Sunday 30 March 2008

Under the clothes

I need to see Jim today.

We're off on holiday this week and I won't have another chance.

Jim had a stroke years ago and keeps falling at home.

This time he's really done it. A broken hip.

I go to the ward, but they're working with him.
So I take myself down to the chapel to pass the time.

I've never been in this room before
but already I love it.

The low lighting,
the space
the artwork.

And best of all
the background hum of the air conditioning.

Sitting there, alone,
I'm back under the clothes.

I'm three or four, I think,
and it's wash day.

Mum working the twin tub,
pulled out from under the draining board.

I love to burrow
under the warm, spun dry clothes
and hide in the darkness,
sidling up to the cosy metal
and feeling the vibrations
pulse through my wee body.

And the low thrum of the machinery
lulls me better than any cradle song.

This is a womb.
And in the womb of my soul
the seed of the numinous is planted.

And the glory of this little idiosyncrasy;
this spiritual fingerprint,
is that any time I hear the quiet hum
of a machine going about its business,
it takes me back under the clothes
to feel again the warm contentment of innocence.

Mum is there,
God is there
and all is well.

Friday 21 March 2008

A Good Friday

The phone rang at 9:15am and usually that means only one thing. Another death call.

So I picked up the handset with an already heavy heart.


But this time it was different. One of my elders with the good news that her daughter had given birth to a baby girl.

This was better news than normal.

Some people you just will to get a break in life.
New mum is one of those.

A few years ago this poor young woman
lost her husband and twin babies in a matter of months.

And still she comes to church.

God bless her. God bless them all.

Life comes, even in the midst of death.

**********************************

After hours slaving away over a hot PC to get things together for tonight's service, I had to laugh when a powercut at 7:15 put paid to another Powerpoint extravaganza.

The sight of Willem Defoe naked on a cross will have to wait for another year.

We decanted to the hall, taking only what we needed,
and had our service by the dim security bulbs,
candle and torchlight.

We sang a-capella, with a little guitar accompaniment,
and with readings and prayers,
one by one
we stripped away the layers of coloured cloth
we'd placed upon the cross.

Gold for heaven.
Silver for Sinai.
Red for the Temple.
White for the swaddling.
Brown for the carpenter.
Bloodstained for the crucified.

God, seeking to be understood,
peeling off layers of mystery
'til finally naked.
Stripped of clothing, friends and life itself.

God, whose face we cannot look upon,
hanging dead in the sky for all to see.

Wednesday 19 March 2008

Peched Oot

Those of you who are clergy (or obliged to live with them) will understand the pressures of this week with so many extra services to prepare for, and the need to keep things fresh for people because these stories are so familiar. It's hard hard work - hence no new posts for a while.

But I had to tell you of a couple of funnies which, though rather irreverent, made us laugh this week.

Rosie came through late last night to ask how things were going with the Good Friday service, to which I replied "Good. I think I've nailed it". Whoops.

Then today, Pudge toddled through into the study where we have a five-foot cross waiting to be taken over to the church. Rosie followed her in and noticed Pudge straining and red faced as she stood and looked up at the cross. She pointed this out to me and before I could stop myself I said "Yes - that's her leaving her heavy load at the foot of the cross".....

Sorry Lord. I'm sure you understand.

Monday 10 March 2008

In the soup

A choice phrase leapt out at me from our Social Committee's most recent minutes. These are prepared by someone we really appreciate in St Hackett's - one of the good guys - but my oh my how I laughed when I read it.

There was a bit of dispute about the quality of the food at our Burns Supper (in my view it was fine), especially the cock-a-leekie soup which was a bit stringy.

The phrase in question?

"It was agreed that the leeks could have been cut smaller".

What was it Jesus said about straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel?

Tuesday 4 March 2008

My Lovely Poem

No hits on that last post.

It really shouldn't bother me, but it does.

I feel like Ted and Dougal at the Eurovision Song Contest.

Nil Points from the jury from Blogland!