By Rev Paul Graham
We’re approaching that time of the year when ITV likes to remind us that this country has talent. Once again, the evenings will be given over to the search for the most talented singer, magician, comedian, juggler, knife-thrower, dog act, choir or whoever grips the attention of the millions who watch avidly. This is a competition that repeatedly presents a performing platform to many who frankly shouldn’t be allowed 100 yards of a stage; their efforts are cheered, applauded, derided or booed in turn, many falling foul of the glowing red Xs and death knell buzzers of the judges.
Vicky and the boys are part of the global phenomenon that watch, sometimes in awe of the spectacle of undoubted talent on display, sometimes cringing with the rest of the audience at the hopeless antics of those who stretch the definition of the word “talent” to its limits. Sometimes I’ll be coerced into watching a particularly virtuoso performance, and even cynical ol’ me can appreciate that amidst the dross the occasional diamond sparkles.
The trouble is, I quite like “Britain’s Got Talent”, but only because it allows me time to do something else. Anything else. Other than watch it, that is.
Last year, for example, I spent many happy hours ignoring what was going on on-screen making up a jigsaw puzzle. It was one that depicted two steam trains (what else?) approaching a station. Lots of steam, quite a few bricks and a quantity of track to keep me absorbed as the buzzers sounded and the audience bayed in the background.
I do enjoy a jigsaw puzzle. Some of you will have gone to Kedington’s jigsaw festival last year, possibly even putting some together for display and sale. We went and came back with an armful of puzzles, at least one of which is waiting for this year’s “Britain’s Got Talent” to put in an appearance.
My love of jigsaw puzzles stems from early memories of movie tie-ins; images from Star Wars and ET cut into 150 pieces for me to reconstruct whilst playing through those scenes in my imagination (I always wanted to be Han Solo and craved a shopping basket on the front of my bike). I still have some of those puzzles and there’s a nostalgically wistful sigh that makes me smile at the thought of them.
Another jigsaw-related memory also brings a smile to my face. I can picture myself sitting in a large dining hall, confronted by a part-finished puzzle, with a stranger or two in attendance, chatting over the pieces that will ultimately resemble the great dining hall at Buckingham palace (many chairs upholstered in red velvet, if memory serves). This particular puzzle, and others of its sort, was a meeting place for anyone who happened to be staying in the Guest House at Miango, a few miles outside Jos, where we lived in Nigeria.
The Guest House, run by a delightful American couple who completed each communal meal with a gravely intoned “we are excused”, was a place of sanctuary for weary missionaries, frazzled by months in the field. The food was top-notch, the care was excellent and the paths around the compound ripe for cycling and exploring. We spent many a happy week there over our four years, but it is the jigsaw puzzles that stand out in the memory.
Though popular with many exhausted missionaries staying, the Guest House was rarely full; certainly there was always space in the dining hall at mealtimes. This meant that one table could be left for the jigsaw puzzle; a meeting place for anyone and everyone who wanted to spend a few minutes (or hours) getting closer to the finished article.
And, once the puzzle was finished, there was always another box to open, another pile of pieces to sort and another picture to construct.
I can’t tell you how many hours I spent leaning over the puzzles of Miango, nor how many people would I be able to recognise by their hands and the way they gripped an edge piece rather than from their faces. This was the joy of the community; we met over the puzzle, joined by a mutual desire to put in “just one more piece” before going our separate ways.
In finishing this article, I want to pose some questions that might just prompt discussion, possibly disagreement, but hopefully might take us forward. I’ve deliberately put them in the first person, as I want to challenge myself as well…
- Have I been guilty of treating people like contestants on “Britain’s Got Talent”? Have I dismissed them because they didn’t come up to my standards? Or have I put them on a pedestal, at a cost to others?
- Have I treated church like a talent show? If the music wasn’t to my taste, or the preaching didn’t say what I wanted it to say, or wasn’t “good” enough for me, have I metaphorically pushed my own buzzer and moved on?
- Thinking of church, is it helpful to think of church as being like a jigsaw puzzle; many pieces making up one picture? If so, what is the picture that is being shown by the pieces of the church here in Clare?
- Using the same metaphor, do I feel like a part of that puzzle? If so, where in the puzzle do I fit and who are the pieces around me?
- Finally, we’re going to be exploring what it means to be a member of Clare Baptist Church in the coming months. If the jigsaw puzzle can also be used more specifically as a metaphor for church membership, what is it that connects us to each other?
“Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it” 1 Corinthians 12:27
