Kwai so long, Mr Bridge?

This evening I am watching that all-time classic of films The Bridge On The River Kwai: unadulterated war drama truth-action genius quality reflectertainment) contemplating the point of my existence after this morning I had the delightful pleasure (to wake me up and propel me whistling into the Spring morning) of clearing a blockage in the toilet with just a bent metal skewer and two plastic bags. I have often been quite pleased with my purposeful negligence in NOT owning a toilet brush, for they are foul, disgusting items that deserve no floor space in the general peeing area of my admittedly seat sprinkling aim. However, this morning my suspicion that one day that principle would prove over zealous and maybe just a little foolhardy was realised. Having sent the missus out to B&Q to go buy one (oh, come on; she was going near there anyway! Besides - she deserved to go because of her woeful handling of the situation: Rule Number One - NEVER flush unless you know the blockage has been dislodged - hence the two plastic bags that still didn't suffice depth-wise) anyway I got impatient and overly conscious of the mess that simply could not be hidden to my obsessively disordered mind by a plastic seat and its lid and started to improvise. Perhaps my strength and weakness of character is that I like to feel I can overcome pretty much any obstacle if I have to (especially if it becomes unavoidable). The really sick thing about it all from my point of view is that despite the blockage being mainly innocent toilet paper (used to mop up the water little Holly had cheerfully drained over the bathroom shelves before we had amassed any kind of reasonable consciousness this morning) the last straw on the camels back was a hardy turd that was not of my making.

At this point I'm trying to avoid drawing any comparisons from the juxtaposition of this story and the huge edifice on my telly; assembled in the most eye watering of circumstances on the banks of the sewagey river Kwai... please just appreciate that. Thanks.

The missus is away for a week performing with her band Golddigger at Spring Harvest, which is why I'm perhaps a little more ebulliant about manly ('childishly gross') things than normal. (I'd like to say I'm the same mature, level headed gentle man whether she is around or not, but let's be frank, she brings out those better qualities in me). While the cat is away the mouse believes he can play but largely things are much the same... in fact I'll be in bed way before I normally would!

Oh! The Kwai Bridge has just been blown up (sorry if you've never seen it!) and the last words have rung out before the ending titles, "Madness. Madness." Great film; great thought provoking sentiments - a regiment is captured during the 2nd World War and put to work building a bridge over the eponymous river. However, the Japanese Commander is incompetent and the British troops expertly waste their time dicking around in the water. However, our proud and dynamic British leadership persuades the enemy to let us build the bridge and boy do we do a good job! Build a great bridge for the enemy? 'Are you crazy?' I hear you cry - yes! But in true British, stiff-upper-lip time honoured pride.

The questions 'what does it mean to be British and/or white?' are ones that are pinching me at the moment; probably all of us in some way, and this film may have some pointers I didn't expect - I thought I had come to the conclusion that being English was about adaptability; the ability to cope with change and remain on the rise and running with the big boys. I guess that is the modern take on the 'stiff-upper-lip' that the film does actually proffer but it also engages deeper truths. The following is my [in no way verbatim] account of a conversation about the building of the bridge between the British Colonel (BC) or whatever he is - and the Regiment's doctor (RD) who expresses reservations about helping the enemy by building a better bridge than they could have managed:

(BC) We are prisoners of war - we have no choice to turn down work.

(RD) Yes sir but do we have to do the work quite so well?

(BC) Do you want this regiment to disintegrate, General? These men need work to do or they will become a rabble. Don't you realise how important it is we show the enemy that not only can we do this but how well we can do it - and the pride we will have in it too. In a few years, this bridge will be finished and the people who use it will know how it was built and who built it.

I once received a postcard from a school friend who actually visited the river Kwai on a world-wide travel holiday. The picture of the current bridge conjured for me many emotions of both captivity and freedom. This week, it is mildly exciting for me to be unhindered master of my own estate for a while Mandy is away; albeit it largely placebo - and with two young children in tow. However, like the troops in the film, if left to my own devices before long I may end up splashing around aimlessly in the mucky water, looking like I am busily building something; but Man - this man - needs occupation; goals; future; destiny; hope; skewers, toilets and resourcefulness (- or wars, bridges and stubborness). In the beginning, God gave us work, not as punishment, but as a gift. When we fell, he made it harder - as a punishment - but it was still a positive element of creation. I feel the work I do as a Christian Youthworker is a good contribution to building a good 'bridge' - not for a Japanese enemy but for an all-powerful friend and celestial boss. Sometimes, however, I wonder if I am polishing loose bolts rather than connecting struts. I fell in to Youthwork (by God's push) but I often wonder if (and when) I will end up successfully pursuing the passion and prophesies I hold from before then. Perhaps I should find that postcard and put it in my Bible among other bits and pieces that contribute(d) to my journey.

Every one of us uses our God given life both for selfless good (clearing toilets) and selfish indulgence. I believe everyone has been forgiven of our inherent, and behavioral, selfishness - our sin - but we have to choose to accept it and put our faith in Jesus for it to have effect in our eternity. The forgiving has been done: once and for all. My eternity is secure - but how will my work stand in the cold light of Morning Star? The enduring choice we all have from Eden to Armageddon is how - and for what - we occupy ourselves; our resourcefulness and abilities. My insecurities about my endeavours and their greater value though have this one reprieve - that just as the work of the WW2 soldiers was creditworthy whether the bridge had remained or not, my attitude in building can still be pleasing to God even though the choice about whether or not it gets blown up at the end of my life's movie remains firmly Gods. Is it the usefulness of my fully functional WC - or my heart in fixing it, that is important and will not be burned on the judgment day? Well that question is perhaps not too hard, put like that; but is it my youth work that seems to be a valid part of God's universal 'bridge' - or my heart in serving as a youthworker that will stand? I'm fairly sure I'm not; but have you heard the phrase 'there's no point polishing a turd?'