Incarnation

The following poem is called 'Incarnation'.  I wrote it last year, but it never appeared on a blog, perhaps because it appeared on all our Christmas cards instead, which was publication enough!  However, here it is in case anyone can use it this year.

How perfect for God to call us this way:

the irresistible invitation of being small 

the invitation of the infant, mute, wide-eyed 

the rooting mouth's silent innate call 

and the turning of his head to the side 

the clasping clench of the tiny fist 

which, given no more than a fingertip 

refuses to let go.

The parable of the dishonest manager

This morning's Gospel reading contains a fiendishly difficult parable - probably the strangest one that Jesus told!  Seriously, have a look at it in Luke 16.  What on earth was Jesus going on about?!

Here's my paraphrase to read to the Sunday Club children. I hope I've managed to explain it without changing it.

Jesus told this story:

Once there was an accountant who worked for a very rich man, managing all his money.  Over time he started to be dishonest, stealing some of the money and hiding it away for himself.

In the end his master found out, of course, and straight away he gave the accountant his notice.  The accountant knew that he was going to get the sack, and he was terrified.  He thought, “What will I do when I lose my job?  My master will take back all this money I’ve saved, and I will have nothing.”  

After a night of worrying, the accountant had an idea.  The next day he went in for his last day of work to tidy up the accounts, and he called up all the people who were in debt to his master.  While he still had control of the money, he generously halved their debts and sent them away happy, knowing that when he lost his job, he would find a friend among the people he had helped.

The rich man still sacked his accountant, of course, but he had to laugh and admit that the man had been very cunning with his money!

The disciples listened to the story, and I expect they were wondering, “Is Jesus telling us that it’s OK to be dishonest?  Or what?”  But Jesus looked at them with a twinkle in his eye and said, “Isn’t it funny that even a corrupt accountant knew that the best way to make money work for him in the end was to give it away!  You need to be cunning with your money, too.  If you can’t be careful with earthly money, how will you gain heavenly riches?  Money works best when you use it generously.  You can’t hang on to your money and still love God."

Entertaining Angels

Don't forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it! - Hebrews 13:2

Monday was a good day.  I really felt all there.

The sort of day when I get time to wash and dry my hair.

I took out the recycling and I mopped the kitchen floor

I washed a load of laundry and I hung out a load more.

The children were all fed and washed, and clothed - before midday -

I thought, I’m ready now, if someone wants to come and stay.

I knew a guest would be impressed with my housekeeping flair,

I’ve heard I could be entertaining angels unaware.

I waited for an angel, but it really was a shame;

I wasted all that housework, ‘cause the angel never came.

This afternoon I’d had the kind of day I really hate.

I was still in my pyjamas and the kitchen was a state.

The children hadn’t slept, and they were acting really loopy,

and one of them had hit her brother with a plastic Snoopy;

The baby climbed the stairs unseen, and, though he never falls,

He did find all his sister’s pens - and used them on the walls.

I reached a pan from a high shelf, it fell down with a clang,

It landed on my foot, I swore - and THEN the doorbell rang!

I didn’t answer at the time, and later when I checked,

They’d given up and gone.  It was those angels, I expect.

Then later on, I thought about how Jesus was a guest,

He visited two sisters, his best friends, to have a rest.

While Mary sat and listened, Martha couldn’t find the time.

I wonder whether Martha had a day a bit like mine.

And I’m sure she wished that Mary would get up and do her bit,

But Mary knew that it was more important just to sit,

For Jesus loved to see them, and that’s why he came to stay,

and it was never very long before he had to go away.

Next time I’ll ask those angels to step over the debris,

I hope they will ignore the mess and spend some time with me.

Just for a bit of fun: I wrote this four years ago for a competition. I didn't win, but how quickly can you work out what the main rule of the competition was?!

