Author: anneethompson

First Year Review (Completely Terrifying!)

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Hello, and how are you? This post nearly didn’t get written–it has been a hectic week. Please forgive any typos, I am writing in a rush before Monday has gone, and my regular Monday blog doesn’t appear (for the first time since 2015, I believe). Usually I am very organised, and if I’m going away or have a busy time ahead, I post things in advance. But not this time. This time I was much too busy preparing for my First Year Review.

For those who don’t know, I’m currently doing my PhD research, part time, at Edinburgh Uni. Every year, I have a review, to check I’m on track and to prepare me for the final Viva (a spoken examination). However, before you are considered a fully-fledged PhD researcher, you have to pass the First Year Review (which for me, as a part-timer, is after 2 years of study). This is a big deal. I have loved researching, and am learning lots of fascinating things. But if you don’t pass the review, the university recommends that you leave. I was very keen to not be thrown out, but I also was far from confident that I could pass. Most of my interactions with other students reinforces my feeling that actually, everyone else is much more clever than me, with a much deeper knowledge base. I feel very new to all this (even though I am older than most of the staff). I was very anxious about it.

The review begins weeks in advance, when I submit a writing sample and an updated proposal. (A proposal is the document which explains what you plan to research, and how you plan to do it.) I wrote a proposal as part of my initial application to the university, but they often change once the research begins (mine has changed almost entirely). There was also a long form to complete, showing what I have done in the last year, what skills I have developed. It all took a long time to complete, and edit, and rewrite. It was a lovely feeling when it was all submitted.

I then began to prepare for the review. My supervisor suggested some aspects of my research which might receive questions, so I read around these areas, trying to formulate arguments to justify my approach. (A supervisor is a member of staff who works alongside you, giving feedback and making helpful suggestions–it’s usual to meet with them every few months.) I knew I would need to justify how my research will be used when it’s complete, and why I have chosen to work with the ‘final’ Hebrew texts (because many scholars consider the ‘most original’ text is the best, and the ‘final form’ was written fairly late — and actually ‘final form’ means different things to different people, so there is not really a single ‘final’ form). I also found work written by the people who would be assessing me, so I could understand their own positions on things.

The day arrived. I was terrified. I wore a trouser suit (hoped to look like I had tried). Unfortunately I have gained weight since I last wore it, so it was uncomfortable and I bulged in the wrong places. I walked to the university, allowing plenty of time to find the room, go to the washroom, comb my hair (which was lucky, because the room changed, and New College is beautiful but like a rabbit warren). I was allocated to a tower room. I walked past lots of tourists taking photos (later they will wonder who the woman in their photos with unfortunate bulges was). I stood outside a large door (like a church door) wondering whether to wait or knock. I waited until exactly 10 am, knocked. A voice called me in. It began.

Mostly it was okay, but difficult. The room was hot, so I removed my jacket. A panel of 3 people asked various questions. Nothing was unexpected; I was glad I had done my homework. It wasn’t a smiley interview, but neither was it too horrible, and once I began talking I forgot about being anxious and submerged into the excitement of what I am studying. I love talking about all the amazing things I am discovering, and I had 3 people trapped for an hour, who could not escape while I bubbled enthusiastically about what I am doing. (They looked a lot less bored than most people who I try to tell! Although they did interrupt a few times to ask questions; especially when I got a bit distracted and started to tell them about something which is really interesting but not connected to what they were asking about.)

Then it was done. I left. Felt exhausted.

Recovering with Husband and an espresso martini.

The university send the result within 24 hours, which is nice. I had passed. Marvellous. I could now enjoy the rest of the week with my cohorts, chatting, sharing papers, attending seminars. It was a good week, but completely exhausting. On Friday I gave a paper. (This means you have a strict time slot to read a document about an aspect of your research to a room of scholars, who then ask lots of questions.) I have never presented a paper before, but I found the process very helpful–it made me write differently. I also made a Power-point of visuals, and used AI to produce a couple of pictures, which was great fun (and much easier than expected).

I am now home. I plan to have a week of nothing, reading novels and watching Netflix and walking the dog. Next week I shall start work again. I love studying, and it’s lovely to know that I now have 4 years to complete my work. I will have annual reviews, but they are more for me, to prepare me for the Viva–the university won’t throw me out now. I am officially a research student, albeit an old one. Great fun.

I hope you have some fun too this week. Thank you for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Feeling happy with beautiful New College, Edinburgh University, in the background.

Meg’s Diary: A Hurt Foot

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19/1/2026

Meg is extremely unhappy. On Saturday she went in the garden with Husband. When Husband is in the garden, it is often to destroy something—take down a dead tree, pull up ivy, dig up an old root. Meg seems to have noticed, and joins in with enthusiasm—which means that if she goes into the garden with Husband she is also destructive (but not in a good way). He blames the personality of the dog (but I don’t tend to have this trouble when I am in the garden with her—just saying).

Anyway, on Saturday they both disappeared into the garden (one on a mission to destroy) and I started to vacuum (not my favourite thing). In a very short while, they both came back, Husband saying that destructor-dog had hurt herself during a frenzy of destroying old logs. He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but as she blasted her way through a bush she yelped, hopped, charged across the lawn and through another bush, yelped again. She was now limping and licking her front paw.

I checked, but couldn’t see any sign of thorns or tears. I thought she may have caught her ‘dew claw’ on something. (These are the doggy equivalent of thumb nails, and some people remove them because they often catch on things and cause trouble.) Saturday evening passed peacefully enough. Meg licked her paw occasionally, but nothing troublesome, and when we went in the field she forgot about it and walked quite happily and then let me hose it, so I thought all was fine. Probably just a thorn which was now gone, or caught her nail, something minor.

