As the warm days of summer give way to chill, and shadows grow longer as days shed their hours.
High winds and rain storms scrub the tired landscape down.
Colours are changing from rich green to gold, from yellow to red and orange to brown.

The grain has been gathered, wheat, barley and oats, cut and collected, sifted and sorted and put into store.
Grown by God, and by man with machine and by effort of hand.
Poppies and stalks now mark the spot, of the return for their labour. The wealth of the land.

Birds follow the tractor, rising and falling, swirling and soaring they move like a cloud.
The farmer is out and turning the stubble into the ground.
Rooks and crows, gulls and wood pigeons, starlings and magpies follow him round.

Hay long since mown is now bailed and in barns, or rolled up and bagged, ferments now in high silage towers.
The countryside has yielded reward for all Adam’s toil.
Work done in rhythm with the seasons, sowing, growing, reaping, ploughing and tilling the soil.

Gathering goodness, from garden, and greenhouse, carrots and courgettes, tomatoes in bunches.
Fresher than any you can get in the shops.
Picking the bounty gleaned from the hedgerow. Rosehips and cobnuts, damsons and hops.

Elder and sorrel, mushrooms and puffballs, sour green crab apples, and brambles in tangles.
Sloes that were missed by the late winter frost.
Not all are pleasant and some really can hurt you, pick only those that you know and trust.

Take full advantage of God’s generosity, share it with gladness, with thanks, there is plenty for all.
Sticky syrups and cider, wines, cordial and beer.
Pies, puddings, sorbets and ice creams, jam, jelly, and chutney and enough pickles to last into next year.

As the warm days of summer give way to chill, and shadows grow longer as days shed their hours.
High winds and rain storms scrub the tired landscape down.
Colours are changing from rich green to gold, from yellow to red and orange to brown.

Many are the word and phrases
Other minds can oft times frame
Laughs and tears our efforts gain us
Eternity is not our friend

More there is that we can utter
Open minds may let us see
Lovers foemen heroes vile-ones
Even these we must defend

Maybe we can live in concord
Only time drags at our heels
Lives we have and we must live them
Exist Believe become be real
So we are and we descend.

Seven forty five we start to arrive
To tea coffee water or squash
We’re all there by eight and no one is late
Not without a good reason or ten
There’s Barry, and Michael (his brother) and several others
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Keeping it neat in our stocking feet
We find ourselves somewhere to sit
We all bring a bible and some bring a bottle
And some come with paper and pen
There’s Anita and Jill and some others still
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Breaking the ice with something nice
That’s happened to you in the week
We go round the room and each takes their turn
Telling what happened to them
There’s Geraldine, Barbara, and others we’ve seen
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Now the serious bit we listen to it
From a tape or on D.V.D.
Then we split to discuss not shouting too much
Taking care not to deafen
Hosts Pauline and Paul and that’s not all
There’s Sharon and Karen and Ken

From heated debate before it gets late
We gather our thoughts and pause
We offer a prayer for those who aren’t there
For the world and for the church Amen
From Wendy and John and I should mention
Sharon and Karen and Ken

Then a choice of drink what do you think
Of squash or coffee or tea
Now a glass of red wine that would be fine
It’s hard to know when to say when
For David and others I won’t mention (the brothers)
Or Sharon and Karen and Ken

The truth the whole truth and nothing but the truthYou little liarTell the truth and shame the devilIt wasn’t meThe truth the whole truth and nothing like the truthRead my lipsLies all liesA lie is a poor foundationThe truth will outA lie is a tool that will turn against the one who wields itI must confessSo help me God

Sheltered here in this room.
Drawn by need and invitation.
Protected by the sacrificial blood.
We share the meal of meaning.

Bless this bread to us.
Broken body symbolised.
Bread that will sustain us.
Wine, strong on the lips.

Can you taste the love and sadness?
Gratitude and praise in an act of remembering?
Of realisation, that we must accept the sacrifice.
The lamb of God, without blemish.

Or the scapegoat.
Taking our sins.
What a burden!
Carrying a cross was the least of it.

We remember how you love to party.
How you lived.
Loved the seekers.
And ate with sinners.

You are here now, still pierced.
But alive!
Your presence lifts us.
Your spirit fills us.

Lord in this bread and wine we join with you.
With each other.
And with all the body of Christ.
In this act of communion.

The opus begins in a tentative way
Each character playing their signature phrase
With gesture, with posture, with rhythm and grace
The dancers then enter the stage.

The conductors baton, Imposing control
Directing the tempo and pace
Blues jazz folk rock, rap and rounds
The singers are finding a voice.

The orators speak, the actors declaim
Crafted prose flows from their lips
While jesters and. punsters, irrepressible funsters
Are gagging and cracking their quips.


The master of ceremonies calls all the spots
He hopes the production will gell
The shifters and movers, and technical groovers
Do their jobs amazingly well.


The instruments thunder, brass blares, and strings soar
Drums are the loudest by far
Then silence descends, a pause, the applause
That’s all folks, lets go to the bar.

I am a brief spark.

A bright small spot against a dark sky.

Yet I am sent.

Sent to burn brightly.

Bring a little light and warmth to the world.

If the wind blows me.

I may ignite a fire, in the tender tinder,

Forgotten in some corner.

And release more brief sparks.

To fill the dark with glory.

Imagine a piece of paper pinned up in pride of place.

On that paper drawn in colourful red crayon is a big round oval.
In the oval are two big blue blobs for eyes, and beneath them is a big arc of red forming a smiling mouth.
All around the top and sides of the round red face are masses of yellow scribble hair.

Beneath the face is a triangle outlined in blue, with the sharpest point at the top.
Two stick like arms with twig like hands stick out at the sides, and two sticks at the bottom finished with red blobs form the legs and feet.

Beneath the feet you can make out the words “my mummy”

Mummy loves that picture. It brings a happy smile to her face every time she sees it.



Our worship is as special to God as that picture is to mummy.