The Final Fireworks

It’s firework season. Last night, returning from a home visit, there were brilliant pyrotechnic displays coming from farmers’ fields, municipal parks and private back yards. Red, green, yellow and white exothermic chemical reactions lit up the sky; bangs, crackles, thuds and whistles provided the musical accompaniment. A good firework display is worth ten minutes of anyone’s time as well as the extra threepence on the rates.

The origin of this annual light show is of course the Catholic plotters’ attempt to blow up the Protestant Parliament in 1605. Dissatisfied with MPs’ and the King’s policies towards quiet Catholic subjects, they sought to end their power once and for all, blowing them up to illuminate the heavens. The scheme failed and we’ve enthusiastically commemorated it ever since. 

My opinions of contemporary MPs are little improved on Catesby’s and Fawkes’. Boris Johnson wrote to me this week, suddenly curious about my views on the NHS, desiring the completion of a survey. It’s a bit late for that now. If he was a man of his word, he’d currently be seven days dead in a ditch. The sanctimonious Jo Swinson is promising to over-turn a referendum which her own party called for as early as 2008. She also ruled out a re-run of the Scottish Independence referendum, while demanding a re-run of EU vote. I guess it all depends on whether Jo approves of the result. 

I’ve always admired our Parliament and national institutions, but I’ll confess to savouring this year’s fireworks more than usual, considering their association with Fawkes' plans. 2 Peter 3:10 goes further, anticipating the combustion of our entire, rotten civilisation:

But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night, in which the heavens will pass away with a great noise, and the elements will melt with fervent heat; both the earth and the works that are in it will be burned up.

Now that’s going to be a firework display really worth seeing. 

Image by Eric Spaete from Pixabay