Village Shepherd

I went to the Royal Norfolk Show this year, with my daughter. It was a few years since either of us had been, and we were impressed by the size of the show. As well as the cattle, pigs, sheep, goats, horses, ducks, geese, hens and turkeys of every description, there were guinea pigs and rabbits and caged birds. There were the usual displays of agricultural equipment, the Fire Service, the Police, the Commandos and so on, and plenty of fairground rides for the children, and the usual shows of Heavy Horses or show jumping or whatever going on all the time in the various rings. Then there were huge numbers of retailers selling their wares, from those selling cars or garden furniture or jacuzzis down to much smaller private concerns, like Norfolk Crafts, which seemed to feature mostly individuals who had made their hobby into a business.

It was all a feast for the eyes and ears and senses, and we both thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. The only problem was that I'd taken a certain amount of cash, not intending to spend every last penny, and a credit card. The entrance fee plus car parking charges set me back a little more than I'd anticipated, but I was fairly determined not to spend too much.

The reality was quite different! It was very much a case of "retail therapy", for we kept spotting unusual ideas which we hadn't seen before, and no end of Show bargains which were too good to miss, or which turned out to be something one of us had wanted for ages but had never managed to find. There were also lots of temptations, like the hair piece which exactly matched Becki's hair, and the perfume from Ireland which was liberally sprayed onto our wrists.

Needless to say. I returned home a lot poorer than when I'd set out, and in the cold light of day am now wondering whether all those bargains were quite as magnificent as I thought at the time.

This is a constant pattern of mine. I always spend more than I anticipate at such events, whether it's a grand occasion like the Royal Norfolk Show or the more humble occasion of the Church fete. I start out with the best of intentions, but in my heart of hearts I know I'm going to spend. So much so, that if I really can't afford to spend much, I don't go, because I know I won't be able to withstand the temptation to spend.

I suppose the reason for this behaviour is that I enjoy spending money. I love to wander round shops and stalls, just browsing or window shopping, and it gives me pleasure to buy new things which I then generally enjoy afterwards. My father always hated shopping with a passion, so was never tempted to overspend, and this must be true of all those for whom anything with the word "retail" is no therapy at all, but rather a penance.

We keep doing the things we enjoy doing at some deep level of our being, whether they're good things or bad things. Life is full of choices, and many choices we make are based on the level of "feel good" factor which that particular choice gives us. Any choice which fails to deliver sufficient "feel good" factor, is usually avoided. Thus although at one level I don't want to spend much money, the pleasurable kick I get out of spending money overrides that caution and my behaviour continues.

Another obvious area in which this happens is with food. Many people wish with all their hearts to be slender, but the pleasurable kick they receive from eating, especially from eating food laden with calories, overrides the wish to be thin, so they go on eating but beat themselves over the head for their perceived weakness of will. Alcohol too gives such a pay-off to some people that they always over-indulge, whether they wish to or not. But the degree of over-indulgence in any of these areas may not be very much at all. Over-indulgence is pathological in only a few cases. Many of us slightly over-indulge, but still beat ourselves for our weakness afterwards.

There are other areas of life which follow similar principles. The need to be nice to people often overrides the wish to tell the truth. The need to be looked upon favourably by other people may lead us to saying "yes" when we really want to say "no". The need to be part of a peer group may lead us to gossip when we wish we didn't. And so on.

Happily, we're not alone in any of this, for as St Paul so graphically describes in today's reading from Romans, " I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do--this I keep on doing." He goes on to ask plaintively, "Who will rescue me?" and answers himself - "Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord!"

So is it really true? Can Christianity enable us to change our patterns of behaviour so that we can become the people we wish to be, in our better moments? The answer is a resounding yes, by following Jesus. Jesus always took the hard road, the most difficult option, even when this resulted in pain (and eventually anguish.) He tells us to take up our cross and follow him, and if we do so, we too will reach resurrection. But for us, it's more likely to be a process than a one-off event, and as St Paul found, will probably be a gradual process lasting a life-time.

We need to ask God for help, then to choose the hard option whenever we can. We'll fail again and again, but that's irrelevant. Christianity is a religion of picking-yourself-up-and-starting-over-again, and God has promised that there is no limit to the number of times we can start over again. Gradually, by sticking close to Jesus and following as best we can his behaviour patterns, we'll discover new growth and health and wholeness.

The payoffs will gradually change as long as we keep our eyes on Jesus and continue to choose the difficult options - and the resulting resurrection will be even better than retail therapy.