Sunday morning, Meg got out of her bed, and her back legs were weird and she was limping. This was a shock. I am very worried about her back hips, because she has always sat ‘wonky’ so I worry they are not properly aligned or something—but she walks/runs/charges without problem, so I have always reassured myself. Now I was worried—had my fears come true?

However, it soon became apparent that it was not her hips but a back foot that was causing her problems. She wouldn’t put it down, and kept licking it. The licking turned to more persistent bothering, and she made it bleed. Which meant we had to resort to a collar—you know, one of those big plastic cones that fit around a dog’s head and make it impossible for them to lick their limbs. We had an old one from when Kia was alive, and we fitted it onto Meg. She was terrified.

Meg sat, shaking, refusing to move. I tried to reassure her, stroking her, talking calmly, being close. Meg bashed her way into her bed (she couldn’t account for her extra width) and did not move all day. She would not eat, nor drink, nor be tempted from her bed. It was very sad. I worried she would dehydrate, so resorted to squirting water into her mouth with a dosing syringe. I was pretty sure there was nothing urgent wrong, nothing deemed worthy of a trip to the animal hospital (why do animals always hurt themselves at weekends when the vet is closed?). We decided to wait until today, and book an appointment with her vet.

Gradually, Meg began to get used to the collar. After about 12 hours, she left her bed and walked around, bashing into things. Her solution to the difficulty of not-fitting through gaps due to her expanded width was to try and force her way through things, and she was very difficult to guide/help. But she did go outside to toilet, and she did drink. No food though, not even when I tried to handfeed her.

We are just home from the vet. Meg was clearly in a lot of pain, and actually snarled/growled when she was examined (which is the first time she has ever done that). Her temperature was 42 (should be 38) so there is some kind of infection. She did not keep still (this is an understatement—think ‘trying to contain a hurricane’ and you will get the picture). The vet sent us away with antibiotics and anti-inflammatories and told us to return in a couple of days if no improvement. (Their Xray machine is being fixed, but will be ready on Wednesday. Plus I think he needed recovery time after trying to examine Meg.) He said it might be a broken toe, or a thorn—either way the treatment is the same. If no better on Wednesday they will sedate her (never good, because there are always risks) and do a proper examination. Poor Meg.

I fed her a piece of cheese with her pill. She very quickly managed to separate the two and spit the pill sideways out of her mouth, into the cat bowl. (I think this was a fluke!) I then gave her just the pill (she is very good about me putting things into her mouth) and waited until it was gone.

I took her into the garden and she spent a long time attempting to pick up a log while wearing the plastic cone. We have bought a replacement cone, because I don’t think the current one will survive until Wednesday. Nor, I fear, will the door frames which get thoroughly bashed. I am hoping she gets the hang of her increased width soon.


21/1/2026

Meg is still not used to the added width of the cone (which she is wearing to stop her licking damaged foot). She simply rams it with increasing force at whatever object stands in her way. The cone has a huge crack in it—I doubt it will last more than one more day. Luckily, her foot is healing well. She went back to the vet, who said it was extremely unlikely that anything is broken. She has to continue with her meds (penicillin and anti-inflammatory) but she seems to be doing well. It certainly has not slowed her down, not now she is used to the scary cone (which made her petrified for 12 hours).

25/1/2026

The cone has gone. At least, during the day Meg no longer wears it. This is at partly due to the fact that I could not cope with the pain of it crashing into my legs whenever Meg was trying to force her way past me, or round me, or through me. The hard plastic cone would dig into my leg, causing bruises and pain. Therefore, I made the executive decision that during the day, Meg’s foot is well enough to risk occasional licks. We put the cone back on last night, because I worried the foot might get chewed during the night when no one was watching, but first bash at 7 a.m. this morning, it was removed again. It is entirely possible that Meg realises this and is bashing me on purpose—if so, she has won. Such is life with a GSD.

It is rather wonderful to be able to walk her freely again. I have taken her to the woods a few times, and it brightens my day to watch her bounding through the trees, stick (log) in mouth, tail wagging. Her whole body shows her delight, and it’s contagious, I cannot watch her happiness and not feel the joy myself. Maybe this is why God invented dogs, they teach us what joy is. (And resilience!)

Ancient Mesopotamian city with city walls, ziggurat, river, and people at sunset

What is The Apocrypha?

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As part of discovering what is ‘scripture’ and which books different Christians accept, I have been looking at the Apocrypha. These are the books that were written later than the books of the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible, but before the New Testament. I need to choose my words carefully here—I want to say ‘Before the Hebrew Canon’ but actually, the date the books that were fixed in a ‘closed canon’ (ie a closed list, no other books could added) is a little vague, and surprisingly late. The Jews definitely had books they considered ‘scripture’ but as to which books joined the Torah as ‘canon’ was fairly recent.

The books of the Apocrypha were included as part of the Septuagint (an ancient Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, referred to as LXX—which is much easier to write even if the reasons for using the Roman numbers is more based on myth and legend than fact).[1] In some Bibles they’re sectioned off, labelled as ‘Deuterocanonical Books’ and lumped together after Malachi and before the New Testament. (‘Deuterocanonical’ was a word created in 1684, to mean ‘second canon’—which some take to mean a less-important canon, or ‘not really part of the canon’.) As with most things in Christianity, there are a variety of views. Some Christians hold the books as Scripture, and will read and discuss them in church. Others think they are useful for helping us understand God, but not as reliable as the books in the Bible, therefore should be read but not given the same weight as biblical books. Others suggest they are ‘not real’ or ‘false’ scriptures (and sadly use this view to point at people who they consider are not ‘real’ Christians because they don’t stick to the ‘real’ Bible). This makes me wonder why God bothers with humans at all—and yet he does.

