The Sermon

“The Sermon
by Alan Bennett,
from the revue Beyond The Fringe.


Take a Pew

First verse of the fourteenth chapter of the Second Book of Kings: 'And
he said, "But my brother Esau is an hairy man, but I am a smooth man."'
Perhaps I might say the same thing in a different way by quoting you the
words of that grand old English poet, W.E. Henley, who said:

When that One Great Scorer comes
To mark against your name
It matters not who won or lost,
But how you played the game.

'But how you played the game.' Words very meaningful and significant for
us here, together, tonight. Words which we might do very much worse
than to consider. And I use this word 'consider' advisedly. Because I am
using it, you see, in its original sense of 'con-sid—er', of putting one's self
in the way of thinking about something.

I want us here, together, tonight to put ourselves in the way of thinking
about... to put ourselves in the way of thinking about, ummh ... what we
ought to be putting ourselves in the way of thinking about.

As I was on my way here tonight, I arrived at the station and by an
oversight I happened to go out by the way one is supposed to come in.
As I was going out, an employee of the railway company hailed me, 'Hey
Jack!' he shouted, 'Where do you think you're going?' That, at any rate,
was the gist of what he said! But you know, I was grateful to him because,
you see, he put me in mind of the kind of question I felt I ought to be
asking you here tonight: 'Where do you think you're going?'

Very many years ago, when I was about as old as some of you are now,
I went mountain climbing in Scotland with a friend of mine. And there
was this mountain, you see, and we decided to climb it. All day we
climbed—up and up and up —higher and higher and higher—until the
valley lay very small below us, and the mists of the evening began to
come down, and the sun to set. And when we reached the summit, we
sat down to watch this magnificent sight of the sun going down behind
the mountains. And as we watched, my friend, very suddenly, and
violently, vomited.

Some of us think life's a bit like that, don't we? But it isn't. Life, you know,
is rather like opening a tin of sardines. We all of us are looking for the
key. And I wonder how many of you here tonight have wasted years of
your lives looking behind the kitchen dressers of this life for that key. I
know I have. Others think they've found the key, don't they? They roll
back the lid of the sardine tin of life. They reveal the sardines—the riches
of life—therein, and they get them out, and they enjoy them. But, you
know, there's always a little bit in the corner you can't get out. I wonder
is there a little bit in the corner of your life? I know there is in mine!

And so now I draw to a close. I want you, when you go out into the world,
in times of trouble and sorrow and hopelessness and despair, amid the
hurley-burley of modern life. If ever you're tempted to say: 'Stuff this for a
lark!', I want you, at such times, to cast your minds back to the words of
my first text to you tonight: 'But my brother Esau is an hairy man, but I am
a smooth man.'”

“"Is there a little bit in the corner of your life?"

<VBG>”