The Good, The Bad, and The Bag of Gold

On Friday a friend was bemoaning the fact that her children hadn’t produced grandchildren for her yet. She was smiling, but pointed out that other women of her age had grandchildren…

At church yesterday another friend – of similar age – was telling me about her grandson, her first grandchild. I heard about the baby’s parents – her son and his girlfriend… how the baby’s growing and developing… grandson staying the night with her… how great it is to be a grandmother.

She’s convinced. Grandparenting is good.

In her sermon minister-Lou told us about the portrait of Sir Winston Churchill, painted by Graham Sutherland, in 1954. Churchill described it as ‘filthy’ and ‘malignant’, complaining that it made him ‘look like a down-and-out drunk who has been picked out of the gutter in the Strand.’ He also said, ‘It makes me look as if I were straining a stool’ (sitting on the toilet).

There was a grand unveiling in Westminster. Opinions were divided about the portrait. Churchill took it home and had it destroyed.

Churchill believed the portrait was bad.

I’m reading Frank Reteif’s ‘Tragedy to Triumph’. In 1993 armed men burst into St James’ Church, Cape Town, firing at the congregation and throwing hand grenades. Eleven people died and fifty-five were injured, some maimed for life. Writing about tragedy, suffering and forgiveness, Reteif recalls a story told by seventeenth century preacher William Bridge:

A son asks his father for some money. His father throws his son a bag of gold from a high balcony. The boy doesn’t catch it; instead it lands on his head and wounds him. The boy can focus on his discomfort and pain; he can be angry, and blame the bag that caused his pain; or he can look inside at the gold and be grateful.

‘Often in times of affliction men dwell on the pain and discomfort, the hurt and the sorrow. They seldom look to see what mercies are hidden in their trials and sufferings.’

There’s good hidden in bad.