Now, I personally do not have a view on these books at all, and until now I have never read them (because I grew up in a church which took the final view above). But I was interested to learn that New Testament writers knew them, and may have been influenced by them, and possibly used them in their own writing. I therefore decided they were something I should read. I will let you know what I think. In the NRSV, the first Apocryphal book is Tobit. Below is a quick synopsis.

The Book of Tobit

Elderly man writing on a scroll by lamp with ancient cityscape background

The Book of Tobit was probably written in Aramaic during the 3rd century BCE (estimated dates range from 225 to 175). It was possibly written as a folktale rather than history. The story is set in 8th century BCE.

The story begins by describing Tobit, a man from the tribe of Naphtali (one of the sons of Jacob) who had been taken captive during the Assyrian invasion of Israel and was living in exile in Nineveh. Tobit was a righteous man. Before captivity, he went to Jerusalem to offer sacrifices, he gave alms to the poor and he kept to the dietary laws of Moses. He married an Israelite woman, and had a son called Tobias. After captivity he still kept to the dietary laws and because he was righteous, the ruler favoured him and he often travelled with his work. On one occasion, he left some money with ‘Gabael’ (we aren’t told who this is) in Media. Then Sennacherib[2] becomes ruler, and life is harder. Tobit spends his time burying the dead which have been left to rot. When Sennacherib heard that Tobit was burying the dead bodies, he was angry. Tobit runs away, and everything he owns is confiscated. When Sennacherib is killed by his sons, Tobit returns.

Ancient Mesopotamian city with city walls, ziggurat, river, and people at sunset

There is a little scene when Tobit is about to enjoy his Pentecost meal, when someone tells him about a dead body left in the market place. He leaves his meal, buries the body. (This is later significant.) He is very tired, sleeps in a courtyard and becomes blind from sparrow droppings. (No idea whether that is really a thing.) Tobit becomes depressed and grumpy. In despair he prays to God and asks to die.

The next section seems unrelated (perhaps the ancient text had a section missing?) We suddenly learn of Sarah, who is oppressed by a demon that kills every man she marries. She also prays to God, wishing she was dead but knowing this would hurt her parents.

We learn that both prayers were heard by God, and the angel Raphael is sent to help. In a nutshell, Raphael guides Tobias to collect the money Tobit left in Media. On the way he finds a miraculous fish that dispels the demon plaguing Sarah and Tobias marries her. He then takes his wife, and the money, and the miraculous fish back to Tobit and the fish restores his sight. Raphael then reveals he is an angel, saying Tobit has been blessed because he left his meal to bury the dead. Tobit lives to a good old age. Before dying, he has visions of a new temple in a restored Jerusalem, and he warns Tobias to leave Nineveh. Tobias moves to Media before Nineveh is conquered, and he too lives a long life before he dies.

***

There are some interesting overlaps with some New Testament texts. Mt. 6:1-21 is all about being holy in private, and storing up treasure in heaven. Mt. 7:12 says to treat others how you would like to be treated, which is also written in Lk. 6:31. These ideas appeared first in Tobit. There are also descriptions in Rev. 8 which mirror some of the imagery in Tobit.

So, what do I think? I didn’t read anything that was ‘missing’ from my own Bible, so I wouldn’t feel the need to expand my canon to include it. However, there was nothing that contradicts the message in the Bible—the theme of the story is about living a good life, trying to be who God wants you to be, and God being all-powerful yet also present. Some of the imagery was interesting—like that the angel Raphael described carrying the prayers to the presence of God. We cannot understand what happens in the heavenly realm, but like the imagery in Revelation, it can be helpful. It reminds us that prayers are not empty words, they are a way we present our longings to God.

Whether the New Testament writers were trying to present the ideas of Tobit, or whether this was simply part of their culture is impossible to say for sure. But it is certainly possible they may have been influenced. This doesn’t cause a problem for me—I don’t believe God dictated the texts, I believe they were human writers, part of an ancient culture that included all kinds of different influences and it would be natural for some of that to be reflected in what they wrote. I don’t need for it to have been written in ‘holy isolation’ for God to be able to speak through the texts. I personally would not consider Tobit to be ‘scripture’ but that probably is more due to my upbringing than any scholarly reason. I certainly would not consider those who do include it to be ‘wrong’ or ‘misguided.’ What do you think?

Thanks for reading. Have a lovely week.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

[1] Gregory R. Lanier and William A. Ross, The Septuagint (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2021). This book explains about the different Greek translations of the Hebrew Bible, and how the LXX evolved.

[2] Sennacherib and Nineveh are historical; you can see artifacts relating to them in the British Museum.

Meg’s Diary: Introducing a Cat

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11/1/2026

Mandy has moved into the house. I have some cats, which originally came from a farm and they have always lived outside. When I have needed to bring them inside (because one is injured) they have been very unhappy, constantly seeking ways to escape. They live in the workshop, and I feed them, take them to the vet for vaccines—just as if they were pets in my home, but they live outside. They do not like Meg, because she chases them. I have tried to stop this, but other than using one of those zappy collars (which seem cruel to me) I can’t think how to train her not to chase them. Luckily they are much faster than her, and can climb trees, so she has never managed to bounce one.

However, several months ago, Mandy left home. I did not see her throughout the whole summer, and I assumed she had either been run over, or had moved home. But then, just before Christmas when the weather turned very cold, I began to see her, in the fields near the house. She wouldn’t come near enough for me to catch her, but she has very distinctive markings, so I was sure it was her. Then one morning, a woman knocked on the door, saying she had found a cat wandering in the lane and planned to take it to the vet (not sure why, as it could have been a feral cat—there are several on the farm)—unless it was mine? It was Mandy. I managed to catch her, and brought her inside.

