Part the curtains

I went with the Bishop fo Grantham to a Confirmation Service at St. George’s Church in Stamford.  It was a great service and there was a time of sharing of faith…why the candidates  had chosen to / been called to be confirmed within the service.  Katrina shared this poem she had written:

Part The Curtains

Does not beauty shine forth behind the clouds?
Does not light overrule the darkness?
 
God’s light is like the sun above the clouds,
Always present.
And when the clouds part, does not a banner of hope come forth?
 
A golden beacon,
A candle in the dark.
 
Does not a smile appear upon your face,
At the sight of such beauty and hope?
 
Don’t give up hoping,
Don’t live in despair.
 
Christ is watching from behind the clouds,
Waiting for you to part the curtains,
 And embrace the light.

By Katrina Sissins

I’ll sing a song for you (via Bishop Tim Ellis’s Weblog)

Advanced notice of an Evening with the Bishop of Grantham….it sounds like it’s going to be a great evening. I’d get your tickets quick as I’m sure they will soon sell out this unique event.

I'll sing a song for you I’d like to give you advance notice of an event I’m involved in on the evening of Saturday 20 November in St Mary le Wigford Church (right next to the station in downhill Lincoln) to raise money for the Be-Attitude project for the homeless. There will be three main acts on the bill, with Tim Williams, the fine pianist and organist from St Wulfram’s, Grantham treating us to some excellent contemporary music; the Diocesan Director Ordinands Dr Jef … Read More

via Bishop Tim Ellis’s Weblog

Diary of a Church Mouse

It’s Harvest time again….here is a harvest poem….

The Diary of a Church Mouse  by John Betjeman

Here among long-discarded cassocks,
Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks,
Here where the vicar never looks
I nibble through old service books.
Lean and alone I spend my days
Behind this Church of England baize.
I share my dark forgotten room
With two oil-lamps and half a broom.
 The cleaner never bothers me,
So here I eat my frugal tea.
My bread is sawdust mixed with straw;
My jam is polish for the floor.
Christmas and Easter may be feasts
For congregations and for priests,
And so may Whitsun. All the same,
They do not fill my meagre frame.
For me the only feast at all
Is Autumn’s Harvest Festival,
When I can satisfy my want
With ears of corn around the font.
I climb the eagle’s brazen head
To burrow through a loaf of bread.
I scramble up the pulpit stair
And gnaw the marrows hanging there.
It is enjoyable to taste
These items ere they go to waste,
But how annoying when one finds
That other mice with pagan minds
Come into church my food to share
Who have no proper business there.
Two field mice who have no desire
To be baptized, invade the choir.
A large and most unfriendly rat
Comes in to see what we are at.
He says he thinks there is no God
And yet he comes … it’s rather odd.
This year he stole a sheaf of wheat
(It screened our special preacher’s seat),
And prosperous mice from fields away
Come in to hear our organ play,
And under cover of its notes
Ate through the altar’s sheaf of oats.
 A Low Church mouse, who thinks that
I Am too papistical, and High,
Yet somehow doesn’t think it wrong
To munch through Harvest Evensong,
While I, who starve the whole year through,
Must share my food with rodents who
Except at this time of the year
Not once inside the church appear.
Within the human world I know
Such goings-on could not be so,
For human beings only do
What their religion tells them to.
They read the Bible every day
And always, night and morning, pray,
 And just like me, the good church mouse,
Worship each week in God’s own house,
But all the same it’s strange to me
How very full the church can be
With people I don’t see at all
Except at Harvest Festival.