Sermons And Gubbins

  This poem was one of two written for our monthly church poetry group at St Michael's. The theme was 'time'. This one is a bit less bleak than the other! Time and Tide The old boys sit on the bench by the sea, smoke fags and shoot the breeze. The north wind blows salt from the surf in their eyes  and ash falls unnoticed on their knees. They talk of the times and the girls they had. They eat chips and mushy peas. They talk of more recent heart pains and aches, of strokes and lung disease.  The old boys shuffle their shoes in the sand then stand with aged ill-ease. They nod, and turn and wander off. Time, gentlemen, please.

This poem was one of two written for our monthly church poetry group at St Michael's. The theme was 'time'.  Out of the Window There was a day  When Time did not so much run away   As fling wide the window  and hurl itself out, head first, without a care for the fall or how long it would be  before springs and cogs and oil  spewed out across the road, causing cars to swerve; with Time, instantaneously suspended; unable to move at any miles per hour. It had been fun. You were supposed to fly. From that moment forward,  hours lasted for months. And years went by before I could gather a sentient thought. The very essence of my world captured in a freeze-frame of perpetual collision. These words mean nothing now: After, Then, Next . If, Tomorrow, Soon. There is no  Now ; There is only  Before . Now, my wounds will not heal. I am greyer; that much I know. I see less well. Am I older? How could I be? I hear the tick, tick, tick... But it is a...

There's something a little bit odd about our Gospel reading today. I wonder if you noticed it? Maybe not. After all, 'odd' these days is really rather a relative concept isn't it? A bit like time.  They say that time flies when you're having fun. I think we need a new saying for what time does when you're in lockdown. 'Time melds together in a conglomerate mess when you're staying home, staying safe, and saving lives'. Perhaps I need to work on the catchiness of that.  I remember reading a meme on facebook the other day that renamed the lockdown days of the week. No longer are we subject to the linear confines of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on. Instead, until further notice, the days of the week are now called Thisday, Thatday, Otherday, Someday, Yesterday, Today and Nextday. I say I read it the other day, it might have been two months ago for all I know. I guess that proves the point. (Nextday, by the way, is the mythical day long...

I've been thinking a lot about our reading from the Old Testament this week. It's probably the most famous section from the book of Ecclesiastes, and many of us probably know it as a pop song, rather than a quotation from the Bible - from the song ' Turn! Turn! Turn! ', made famous by The Byrds in the 1960s. The concept that there is a season for all things under the sun has been what's got me thinking this week. In the past four days, I've been to two funerals. I've absolutely been thinking about there being a time to weep, a time to mourn, and a time to die. For one of the funerals I attended, that idea of 'a time to die' was fitting. Marion was 91 years' old. She and her husband Philip had raised a son, of whom they had excellent reasons for feeling proud, seen their two granddaughters grow into successful and strong women, and lived to see and enjoy the presence of four beautiful great-grandchildren, the latest being Miriam, my daughter....