Now, just before a busy Christmas is not the best time to sort out an animal who wants to live rough. Therefore, after a quick check-over by the vet, I gave her a heated bed and food and water, and left her in the garage. This was fine over Christmas, but she could not live there for ever. I suspect she moved out because she doesn’t like Meg. But it’s not safe for her to live rough, especially in the winter. I am now trying to persuade her to live inside. If I cannot train Meg to not bounce her, and I can’t persuade the cat to be happy inside, then I will have to rehome her. (The cat, not Meg. Although sometimes it’s tempting.) I shall give it my best attempt.

Currently, the cat has her food, water and litter tray in a dog crate, next to the one where Meg sleeps. Whenever Meg is outside, or in the rest of the house with me, the cat is free to wander the kitchen. When Meg is in the kitchen, the cat is shut into her crate. At first there was a lot of hissing, but things have started to settle down.

I had the cat from birth, and she had lots of interaction with Kia, my previous (wonderful) GSD, so she is not scared of dogs per se, just wary of bouncy Meg. Therefore, now she realises Meg cannot reach her in the crate, she simply ignores Meg.

In contrast, Meg is fascinated by the cat. She now chooses to lie, right next to the cat’s crate, poking her nose against the bars. Sometimes the cat slaps her, sometimes they sniff noses. Whenever the cat eats, Meg goes to her own bowl and eats her food. The only times she barks at the cat is if she sees us stroking the cat, so now I am careful not to do that. I am trying to encourage Meg to see the cat as hers, something she needs to protect. I tell her to lie down when she gets bouncy, and I stroke Meg until she is calm.

My plan is to gradually decrease the barriers between them, keeping Meg busy with something so the cat becomes ‘background,’ something normal. Not something exciting to be chased. I don’t think this will transpose to outside, when I am pretty sure Meg will continue to chase anything that moves, but I am hopeful this will be different inside. I will next start with a psychological barrier (the vacuum cleaner—Meg will never step over it, she hates it). Not sure how this will go.


17/1/2026

The cat/Meg combo continues to improve. I am aware that a single mistake, whereby Meg decides to chase the cat, will end the possibility of them both living freely in the house together. But so far, we are making tiny steps in the right direction. They continue to have crates next to each other, and happily sleep/eat with only the bars between them. They seem very relaxed together, although there is usually still a barrier between them.

This week I have allowed them limited time in the same space—always when Meg has been given a ‘mission’ first. This means her focus is on whatever ‘job’ I have given her, and so although she knows the cat is under the table, or on the chair, she ignores her. For example, I will tell Meg we are going in the garden, or to get in the car. Then I open her door, and Meg goes straight to the car/garden, ignoring the cat. So far, so good.

I have also, while I have been in the kitchen, used the vacuum cleaner to divide them. The cat was asleep on the chair, I put the vacuum cleaner on the floor next to her, and released Meg. Meg was perturbed, and kept an eye on the cat, but did not pass the scary cleaner. Eventually she relaxed, and lay down. This gives me hope that I will manage to make the cat ‘boring,’ something to be ignored.

The cat takes no notice of anything. She was born in the garage, and I had read that anything a cat encounters in the first 10 days it will accept, but after that it will never change (which is why a feral cat is always a feral cat, however much it is nurtured in later life). I therefore made sure my kittens encountered as much life as possible in those first 10 days—I vacuumed the garage, Kia my GSD went in regularly and licked them (oh, for a lovely calm GSD again…) they had the radio playing, etc. This means the cat is now very chilled. As long as I can keep her physically safe from Meg, and not allow chasing or bouncing, we should be fine. One thing I learnt is that Meg is jealous. We made the mistake of stroking the cat, and Meg in her crate was very angry and started to bark. I can stroke the cat, but I need to engage Meg first, tell her that I am going to stroke her cat—somehow let her be involved. I don’t know why this makes a difference, but if I talk to Meg throughout the interaction, she seems happy with my stroking or carrying the cat. I try to limit this to a few minutes, and then I go back to Meg and praise her. They cannot become rivals, that would be bad.

April 2026

Unfortunately, the cat now lives outside. Meg and Mandy did cohabit relatively peacefully together, and although they were never alone when unsupervised, they did seem to tolerate each other. However, Mandy decided that my plant pots made better places to poop than her dirt tray. I cannot cope with poop in the house (I was a terrible mother when potty-training my children.) Definitely cannot cope with a dirty cat in the house. We therefore made a safe place in a shed, with a dog-free exit route. Mandy seems happy, and has not returned to her homeless state.

Shame it didn’t work. But that is often how things are with animals. Hope your own plans go well this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

My wonderful Kia with a kitten.
Not Meg…

Elementary students taking a science test at desks with teacher monitoring

In the Classroom

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I loved teaching. I enjoyed being with children. Perhaps because they were mostly uncomplicated, and very honest, and you could be uncomplicated and honest in return. If they felt cross, they didn’t try to hide it. If they liked or disliked something, it was obvious, there was no pretending. I like that.

But, occasionally, there was a child who was different. A child who was very manipulative, not a team player, completely unmoved by their impact on the other children, very determined to get their own way. As a teacher, you learnt very quickly to spot these children, and to keep an eye on them. They were not to be trusted. ‘What you see is not what you got.’

Elementary students taking a science test at desks with teacher monitoring
Students attentively taking a test in a classroom setting

These children did not believe they were part of the class, the rules did not apply to them. They were sneaky, and tried to avoid being caught misbehaving–passing the blame onto someone else if they could. They would also create distractions. Some children were unsophisticated, if they wanted to divert attention from something they didn’t want you to see (like that they hadn’t learnt the words for the spelling test and therefore had answered incorrectly) they would just yell. Or throw something. Or hurt another child. Anything to divert attention from what they hoped you wouldn’t see–because these children do not like to ‘fail’.

