Mummy went to Heaven, but I need her here today,
My tummy hurts and I fell down, I need her right away.
Operator can you tell me how to find her in this book?
Is Heaven in the yellow part, I don’t know where to look.
I think my daddy needs her too, at night I hear him cry.
I hear him call her name sometimes, but I really don’t know why.
Maybe if I call her, she will hurry home to me.
Is Heaven very far away, is it across the sea?
She’s been gone a long, long time. She really needs to come home now!
I really need to reach her but I simply don’t know how.
Help me find the number please, Is it listed under Heaven?
I can’t read these big words, I am only seven.
I’m sorry operator, I didn’t mean to make you cry.
Is your tummy hurting too, or is there something in your eye?
If I call my church maybe they will know.
Mummy said when we need help that’s where we should go.
I found the number to my church tacked up on the wall.
Thank you operator, I’ll give them a call.
by Donna Groleau.
Then Jesus took his disciples up the mountain,
and gathering them around him he taught them saying:
Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are the meek.
Blessed are they that mourn.
Blessed are the merciful.
Blessed are they who thirst for justice.
Blessed are all the concerned.
Blessed are you when persecuted.
Blessed are you when you suffer.
Be glad and rejoice for your reward is great in heaven
try to remember what I am telling you
Then Simon Peter said,
Will this count?
and Andrew said,
Will we have a test on it?
and James said,
When do we have to know it for?
and Phillip said,
How many words?
and Bartholomew said,
Will I have to stand up in front of the others?
and John said,
The other disciples didn’t have to learn this.
and Matthew said,
How many marks do we get for it?
And Judas said,
What is it worth?
and the other disciples likewise.
Then one of the Pharisees who was present
asked to see Jesus’ lesson plan
and inquired of Jesus
his terminal objectives in the cognitive domain
I’ve been thinking about the word ‘change’ and the effect it has on people….especially in the church.
I recently heard the song – Mrs Beamish by Richard Stilgoe & Peter Skellern….which has a funny take on change
When I returned from holiday I found this poem about change….about welcoming change, which whilst not as funny as Mrs Beamish is a more positive view of change.
WELCOME CHANGE by Gina Whitacre
Change is inevitable, But yet we fight it, just the same. Change is essential to our evolution. Change is going to happen, In fact, it happens every day, Maybe it is too small to see, or perhaps we would rather not see it. We fight change, because we fight the unknown, We fight the unknown, because we are scared, Scared of change, scared of the unknown. If we were to allow change to happen freely, We might find solutions to the problems that exist around us, But instead, we are hung – up on controlling everything around us. Maybe this is the problem with the world today. Everyone assumes control of everything and does not allow nature to run her course. Maybe this is why, we have devastating fall out from Nature, Natural catastrophic disasters, such as fire and flooding. We fight change, therefore we are fighting nature and her natural being and her existence in the world that she has created by God’s hand and has graciously allowed us to be a part of . We should welcome change and allow nature to control our destiny. Change is uncontrollable, Change is inevitable, Change is the unknown. Nature takes pride in being one of life’s illusive wonders, the unknown.
On monday clergy from Lincoln diocese spent time with the wedding project team and they showed this clip of a wedding entrance which is viewed by an amazing amount of people….it just seems to draw you in….
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.