Time and Social Costruction of Realty

When blogger Anglican was a kid back in the post war era of rationing, castor oil and film noir auotomobiles, reality was pretty much what we were told in "the media" ( wassssat? I cry supping my retro bottle of Coca-Cola: cue Saturday Evening Post; Norman Rockwell and visual jingles of 1950's rural America).

Now we are all media savy avatars in a brave new world of smartphones and twitterers; we tend to worry less about standing for the National Anthem or straining over our Christmas Day Turkey to watch intravenous retro televison flicker the Christmas Day Message from her Majesty: a kind of Narnian otherworldness tablieu of marble halls and kind benificent folk.

No: today the cynical anti-utopian fog is inexorably creeping upon our folk-village hinterlands as we become assimilated into the Borgian cube shaped world of automaton machine ideology.

Wet morning Monday: your sitting in the train with your Telegraph reading about the malfeasant shenanigans of MPs and their duck pond house-world of sybaritic self indulgence: "moats" and rafters you say? I'm in the wrong lifeworld. Reprogram? Yes.

Photopolitico: "Rules are ok; media witch hunt-trust me "I'm a pretty straight kinda guy". The insolent rictus gazes back at you in a banal stare of self-referencing benign indifference.

Nope: staying safe in a provocative anti-utopian world means that we need to keep examining ourselves ( as St. Paul roundly chastens) that we too have not slipped into that happy delusional state of the Garden Party in Alice in Wonderland.

Croquet anyone?

Press caught a sad arraviste on a manicured lawn; sunshot vistas, more photos. This construction of reality is that what we hope we think we are, is what we hope the gallery may infer from our those insignificant signifieds we think are so important.

"Off with his head"might be the madrigal of the tabloid media Sans-culotes; but in the Anglican Church we try to take the more measured view: not for us is the broad road of censorious vituperation: we are generally more understanding of human fraility in a world full of sound and fury and a disillusioned demos.

The problem with politics is that its rather like having an delusonally sociopathic mother in law who insists on cringeworthy self-referencing homilies with the fixed rictus of one who as quite as ease withal. "We know best dear! don't make a fuss-we all work within she rules- our rules that is," she purrs contendedly".

The real challenge for us all is that for Christians the essential eternal verities really do not change. Our social construction of reality adapts to the new millenium, but Christ remains the loadstone in our brief sojourn in our multiverse hinterland: unsuprisingly, we are challenged and at times, the existential pathway delving into the canyons of human egotism and veniality is oftentimes arduous and dispiriting: but then, we "have a house not made with hands..."

Well I'm off to bed now with my warm milk and my Saturday Evening Post to read of a happier, less intellectually arduous world of svelte factotum moms caught, tabieu vivant, in riddiculously clean kitchens: and 30 a day father benignly smiling into his Daily Telegraph.