Posted in grief, Poem


Time is too slow for those who wait,
too swift for those who fear,
too long for those who grieve,
too short for those who rejoice,
but for those who love,
time is eternity.

by Henry Van Dyke

Posted in music, Uncategorized

The First of May

I saw this the other day on TV and thought it was beautiful and powerful…

When I was small, and christmas trees were tall,
We used to love while others used to play.
Don’t ask me why, but time has passed us by,
Some one else moved in from far away.

Now we are tall, and christmas trees are small,
And you don’t ask the time of day.
But you and I, our love will never die,
But guess well cry come first of may.

The apple tree that grew for you and me,
I watched the apples falling one by one.
And I recall the moment of them all,
The day I kissed your cheek and you were mine.


When I was small, and christmas trees were tall,
Do do do do do do do do do…
Don’t ask me why, but time has passed us by,
Some one else moved in from far away.

(Lyrics & Music written by The BeeGees – Maurice, Robin & Barry Gibb)

Posted in Church of England, Humour, Life, Poem

We Worship at St. Tesco’s by Pam Ayres

I’ve been looking for this poem for a while and stumbled across it – very funny…

A poem by Pam Ayres broadcast on Radio 4 ‘Ayres on the Air’ On the parallels between Supermarkets and Churches

Pam’s intro: Interestingly near where I live in Gloucestershire they’ve recently being putting up a new supermarket. As it went up I couldn’t help thinking that it had similarities with the church, ‘cause it is a big building, a long building, and it had a tower at one end, and they actually put a clock on it, and it had like a little pointed roof, and I could see great parallels between it and a church, although on Sunday you wouldn’t confuse the two of course because the church is fairly deserted, whereas at the supermarket there’s a stampede.

Nowadays we worship at St Tesco
At first the neighbours seemed a little shocked
But then St Tesco’s doors are always open
Whereas St Cuthbert’s doors are always locked
It’s hard to get to know the congregation
And the vicar isn’t actually ordained
They haven’t got a pulpit or a chancel
But they’ve got enormous windows
And they’re stained!
I’m glad we’re in the parish of St Tesco,
I feel so happy walking down the aisle
While the Reverend was always rather gloomy
But the check-out girls have always got a smile
Their uniform is anything but dreary
It’s polyester cotton and it’s striped
And pretty tunes come floating down from heaven
It isn’t organ music but it’s piped
Thank heavens I converted to St Tesco
I find this new religion suits me fine
It’s altogether younger than St Cuthbert’s
Where the congregation all look ninety-nine
The vicar used to talk about the ‘profits’
But he didn’t mean the same as you and I
He couldn’t hold a candle to St Tesco
And anyway his steeple’s not so high
Sometimes I dream I’m sitting in St Cuthbert’s
In that old pew where water always dripped
I can smell the incense sweetly burning
And the rising damp that flourished in the crypt

Today no candles twinkle in the window
And no confetti lingers round the gate
There’s no more blushing brides or bouncing babies
Verily it’s past its sell-by-date
But business is booming at St Tesco
The worshippers are spending more and more
They’re getting such a throng on Sunday morning
That they’re going to have to reinforce the floor
And frankly it has been a revelation
On Sunday now we relish going out
And seeing all that inexpensive larger
Has made my husband so much more devout
They’re stripping out the timber at St Cuthbert’s
Well it doesn’t earn enough to pay its keep
They ought to take a lesson from St Tesco
And learn to pile it high and sell it cheap
Some ladies still are singing in the choir
Of the Earth they will inherit if they’re meek
But St Tesco have on high the voice of Angels
With all the special offers for the week
But sometimes in the busy supermarket
Above the merry ringing of the till
I fancy I can hear a church bell ringing
From the steeple of St Cuthbert’s on the hill
The bell has gone, the roof, the stained glass window
I dare say it’s a merciful release
For nowadays we worship at St Tesco
It’s closing time St Cuthbert
Rest In peace…




Posted in Church of England, Jesus, Lent

Where shall I look for Enlightenment?

A conversation about paying attention:

“Where shall I look for Enlightenment?” the disciple asked. 
“Here,” the elder said.
“When will it happen?” the disciple asked.
 “It is happening right now,” the elder answered.
 “Then why don’t I experience it?” the disciple persisted.
 “Because you do not look,” the elder said.
 “But what should I look for?” the disciple continued.
 “Nothing. Just look,” the elder said.
 “But at what?” the disciple asked again.
 “At anything your eyes alight upon,” the elder answered.
 “But must I look in a special kind of way?” the disciple went on.
 “No. The ordinary way will do,” the elder said.
 “But don’t I always look the ordinary way?” the disciple said.
 “No, you don’t,” the elder said.
 “But why ever not?” the disciple asked.
 “Because to look you must be here. You are mostly somewhere else.”

 in There Is A Season by Joan Chittister