I remember walking home that night. By the time I left school, it was already getting dark, and I decided to walk through the town centre and wander round the shops. I took in all the Christmas decorations and lights and colours. I remember thinking: “This is so lovely. If only…”
But, of course, I didn’t buy anything, and eventually I turned towards home. It wasn’t a long walk, really, and I was soon walking up our pathway, and I was fishing for my door key in my pocket.
Mum opened the door before I got there. She must have seen me coming. One look at her told me something was wrong.
“Duncan, we have a Visitor.” She said evenly.
I knew what this meant – “oh, fuu-” I began, before I recovered: “Why, that’s MARVELLOUS!” I projected into the house.
“How long’s He been here?” I mouthed. “This afternoon – He just showed up” she whispered back. And then, brighter, louder, also projecting: “He’s just in the lounge. Go in and say Hello. He’d love to see you!”
Just what I wanted – a Visit from Great Uncle Jehovah.
Miserable, stern, always-angry, impossible-to-please, grouchy, cold, demanding Great Uncle Jehovah. I had always hated his visits even when I was a small child, even despite my parents telling me how “kind” and “loving” he was. I could see through all that, even then.
“Why does he have to come here?” I would ask, in my childish innocence. “He doesn’t even like us. He’s always telling us off!”
My parents were always quick to defend Him - “oh, Now, Now! What NONSENSE! Great Uncle Jehovah LOVES us. Why, he’s so MERCIFUL and SO full of loving-kindness!… and besides, we owe EVERYTHING to Him. This house, everything we have, it all came from Him. We should be APPRECIATIVE of everything He’s done for us!”
I could never get to the bottom of this - why it was that my parents said that everything we owned, everything we had, was given to us by Great Uncle Jehovah, and we should always be crawlingly humble and grateful before Him. But, they said it, and I accepted it. It didn’t make it any easier dealing with Him.
I walked in with a sinking heart. Mum said, through clenched teeth: “DON’T mention Christmas – you know what He’s like.” I nodded.
Stiff-backed and stern as ever, Great Uncle Jehovah had taken up residence in the armchair in the corner. Next to Him stood his constant companion, his “Favoured Son”, Jesus. Never went anywhere without him. Actually, Jesus wasn’t too bad when you got him on his own, he was a half-decent kind of guy. But he lived entirely in Great Uncle Jehovah’s orbit.
I approached. He had me speared with his piercing eyes.
“Uhh, hello, Great Uncle Jehovah. WONDERFUL to see you again! How are You?”
He stared at me in silence for a moment. Then regally turned His head and looked out the window.
Of course! How could I have forgotten?
I turned to Jesus and said:
“Uhh, hello, Great Uncle Jehovah. WONDERFUL to see you again! How are You?”
Jesus turned to Great Uncle Jehovah and said: “he says hello, wonderful to see You, how are You?”
Great Uncle Jehovah said “Tell him I am fine, but I am mightily disappointed in him. An average seven hours-a-month shows no appreciation for everything I do for him!”
In accord with the time-honoured pantomime, Jesus relayed His message to me.
And that’s how it started, and that’s how it went on. It was always the same.
Targets that I had not met. Standards that I wasn’t living up to. Requirements that I had failed to observe. A falling-short. A failure to reach out. A missing of the mark.
Didn’t I know that it was an incredible privilege even to be acquainted with Great Uncle Jehovah? Had I no sense of gratitude for all His blessings showered down upon me?
As ever, I came away from His presence feeling drained, flat and guilty.
My parents were waiting for me in the kitchen. “Isn’t it WONDERFUL that He makes the time to be with us – to visit us, to share His precious time with us? Think about it – with us - we who are so unworthy, so undeserving?”
It was time to tell them. Something I had been dreading for months, but it was time.
“Listen, Mum, Dad… I’m, well, I’m getting really fed up with this. With Him.”
They paled. “Duncan, No! don’t say…”
“No, listen. This is no life. No life at all. We constantly have to watch how we walk, and watch how we talk. Doesn’t it get you down? Is this what life is supposed to be about – never offending Great Uncle Jehovah?
We can’t say the word ‘Birthday’ (they flinched) because He doesn’t like it, we can’t say ‘bless you’ (flinch) when someone sneezes, or say ‘good luck!’ or ‘bad luck!’ (flinch, flinch) to anyone when the occasion arises. Our whole lives are a mass of stupid petty rules and regulations laid down by that old cantankerous sod in there, and I’ve just about had enough!”
“Duncan, HE’LL KILL YOU!” my Mum wailed. “I DON’T WANT YOU TO DIE!”
We stood a long moment looking at each other.
“Well, I guess we’ll see.” I said, in the kindest tone I could muster. I didn’t want to upset or scare my parents. But this was a fork in the road, this was a break. A crossroads.
So, I left the house, and wandered the streets for a while, just thinking.
At the end of our road was the Village Hall, and tonight the local church had invited the residents from the old folks home to a tea-party and carol concert. I stood listening for a while to the warm and joyful sounds spilling out into the night air.
I smiled, and shrugged, pushed the door and went in.