Christingle

The Boy attends a faith school, which ordinarily is of no consequence. The Wife and I hold our own views on religion, but chose his school because it seemed like a good one rather than to brain wash the Boy into conforming (as if that would work on him). Plus the council told us it was that or the school down the road. We didn't fancy that. It is an academy of excellence, but unfortunately it's chosen specialist subject is murder. That might be an exaggeration.  It does have the look and the catchment area you normally in shots of the aftermath of the London riots though. So we passed.

The one time of year it is an issue is Christmas. Or more precisely the Christingle service. The weird thing is; I went to church as a boy myself and never encountered Christingle myself. So for the uninitiated, let me give you the low down.

Essentially the Christingle service is a Christmas carol service for children. There's rather more to it than that, but I'll get the important part a little later. Last year I went to my (and the Kids) first Christingle service with my mother-in-law. Having navigated the Girl past the font without her bursting into flames and keeping one hand clamped over the Boy's mouth to stop him talking about poo, or singing his favourite song which was, embarrassingly; "Sex on Fire" by Kings Of Leon. He'd picked that song up a few weeks before and the intial amusement of him singing;

"Whooooaaaaaa, my socks are on fire!"

had worn of once he'd started getting the lyrics right and yelling

"That man's sex is on fire! Put it out, daddy!"

and finally come to a head with the conversation

"What did you do at school today, Boy?"
"Sang songs."
"What songs do you like singing?"
"Sex on Fire, but they won't let me sing that."

So you can imagine there was a level of stress involved before we'd taken our pew. I've never been particularly comfortable in churches myself, and while the Boy seems to get on with it okay, the Girl will develop ADHD the moment we cross the threshold. As such, most of the service was spent doing the parenting equivalent of putting an eel in a jar, with the Girl by turns jumping on the pew, shouting "RAAAARRRR!" whenever the priest said; "Bow your heads an pray" and occasionally biffing the elderly gentleman in front of us in the back of the head. You be surprised how few times it took before he turned round and dropped the "c-bomb." So, whilst juggling a highly strung Girl, preparing to clap a hand over the Boy's mouth and fending off abuse from the potty mouthed 90 year old chap I was handed two (not one, mind, two) of these

A Christingle. Suitable for kids of no ages.

So, to clarify this is an orange, with a candle in the top, a red ribbon, four cocktail sticks and some raisins. This is symbolises (and I'm quoting Wikipedia here); the world (orange), fruits of the four seasons (raisins), the blood of Christ (ribbon) and the light of the world (you can probably work that out yourself.) Alternatively, its a festive hand grenade. As if it wasn't enough that I had two very sharp objects to hold whilst the Girl jumped up and down on the Bible, they then set light to them. So, its sharp, on fire and round bottomed so you can't put it down.

Seriously, don't go. Because that's not even the most dangerous bit. After the service they invite you to have a mince pie and a cup of mulled wine. At this point there was a stampede of zimmer frames, crutches and surprisingly angry pensioners towards the back of the church. The Girl got caught in the middle of this stampede and reacted in the only way she knows how, she threw a tantrum. This lead to the unenviable situation of me, standing in a church, pushing pensioners around. And I'm informed that God doesn't go in for that kind of thing.