The other day I was opening the post that had arrived in school. It was a huge bundle of stuff, all neatly held together with two elastic bands stretched perpendicular to each other. Once all the catalogues, that arrive at this time of year, had been separated out, it took probably less than five minutes to sort the rest into three piles, one lot that definitely required a second look, a second group that might be worth investigating and a third lot that was going straight to the bin, along with the remains of my banana skin. In the next five minuites, most of the second pile had joined the latter in the filing system for homeless letters and then there only remained a few envelopes in the first lot and most of these were invoices. But I couldn't help thinking how much paper had been wasted already and how the black plastic bin in the corner was already more than half full and it was only ten thirty in the morning. In there, lay a colelction of letters and pamphlets, mostly trying to sell us something for which we had absolutely no need. There were offers to help us fund raise by selling pens, of which probably only ninety per cent worked, selling mugs with the school name on the side, that you wouldn't even buy in a tacky shop at the seaside, special offers on new software, reading schemes, Maths books, Science equipment and of course lots of things to use on the 'whiteboard', the most talked about invention since Moses picked up a piece of stone and wrote 'Thou shalt not kill' on it. Then there were those companies and charities that were less discrete, indeed quite forthright in asking us to support their particular cause and everything was clearly displayed on their glossy pamphlets, banners and stickers. It did occur to me, not for the first time, that if they had not spent so much money on all this promotion, they might have had a bit more money for their cause in the first place. So how does one decide what to throw out and what to keep. I guess it's often a matter of presentation for I think we all instantly recognise certain types of letters that arrive through our post box. You know, the ones that bring telephone, television and electricity bills, insurance renewal premiums on the house or car, the envelope that warns you your car tax is due or the MOT certificate is about to expire. The brown envelope with the words 'inland revenue' stretched across the reverse side or the familiar credit card and bank account statements . You know the sort I mean, letters that you simply would be silly to avoid for they'll find you in the end. And you see, such envelopes never spell our name wrong. That's why I'm almost always wary of letters arriving where the letters in my surname aren't exactly correct. Someone hasn't done their homework or at least hasn't taken much care.
But there are letters I just love to get, like birthday cards, though obviously I'd prefer the card not to have to play a tune or sport a badge declaring how many years I have now been living. And it's nice to get invitations to parties, weddings or other special events and to receive a letter form my mate in Australia, though since the advent of email, I don't have to wait weeks for a reply anymore. And of course everyone just loves to get that old pay cheque slipping in through the letter box, but it seems to arrive so seldom compared to the bills!
One letter that we get in out house every year, usually arrives at the beginning of February. I can't wait to receive it and am so expectant that I rarely sleep soundly the night before it arrives and am so impatient on the morning it comes that I often go and find the post man before he reaches our house. I have to confess, on more than one occasion, I have been slightly nervous opening it and I'm sure others feel the same, for inside the envelope will be results of the Transfer Test for all my pupils who have sat the exam. I can imagine the scene in homes all over the province as parents and children find out that all important grade. Anyway, next year will be the last time, that envelope will drop into our letter box, if the government has its way and I have to say that with it will go a certain sense of nervous anticipation that I feel on that morning. And I also often miss Seamus, out postman for most of my married life who now works elsewhere for he and I had some great chats about sport and other things over coffee on a morning when he wasn't rushing and many February mornings he would meet me at the most unexpected places and times to deliver that all important envelope.
I can imagine the same sort of anticipation among the Christians of the early church communities when the letters that Paul had written to them would arrive on their doorsteps. What would he be saying this time, what advice and encouragement would they receive, what news of himself and his friends would he send and what reprimand might his letter also carry. I wonder how they reacted when they knew that no more letters would be arriving from the great apostle.
We have a box or two at home where we keep important letters we have received down the years. Some date back to long before we were married and occasionally we read them. And although they are unimportant to anyone else, they are special to both of us. Yet Paul's letters have been preserved for some much longer and are important to more than the select band of Christians to whom they were originally addressed for even today, they give us a glimpse of Jesus in every sentence.
But the post is of little use without the messenger. Paul says, 'How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news.' When is your next delivery?
