You might remember (you might not) that last year I helped out some people from a different church with a 'Beer & Carols' evening at their local pub. In a rowdy bar, the locals sang happily along to Ding Dong Merrily on High and gave Hark the Herald a good old bit of gusto.
It was so much fun, I agreed to do it again. This time though, rather than lugging the Yamaha CP300 into a place where it could be mistaken for a suitable resting place for pint glasses, I took the smaller Roland XP-80 with me, hoping that it wouldn't sound too much like a Fisher Price My First Piano.
It didn't let me down. In fact it did really rather well. I played 16 different carols tonight (which must be something of a record) two of which I'd never really played before. It was interesting to me that these were also the two which met with the quietest response from the noisy crowd. Infant Holy, Infant Lowly (learnt off YouTube about ten minutes before we started) and See Amid the Winter's Snow. I probably played all the wrong notes but I don't think anyone would have noticed.
"Beer and carols?" said my Dad when I told him where I was going. In his world, those two things don't mix. Carols are sung by pristine choirboys in neat rows of cavernous churches, not rambunctious drinkers at the local boozer accompanied by a scruffy pianist on an old keyboard. It's an unusual combination, I agree, beer and carols, but I don't think it's as odd as all that really. After all, and as obviously as I pointed it out the other day, Christmas is all about the wonderfulness of being together; if a community has any kind of central togetherness point, it's almost certainly the pub.
Not the church then, Matt? Well, it used to be. You'd bring your harvest and you'd marry your beloved; you'd christen your children and sing your weekly hymns along with everyone else, once upon a time. One of the things I love about these guys, who faithfully set up for a sing-song at their local every Christmas, is that they've realised that they've actually got to get out there rather than waiting inside their cold stone walls on their hand-knitted prayer cushions. See, it's never really been about buildings, venues, locations, or the awful politics of who's in charge of what. Being church is about being people. Bravo to them!
The other reason why it's not such an odd combination is that actually carolling should be fun. I mean it literally should be fun, like a dance that fills your heart with joy or a madrigal that just makes you want to burst into song! We're back to old Fezziwig aren't we? Alright, no-one's too sure what a 'matin chime' is and words like 'thither' and 'swungen' aren't exactly in common use any more, but still, the joy ought to remain. Early methodists I understand, even borrowed some of the tunes being sung at alehouses for their greatest hymns. Saturday night favourites round the old piano became Sunday morning classics with the pipe organ - some of which, we still sing today. In some ways, beer and carols, ale and hymns go back a long way together.
There was one odd thing about tonight though and that was the meat raffle. I made a fool of myself by turning to the vicar in the interval and asking:
"So, what actually happens in a meat raffle?"
He looked at me with an Anglican smile and carefully explained that it was a raffle in which you could win some meat. Of course it is, I thought to myself. What else could it possibly have been? I didn't dwell on that question.
It was oddly hi-tech, the meat raffle. The lady running it plugged in an electronic tombola which flashed up enormous orange digits. It was a bit like an oversized alarm clock. She hit the button and the numbers slowly span into place. The first was 545692.
How many people are here? I wondered. She was obviously proud of her machine though. She gave it a pat as she read out the highly visible numbers.
"Five Four Five... Six Nine Two!" she proclaimed into the microphone. An old lady hobbled up to the table to choose her cut of whatever it was on the meat table.
I must admit, I did enjoy Beer & Carols & The Meat Raffle. I reflected last year about whether Jesus would prefer it to the polished sound of the Thames Vale Singers' shrill performance of Hark The Herald in the barn next door. I actually think he'd want to be together with people who know how to have fun.
Whether or not he'd enter a raffle where he could win some meat, well that's a whole other theological debate.
No comments:
Post a Comment