Shh! Don't tell.

It's not really for me to comment on the enormous headlines that announce the Wikileaks revelations to the world at large, but they do trouble me. Not because they uncover state and diplomatic secrets, for they do not. Neither do they truly compromise the world of diplomacy, international relationships and even espionage - for the contents of the released cables are already fully known to any government with even a half-successful intelligence service. More worrying than the release of these relatively low classification cables is the knowledge that the serious troublemakers in the global arena, Iran, the Taliban and the Al Qaeda-styled terrorist groups have intelligence gathering that can match most western agencies. How they must be laughing when we worry that Angela Merkel is seemingly made of political teflon or that the Duke of York made an off the cuff comment about press involvement in an important international deal between allies. This is the real world, for God's sake, and we have far greater things to worry about.

What much of these released cables point to is that the poignant truth that the political world, whether or not it involves the military, diplomatic discussions and comments, or even spying, is a gray and complicated place. And it is within this difficult and complex nexus that friendly and unfriendly governments meet. Sometimes they do business, sometimes they do not. But the very existence of their activity, even under the restraints of mutual suspicion, keeps the peace.

What does the obviously egotistical network of the Australian Julian Assange actually achieve? Well it temporarily boosts the sales of newspapers. It gives broadcast media a field-day in the absence of concrete new events. It also fuels the blogosphere, of which (I confess) this column is a segment.

Sir Malcom Rifkind, a member of the British Parliament, a former Foreign Secretary, a deeply Jewish intellectual, filled with common sense, and a man to whom I once had the honour of passing the port (quite a few times!) at a mess dinner, made a piercing comment in today's UK press, when he said,"There is a difference between “the public interest” and “the public are interested.” And he is so right. Assange and his secretive, almost self-righteous campaign panders to the latter. The former must be remain in the hands of those who know the importance of "balance and peace."

Escaping on a Day Off...

I did not have a strong urge to escape today, but after the rudeness and annoyance of yesterday's liturgical interruption I needed restoring. I woke this morning with many thoughts. First, how about another hour's sleep; second, my God, this coffee's good. And third, I'm going fishing today. And so after the school run I returned home, did my traditional trip to the "dump," and then set about preparing simple tackle. The ponds I wanted to fish involved a few miles of walking through the woods to the north west of here, so this would have to be a light pack. A telescopic rod, reel, and various bits of fishing kit (including a tub of worms) all fitted into a small House of Hardy canvas shoulder bag.

Having parked the car and walked to the west bank of Scoy Pond I realized that I had not paid attention to the weather. That bank had been in shade all the day and the previous night's frost had left a veneer of thin ice across most of the water. Time to walk around, through thick brush in places, to the east bank. There the water was clear, and I set up the rod.

A hour of great sport followed, with many yellow perch being caught. Ordinarily I would have kept a few, as they are delicious when pan-cooked, but on this sunny, late autumn day, I returned them all to the water. Except one, that is. He was firmly hooked, and I was reeling him in when there was a swirl of water, a violent snatch, and my line went limp. From my fishing days in Devon, UK, I knew what that meant. There's a pike in that water... and I will return. With the correct tackle.

Advent Sunday evening - musings

Advent Sunday has always been one of my favorite days of the year, marking a clear boundary between the folk-festivals of Autumn and the beginning of the Church's New Year. Pumpkins and straws are cleared away to support the prophet Isaiah's words: "Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths." Symbolically, and spiritually. And I have always enjoyed preaching on this day. Yet (without judgement on the soundness of my homily) I was, today, denied that pleasure by a group of noisy children. Now I love the noise of children in church. A cry, a laugh, a squeal - even at an inopportune moment of the liturgy - fills me with delight and blessing. But when such children are allowed to continue to noisily disrupt I surely have to draw a line. They continued to do so, and their parents (whom I do not know) did nothing, and I interrupted my sermon to invite the family to take the children out into the beautiful sunshine. Yet they did not respond. Eventually they did leave. During the Creed. Sad. Indicative of a certain modern parental attitude. This did mean that I had to preach my sermon three times today, as the original recorded soundtrack was ruined by the little urchins. Speaking to an empty church this afternoon was ... interesting.

Late this afternoon I visited the Falkowski farm for the last time this season. They close their stand today, and every year I visit and wish them well for the winter season. Today I was their last customer and bought the last two bunches of beet-roots before wishing them every blessing.

And in the face of all this wonderful reality I wonder about the Episcopal Church ...

I'm sorry, but ...

There are many times of the year when the seasonal message from the leaders of the Anglican world are listened to more than usual, and Advent is one of them. As people prepare for their Christmas they like to have a sound and well-grounded preliminary message.

This weak, poorly delivered and badly edited homily does not fall into such a category. Going to bed five minutes early and hoping for a middle-of-the-night revelation is ... well, make up your own mind. Oh dear.