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When I was ten my youngest brother Philip was born. In those days women who gave birth spent several days in hospital. So my father was left in charge of his three other sons. He was very competent and well able to manage. However some of his lady admirers in our church thought he needed a hand and one of them made us a huge pink blancmange. This particular lady was kind hearted but black eyed and fierce. My mother never knew how to handle her. She needed to be treated with coarse good humour and made much of. She was not especially loveable but could have done with plenty of loving, tender, care.
The pink blancmange flattered to deceive. It was substantial and it looked good. There is no doubt that it was substantial! It is amazing that anything that quivered so much could be so solid. It could only be eaten in small mouthfuls and they took a lot of chewing. That blancmange was much like its maker - unyielding, obdurate and without charm. We seemed to eat it at every meal and still couldn't finish it off. Castaways on a desert island would have survived on it for weeks. In the end my father despaired and put it out in the kitchen for the cat to eat. This was a mistake. I, young though I was, realised it was a mistake. The blancmange maker was due to baby sit that night. My father went off blithely to visit his beautiful wife and I was left at the mercy of the baby sitter. When she saw the remnants of her pink blancmange in the cat bowl on the kitchen floor all hell broke loose. Her ire was turned on me. "You ungrateful little boys," she fumed, "Is that all my lovely blancmange is good for - the cat! It's the last time I'll make you anything." I wasn't to blame. My father was to blame and he was enjoying a cosy bedside chat with his wife and cuddling his newly born son. The wretched cat was to blame for steadfastly refusing to so much as nibble at the pink concoction. But I took the blame and I didn't like it. It is NEVER easy to take the blame for something you are not responsible for. In Isaiah we read, he was pierced for our iniquities, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. We should remember sometimes just how disagreeable it was for Jesus to take the blame for us.
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