FAIR ENOUGH?

By Johannes

There is a particular expression worn by a father at Hull Fair. You can usually spot it somewhere between the second ride and the request for an enormous teddy bear. The one that may not quite fit in the car. His children are having the time of their lives. He is in the throes of calculating, at this rate, how long it will be (expressed in minutes) before the set budget for the evening will be reached. He has already seen several attempts at cash in lieu of attendance rebuffed – even with A Macky D thrown-in. Yeah right dad!

Around him, Hull is enjoying itself. Teenagers gather in noisy groups, each daring somebody else to go on something dreadful. Couples stroll together. Families negotiate chips, pushchairs and competing demands. Grandparents watch machines which seem designed to separate the human body from its lunch.

The lights flash. The music thumps. Somebody screams, although whether from excitement or the price of feeding everybody is difficult to establish. And there is something lovely about it.

For a while, people leave their ordinary worries behind. They come out of their houses, meet one another and share an experience. A city becomes a gathering of faces. We are reminded that human beings need more than work, shopping and the occasional argument about parking. We need enjoyment. We need each other.

Christians should recognise that. Jesus went to a wedding at Cana, and his first sign ensured that the celebration could continue. He understood the goodness of people gathered around a table. Holiness does not require us to look as though somebody has confiscated our chips. Religion should not be miserable.

But Hull Fair is expensive. A few rides, something to eat, a treat for the children, and an evening’s pleasure can make a considerable hole in the household budget. Some parents will quietly count what they can afford before they leave home. Others may have to explain why this year’s visit will be shorter.

It raises a question worth carrying home with us: what can Christ offer that costs nothing, and remains available when the fair has packed up?

Start with this: you do not have to buy his attention.

There is no ticket office for prayer. No premium package gets you closer to God. No monthly subscription. The person with an empty purse can speak to him as freely as the person with a comfortable bank balance. You can pray in a church, on a bus, beside the kitchen sink or awake at three in the morning., You need not produce impressive words. “Lord, I’m frightened” will do. So will “Thank you”. Sometimes prayer begins with sitting quietly, allowing yourself to be there before God without pretending that everything is splendid.

At the fair, we might queue for a few minutes of excitement. Yet we can go through an entire day without making room for the One who knows us completely. We tell ourselves we are too busy, then spend twenty minutes looking for something interesting on our phones. I doubt I am the only offender.

Christ also gives us teaching we can actually live by. Love your neighbour. Forgive. Tell the truth. Care for those who are struggling. Resist the temptation to make possessions the measure of your worth. These teachings reach into Monday morning as readily as Sunday worship. They affect how we answer somebody who has annoyed us, how we treat the person serving at the till, and whether we telephone someone whose world has become painfully small. Consider the dodgems. Great entertainment, provided you understand that everybody is likely to bump into everybody else.

Ordinary life can feel much the same. Someone cuts across us. Someone behaves selfishly. Someone gives us a jolt we were not expecting. Our immediate ambition is to swing round and give them one back. Jesus asks us to loosen our grip on the steering wheel of revenge. Forgiveness does not mean pretending that harm never happened or allowing it to continue. It means refusing to make retaliation the purpose of our lives. Sometimes we need help, firm boundaries and time. But resentment is a miserable passenger to carry everywhere.

Then there are those fairground games offering a magnificent prize if only you can perform an apparently simple task. Life has its own versions. If only I earned more. If only I looked younger. If only everybody admired me. Then I would be happy. We keep having another go. Christ invites us to examine what we are reaching for. Wealth and success may bring useful things, but they cannot bear the full weight of a human heart. He teaches us to seek treasures that endure: love given, mercy shown, faithfulness practised when nobody is applauding.

His grace is freely given. Living by it, however, can cost us something. Pride, perhaps. A cherished grudge. The convenience of walking past somebody who needs us. Jesus offers a gift, and calls us to follow him. Nor does he promise a life without frightening moments. A fairground ride can lift us high, drop us suddenly and leave us wishing we had stayed beside the brandy snap stall. Life can do that without asking whether we would like a ticket.

Faith does not guarantee smooth movement. It gives us someone to turn towards in the turmoil. In the Gospel, the disciples discover that even with Jesus in their boat, a storm can rise. They also discover that they can cry out to him. That matters when the excitement has faded and we are facing illness, loneliness or an uncertain future.

So enjoy Hull Fair. Laugh, share your chips, admire the lights. There is goodness in an evening of innocent pleasure. Then, when the rides fall silent and Walton Street returns to its ordinary business, remember that Christ’s invitation remains.

The fair comes once a year. His invitation is there in every moment. Join is at Saint Charles Borromeo Church in Hull. You are welcome. Come and see.