But some of them were more sophisticated, they would create a phantasy, perhaps get another child involved. Perhaps they would ‘fall over’ when walking to the playground–and it would be because ‘Julie pushed,’ not their fault. And then they would be very brave, very forgiving of Julie. As a teacher, you learnt to notice things. The ‘fall’ would look slightly staged. They would ‘recover’ a little too quickly. They might respond in a pre-prepared way: ‘If I hadn’t been told to walk to the playground, and you had let me play in the classroom, this would not have happened.’ There would be something a little ‘off’ about the situation and their reaction. As the teacher, you would try to be aware of what they might be trying to avoid, the reason for the theatrics. As a teacher you would try to not be fooled by the performance. You might ignore the fall (which would anger them) and instead help them with learning spellings. You would try to notice what was actually happening.

Young girl sitting on playground floor crying with injured knee

But I am describing a situation in the classroom. What is more worrying is when I meet or see these people as adults, perhaps as leaders. When they still don’t think the rules apply to them. When they still try to avoid the consequences of their actions by creating a diversion. One which is convincing, yet there is something a little ‘off’ about the situation. Something which makes you wonder what the truth is. I have learnt to listen to my feelings, if something feels ‘off’ it probably is.

In the classroom, these children can be helped–although I am no expert here, and some need specialist help. But they can learn to control their selfishness, they can learn that there are consequences for breaking rules, they can learn not to hurt other people. When they reach adulthood, I’m not so sure… But I’m a teacher, I can only really talk about in the classroom.

I hope your interactions this week are with people who know how to behave. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Jewish scribe in traditional attire writing Hebrew text on a Torah scroll at a wooden table with candles

What is the Biblical Canon?

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What is Scripture?

I have read two books recently which challenge my view about Scripture. Both are readable, and not full of academic vocabulary, so I recommend them. The first is by James Barr, Holy Scripture: Canon, Authority, Criticism. He writes a few things that challenge me. One observation he makes, which is very obvious when you think about it, is that the biblical characters had no ‘Bible.’ At least, not in the way that we think about it. For characters like Abraham, he had his relationship with his God, and there were certain traditions he would have inherited from the surrounding cultures (like sacrifice) but he had no written holy texts, no Scripture. Later characters, like the disciples of Jesus, or Paul—the people who wrote much of my Bible, had nothing similar themselves. They did have sacred texts, but these would be scrolls, kept in synagogues, and not every synagogue would have every text. Therefore, although I glibly assumed they had ‘the Old Testament’ they would have had some of ‘my’ Old Testament, and some texts which have since been lost. It was pretty inconsistent.

The thing the more recent ancient people had was the Torah—the 5 texts (the Pentateuch) which is ascribed to Moses. This was the Law, the ‘Word of God,’ the rules they were to follow, the texts which affected how they lived. They also had the texts of various prophets, and the Psalms—but these were probably not seen as being as important as the Torah. The other texts were ‘Scripture’ because they were viewed as sacred texts, but they were not ‘Canon’ as in ‘these texts are from God, and no others.’ The Canon (an exclusive set of texts which were considered ‘from God’ which should not be added to) came much later.

The ’Canon’ is something my next book discusses. John Barton, A History of the Bible, explains how the sacred texts were put together, and how they were treated. The thing I found extremely challenging is this: The writers of the New Testament were not trying to add to Scripture. They already had the Torah and other (various) texts which they held as sacred—they did not need more sacred texts. What they had, which differed from the Jews, was the new understanding that Jesus gave. Jesus explained the Law in a new way, he explained that concentrating on the ‘letter of the Law,’ like the correct way to wash your hands, was missing the point. The Law was about being right before God, about right actions following from right intentions. They still had the Law, but they understood it in a new way. The very last thing they intended to do was write a new Law, a new Scripture. The teaching of Jesus was what made them enthusiastic, and they spoke about it, and lived it, and wrote about it—but there was no hint that this new writing would become like the Law. They were moving away from rigid adherence to a written text, towards a new living based on the intention behind the text.

Jewish scribe in traditional attire writing Hebrew text on a Torah scroll at a wooden table with candles

This is what I find challenging. I grew up in an evangelical church that taught me that everything should be based on biblical texts. By this, I mean ‘my Bible text.’ The Bible text which included other books (the books accepted as Scripture by other Christians) was ‘wrong.’ And everything in ‘my’ Bible text should be followed closely. Like the Jews with their Torah. But was this missing the point of Jesus? Was this making ‘My Bible’ equal to God? It was certainly using the text in a way far removed from how the writers of the text used it—they didn’t strive to find the infallible text to replace the Torah. They did not refer to their own writing as ‘The Word of God.’ They held the text very lightly—it was Jesus that excited them, not what was written on scrolls or in letters. When they discussed ‘Scripture’ they meant the Torah, some texts by prophets, the Psalms—not an ‘infallible closed canon’ and certainly not one that included any of the post-Jesus texts. (That’s not to say they didn’t give authority to the letters of Paul, for example, but they did not view them as equal to the Torah, and nothing was as important as the teaching of Jesus. Not the ‘exact words of Jesus’ because they remembered different things, but the essence of what Jesus showed them.)

Now, I have always considered that my ‘religion,’ my doctrine, was Bible-based. By this I mean based on ‘my’ Protestant Bible. However, James Barr’s book queries this. He notes that doctrine does not really follow the biblical texts, but rather we translate the biblical texts according to our doctrine. For example, I as a good Protestant do not believe we should pray for the dead. Therefore, I interpret texts like 1 Corinthians 15:29 (about being baptised for the dead) to mean something different. I also don’t believe in reincarnation, therefore I translate Matthew 17:12-13 (about John being Elijah) accordingly. There are several examples like this—where I use my understanding of God, and what I believe, to interpret texts accordingly, even though at face value they appear to say the opposite.

