat and factor 50.

I joined dozens of other people sitting in the middle of a traffic roundabout for my picnic - how often do you get the opportunity to do that - before wandering along admiring the ships.  I opted not to tour any of them - they were very crowded - but enjoyed the atmosphere and some of the entertainment on offer.

So, a few photos:

This one gives a general hint of what it was like to see so many sialing vessels moored in one place.

This one, T S Royalist, belongs to the sea cadets and both of my brothers sailed on her in the late 1970s

This one is a reminder of the international nature of the event and the fact that people may want to enter the UK without proper papers.

This one just because I like cranes.  I know, it's weird... 

 And a star or two... a post from Annie via Chez that is well worth a look see

My day off, the sun is shining and there are no boring tasks to be accomplished.  So I am off to catch a train to a place with the delightful name (not) of Bogston to see the tall ships which are gathered near Greenock for a series of races and the like.  I will probably post some pics later but in the meantime, a bit of John Masefield from my childhood:

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

I am told it is an 'end of life' poem, a man looking back and yearning for what can never again be.  So quite why we were taught it at the age of six or seven is beyond me!  In my mind it will always be a poem of intention, of forward looking desire rather than one of bittersweet remembrance.  Maybe it's a bit like a parable - it can be read and heard many ways?

Anyway, if I don't stop I'll be here all day and not see the ships!  More later.