So what do we do with this new way of looking at things? To be honest, I’m not sure, but I find it strangely liberating. When I read the New Testament texts as written by people who were excited to share their understanding of what Jesus taught, not as a new Law to be followed, I catch the excitement. I want to think about what the meaning of the narrative is about, not concentrate on every (translated) word, the nuance of every sentence. It doesn’t mean God doesn’t speak through the text, it means it was not meant to be Law. That deserves some thought.

Thanks for reading.~Take care.
Love, Anne x

PS. As every with academic blogs, I want to add the observation that I don’t feel any of this study changes my understanding of God. I know who I believe in. I’m just exploring the best way to decide on my religion. I don’t think any of this makes me a better person—that happens by following God. It’s just very interesting!

Busy Hatching Goose Eggs . . .

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I am very happy as I write this—and slightly too busy. You know the feeling? Just a few too many plates to keep spinning… But I can’t complain. The sun is shining, the trees are in blossom, the natural world is busy. The main reason for my happiness today is the incubator eggs are hatching, and this is one of the very best things in life (I think—some of my friends would prefer a designer handbag!)

The eggs started to hatch yesterday. They lie in the incubator, looking dead—exactly like the eggs in your fridge, and then one starts to cheep, or a crack appears, and you realise there is something alive inside, trying to emerge. It can take several days for an egg to hatch, which requires lots of patience (not something I am blessed with). I know from bitter experience that interfering usually ends badly. Although there is a point, after a couple of days, when a hatchling that is struggling will die unless you help—so it’s a difficult balance.

I am currently helping a gosling to hatch. The first crack appeared two days ago, and two other eggs have safely hatched during this time, but this one seems to be stuck. The egg is fairly small for a goose egg. Farmers advise not attempting to hatch small eggs—they only use the large ones for hatching. But I don’t have lots of fertile eggs, so each one is precious. My guess is that the gosling is too big to move around inside the egg, so cannot turn and crack the egg all the way round—like a zipper—and then push its way out. It made a crack, but then stopped, too squashed to wriggle and make more cracks. So I am helping. Each hour, I open the lid (letting out all the warm air and humidity, so it’s a balance) and I crack off another piece of shell, drip some warm water on it (to replace the moisture lost from the open lid) and leave it to rest. The gosling’s beak is free, and it cheeps at me, which is the only indication it’s still alive. I hope to have it almost free by this evening, and then I will leave it, in case there is still some yolk to absorb (completely removing them from the egg is a bad thing to do). I really hope it makes it.

Two hatched goslings are in the garage under a warm lamp, and two chicks, plus the 4 ducklings I rescued from the pond. It’s a happy gang in there. The ducklings are too big now, and ought to be outside, but until Goose gets off her nest, they have to stay inside (because they will disturb her). There are three new trees which need to be watered regularly, weeds which are threatening to engulf the flower beds, insects invading my house plants so I need to buy a spray…A lot of nature to sort.

I am juggling this with trying to prepare work for my first year review, which is a big deal and has to be passed. I need to update my proposal (the document that says what I intend to research, and how) plus a writing sample. In a couple of weeks the university will send the monstrous form it sent last May, so I need to plan time to complete that. Plus I am itching to begin my new chapter—looking at death, and whether animals have life after death, and what is the significance of death in terms of relationship with God.

So you see, I am happy, but busy. (Don’t mention housework—I am making that a swear word!) I will go now and chip another piece of shell from my struggling gosling. I hope you have a happy week too, enjoying all the life of springtime.

Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

PS, My flock to date:

Goose
Maverick

Unpredictable Birds

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Goose Eggs

I am very keen to have company for Goose, so I contacted the man who kindly gave me her egg two years ago, and asked if I could buy some more. He lives near Sheffield. I looked online, to try and find someone nearer, but I am keen to have more Sebastopol geese. No one local was advertising eggs. (Eggs through the post is always a bit unreliable.)

We had been home from the US for one day. One frantic day of unpacking and washing laundry and sorting animals. Then we drove to Sheffield, planning to collect the eggs, sleep in an Airbnb, drive home. The timing was terrible! I was exhausted, but there was no way to delay (if I wait too long after the eggs are laid, they are unlikely to hatch. These eggs were already 2 weeks old.)

In terms of bird-timing, it was perfect. Goose has laid 4 eggs of her own, and is making a nest. I was very hopeful that adding a few more would be enough to make her grow broody. As she’s an inexperienced mother (some birds get bored after a couple of weeks and abandon perfectly viable eggs) I also put 4 in the incubator. I gave her a child’s paddling pool full of water, so she can wet her feathers regularly.

I decided to also try a different breed of goose, so I ordered two Emdon goose eggs from Ebay. I also decided to order some more Orpington chicken eggs, as company for Maverick (my hens are old now and have stopped laying). They were all ordered on the Thursday, I hoped if they were posted on Friday, they would arrive Saturday and they could all go into the incubator together. Such a great plan. None of it worked very well…

Maverick
Goose

Monday, Day 1: Eggs had rested for 24 hours, so I washed them and added to incubator.[1] Ebay eggs not arrived. I put 4 fertile eggs into Goose nest, and scribbled on her infertile 4 with a pencil. Left eggs to warm for 24 hours.

Goose Eggs

Tuesday, Day 2: After 24 hours of warmth, I started to turn the incubator eggs, 3 times per day. Ebay eggs not arrived. Goose seems to be sitting on her nest.

Wednesday, Day 3: Continued to turn incubator eggs. Ebay eggs still not arrived. (Contacted the seller, who said he sent them via Evri the next day. Evri are useless in my experience, so I am worried.) Goose seems to be sitting on her nest, coming off to eat and stand in the paddling pool.

Thursday, Day 4: Continued to turn incubator eggs. Ebay eggs still not arrived. Goose nest a disaster! When I went today, she got off the nest and I could see signs of egg-eating. There are 5 remaining eggs.

I have no idea whether Goose ate the eggs I bought because she knew they weren’t her own, or if a rat got them, or if they were bad (hens will eat bad eggs to stop the nest being ruined). I could not see my pencil marks on any eggs at all. After much debate with Husband (who has a stake in this after driving all the way to Sheffield and back) I decided to remove 3 eggs from the nest and add them to the incubator. They were filthy, so I washed them—which at this stage may have killed them if they have been developing for 3 days but I worried about adding so much dirt to the incubator. I have no idea how many days they have been developing, if at all, so they might be behind the other eggs, or they might be the same as the other eggs, or they might be the infertile eggs that Goose laid. Not great.

Friday, we had a power cut. Big worry! I immediately started to think about whether I could move the incubator to a family home where they had power—but realised that moving the eggs at this stage would kill them. So would getting cold. I thought I probably had about an hour before they grew too cool (I immediately covered the incubator in towels). Husband then suggested it might work on a back-up battery he has for our alarm. I plugged it in, the incubator whirred back to life. Phew! (The power came back after about 30 minutes, but that wasn’t something predicable.) If these eggs hatch, I feel it will be a miracle, there are so many problems.

Saturday, Day 6: I filled the water reservoir in the incubator and noticed water leaking from the other side. Great, it has sprung a leak. The humidity inside was dropping. I added an egg cup of warm water, the humidity rose. But this will only work for a while. Long discussion with Husband. We decided that the incubator is about 15 years old, and has hatched many batches of eggs, maybe it’s time to replace it. We looked online.

There are hundreds of incubators to choose from, with varying reviews and very varied prices. My one is still sold, and is about 4x the price of most others. But it works really well, and regulates the humidity (when not broken) as well as the temperature and turning of the eggs. We decided that it was worth investing in the same one. Deep breath. Ordered it.

Day 7: I shone a light through the eggs. It’s a bit early, but I am impatient. It looks as if the 4 eggs I put straight into the incubator are all fertile. One of the eggs I rescued might be fertile, but the other two look as if they are not.

I really hope the one is, because that means Goose did not eat all the fertile eggs, and potentially might still be sitting on fertile eggs. She is, as far as I can see, sitting on two eggs now. Her eggs seem to be a little delayed, which would make sense if she didn’t actively sit on the nest for a day or two after I added the eggs. She’s very diligent, sits on her nest most of the time, coming off to wash and eat. It’s hard to keep her water clean because she adds lots of mud to it—plus of course there are the two ducks I shut in the cage.

Ducks are fun but terrible. They turn everything into mud soup. They are laying, and have made nests, but no sign of sitting. They are probably hoping another bird will come and sit for them. They race around the cage, digging up the mud with their beaks, splashing in any available water. Very messy. When they go near Goose she hisses at them, so they have stopped running into her nest (which they first did). I’m really hoping they sit soon, or I shall have to release them back onto the pond.

The Ebay eggs never arrived. Evri is hopeless. I informed the sellers—one is being helpful, the other one is being obstinate. I want him to refund my money, or I shall leave a terrible review. I have ordered 2 more batches of Buff Orpington eggs, which I might put into the old incubator as it’s still working (the new one arrived today). They should all hatch about the same time, which will mean two weeks of lots of work, but then they will all be independent by May, if it goes to plan.

Chicken Eggs. They finally arrived, 8 were fertile (out of 18 bought). No idea whether they will hatch, but am hopeful.

Day 10

I candled the eggs. It’s really hard to see inside because the shells are so thick. I do it at night, when it’s dark, and shine a very bright light through them. I think 3 are definitely fertile, 2 were not so I took them out. The rest I am not sure about. They look too dark to be unfertilised, but they are not as developed as the others—but they are the ones rescued from Goose, so maybe she didn’t sit consistently until a few days later. Ot they might be her infertile ones. I don’t want to risk throwing away a goose, so I will wait a couple more days. If they are not clearly developing (they should stop moving and appear as a solid dark lump) then I will take them out. The danger of leaving infertile eggs is they may go bad, and the fumes will kill the other eggs. I hate making these decisions because it’s so awful to get it wrong and kill something by mistake.

In the garden, Goose is firmly sitting on her two remaining eggs (which I fear may be infertile ones she laid). She has plucked out her breast feathers, and lined the nest with soft down. When she leaves the nest to eat and drink she makes a big fuss of covering the nest with hay, so it can’t be seen. One of the ducks is also nesting. The other duck was being disruptive, so I have put her back on the pond.

They build up the sides with hay and sticks, and line it with their own feathers to make a cosy enclosure around the eggs.

I need to decide when/if my incubator eggs hatch, whether to give them to Goose to raise. She is broody, so might raise them (which is the best scenario) but given that she ate the other eggs, I’m worried she might kill the hatchlings. I’m not sure I trust her now.

To add to the chaos, one of the ducks appeared on the pond with ducklings. Ducklings on the pond have never survived to adulthood–the crows and magpies eat them. I left her with 4, and took 4 into the garage where they will be safe. (To date, she has 3 left, so is doing better than expected.)

I hope your days are less chaotic. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

[1] There is much discussion online as to whether you should wash eggs before incubating them. I decided that the very dirty ones should be washed and added straight away. Washing them removes their protective coating, but dirt adds bacteria to the incubator. If you wash them in water warmer than the egg, it stops the bacteria entering the egg through osmosis (apparently).

Toddtown

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We spent the night at another motel, in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, then drove across the state to Alabama. When planning the route (with the ‘no highways’ option, so the roads were quiet and interesting) we spotted Toddtown. It appeared as a name on the map, and when we zoomed in, there appeared to be a road and a few houses. But it wasn’t far from our route, and we liked the name so decided to do a brief detour and photograph the town signpost.

It was Sunday, so we also discussed church, and whether to look online to find one to attend. I suggested that we just drove, and at about 10:30 we looked for a church, wherever we were, and attended their morning service. We had a plan.

The drive was pleasant—it’s what we like to do. We drove through several small towns, some richer than others. Unlike England, which tends to have a mix of houses in each town, the US tends to have towns that are either full of rich people, or ‘white collar workers’ or ‘blue collar workers.’ In Alabama, although race segregation is no longer a thing, most of the poorer towns seemed to have only black residents, and the richer towns were predominately white.

At about 10am, I started to look at the churches we passed, and then checked online for their service times. Most had an 11am service. One church, which looked promising, had an ‘all white congregation’ in the review, so we avoided that one. We arrived in Toddtown at 10:45. There was a road, a few houses, and a church (which wasn’t marked on Google maps). Perfect. A man arrived and we asked whether we could attend the service—he said we could—we went inside.

The church was wonderful, we received such a warm welcome. There were not many people, but I think everyone spoke to us, and there was something genuine in their welcome, they made us feel very at home. The service was slightly pentecostal in flavour—not something we are used to—but it was lovely. I felt I was amongst people who had come to worship God, and it was good to join them. We were the only white people, and I wondered whether if one of them had attended an all-white church they would have received such a warm welcome. I suspect not (which is perhaps unfair of me, I don’t know what the white churches in Alabama are like).

During the service, various people arrived at different times. There was a choir, all dressed in white, and a pianist. The pastor was a man, and he welcomed us from the pulpit when we arrived and then came and spoke to Husband during a break. (I think men and women probably had different roles in the church, although they had female deacons and the singing was led by a woman—but it was definitely men who welcomed Husband, and women who welcomed me.) The men who took the collection had matching red blazers. The congregation were all dressed smartly, the women wore quite fancy clothes so I was very pleased I had worn a dress (although I think they would have welcomed us whatever we wore—they were such a warm-hearted group).

We arrived during the end of their Sunday School. There was a short break, and then singing and prayers. Some of the songs were in a hymnal, some were sung line by line by the choir with each line repeated by the congregation. After each song the people voiced short prayers/expressions of worship, while the piano played.There were two collections, plus a call for ‘tithes’ when people walked to the front and put envelopes into a box. There was a Bible reading and sermon by the pastor. The sermon ended with an ‘altar call’ and they put a seat at the front, but no one sat in it, so they moved on. There was then communion, but we slipped out. We weren’t sure how long the service would last (I think a couple of hours) and we were mid-drive, so when people went to the front for communion it seemed an okay time to leave. I hope it wasn’t rude, because they were a lovely group of people and I would hate to offend them. (But communion is always complicated in unfamiliar churches, because they have different rules about who can take it, and a family had just arrived so we felt the congregation was fluid in when people arrived and left.)

I have really enjoyed attending different churches during our road trip. They all have a slightly different style, the way that people choose to worship is very personal. As people passing through, we have felt accepted by the three churches we attended, but the Toddtown church was by far the most welcoming. It blessed my soul to be there.

We continued our drive through Alabama, and stayed overnight at a motel in Enterprise. Another good day.

Was he naked?

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At college, we have been considering how other people’s interpretations of the Bible affect our own. This involved looking at some works of art, and considering whether we understood texts differently afterwards. I think I didn’t—though some of the ideas were very interesting.

One passage we looked at was after the resurrection, when the women found the empty tomb, and Mary (his friend, not his mother) sees Jesus but thinks he is the gardener. Some paintings showed Jesus shying away as she tried to touch his clothes—emphasizing that he told Mary not to touch him.

Some depicted Jesus wearing gardener clothes, to try and explain why Mary confused him with the gardener. I have never personally imagined Jesus in a floppy gardeners hat, or carrying a spade, but I guess it’s one possible reason why Mary was initially confused.

As someone pointed out, Jesus rose physically (his body got up again) and the grave clothes (which is what he was dressed in) were found folded in the tomb. So, what was he wearing? Did he leave the tomb naked? (Not something mentioned at Sunday School). Did he perhaps borrow the gardeners clothes, thus confusing Mary? I guess it’s possible.

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/468532
The Resurrected Christ Appearing to Mary Magdalene in the Garden
South Netherlandish ca. 1500-1520

(Jesus is holding a gardener’s spade. And has no clothes.)

Jacopo di Cione ca.1368
(Jesus is holding a gardener’s axe.)

Jesus appearing to the Magdalene
by Fra Angelico
(Jesus is shown holding a gardener’s axe, and is avoiding her hand.)

The thing is, I don’t think what physically happened at the resurrection is discussed much. We consider the theology of the situation– why did Jesus die and rise again? What difference did it make to our relationship with God? And we talk about the reaction to the resurrection, that his disciples changed and stopped hiding after they saw him. But as to what happened physically? That’s not something I have thought about. A man’s body is a big thing to hide, so where did Jesus go between rising and seeing people? And why could people not touch him, when he touched things like bread and ate it? Would touching him have affected Jesus, or affected the people?

Something for you to think about. Hope you have a great day. Thanks for reading.

Love, Anne x