After Ball, Charming Depressed

After the ball, the only people left awake were the servants, sweeping away the smashed glasses and sticky pools of spilt champagne. Ballrooms always look larger after everybody has gone home; sad, empty, vacuous spaces with a chill in the air. Charming perched on top of a stack of chairs, glumly holding the glass slipper in his hand.

"Didn't she find me attractive?" he wondered with a sigh. "Evidently my conversation was too boring. Frogs get girls quicker than me around here." Groaning, he reached out and drained an abandoned half-glass of champagne.

His introspection was interrupted at this point by his page, Iago, who entered sleepily, having been waiting for hours to put his master to bed. "I've been looking for you everywhere!" the disgruntled boy yawned.

"Just go to bed, Iago," replied the prince grumpily, "I can put on my own pyjamas tonight."

"Keep on like this, and you'll be alone every night" grumbled the page good-naturedly. "Look, Charmers, if you liked her so much, why give up hope? Maybe she had a good reason to run off like that. Nice girls don't disappear without at least saying "Ta for the dance" unless they have a good reason. Obviously she was just in too much of a hurry to tell you what it was."

Prince Charming sighed and stretched, clambering down from his stack of chairs. "Quite so, Iago, quite so" he conceded wearily. "Right as usual. Still, what can I do?"

"Tomorrow's another day," said Iago cheerfully.

"Undoubtedly it is, my dear Iago, but what can I hope that tomorrow will bring? Voicemail? Without even knowing her name, I am helpless."

"'xept that, unless I'm very much mistaken, sir, you're currently holding her very unusual shoe, which is probably magic and certainly unique."

"Zounds!" cried the prince, "So I am!"

The Sound of Silence

Gladstone, my gargoyle puppet, turns out to be quite the singer.  He performed the following yesterday, to a very well-known tune originally by Simon and Gar...goyle?

(We've been going through the life of Elijah in our Old Testament readings.)

Hello Yahweh, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again

Because a sadness set me weeping, and despair has stopped me sleeping

And the mission that you gave me is too tough, I've had enough

And all I've found is silence

Near desert streams I walked alone, laid my head upon a stone

Drought had put me in a bad mood, I turned to calling out to you for food

Then surprise! There's bread, in a flash of a raven's flight, every night

Falls to the ground in silence

You made the widow's oil jar pour, and every day there was some more,

We were living without starving, but her son died without reason,

I was righting wrongs and praying that you cared, and so I dared

To raise the dead from silence

Fools, said I, aren't you aware, idols cannot answer prayer

Hear my words and I might teach you, here's a sign that God might reach you

With the fire, at last the raindrops fell, and filled up all the wells in silence

And the people bowed and prayed, for my God had won the day

But the king sent out his warning, so I fled here in the morning

And I sought a word for your prophet in the earthquake, wind and fire

But they passed by, and you whispered in the sounds of silence.

Optical Illusions in the Bible

Once, at school, I came across one of those books of optical illusions.  Each page was just a picture, with a little note explaining the two different things you were supposed to be able to see: two faces, or a vase?  An old woman, or a young woman?

One of the pictures baffled me completely.  No matter how hard I squinted at it or which angle I viewed it from, I just couldn't see the second option.  In the end, I gave up and closed the book.  Later, going back to show a friend, I couldn't find the picture.  I flipped through the book several times before I worked out the problem - I was now seeing the other image.

There are bits of the Bible exactly like that.  Take tomorrow's Gospel reading: Luke 7:36-50.

A woman comes in and pours expensive ointment all over Jesus, making a big fuss.  The Pharisee, Simon, whose house it is, makes a sort of internal snorting retort about Jesus obviously not knowing who is touching him, because she's a notoriously sinful woman.  Jesus notes the unspoken snarkiness and tells a little story about a man who forgives one person a debt of 50p, and a second person a debt of £500, and asks which person would love them man more.  Simon answers that it would be the one who was forgiven more, and Jesus says he has judged correctly, and adds:

“Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45 You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. 46 You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. 47 Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

Now, I have always taken that to mean that this poor sinful woman was so incredibly evil that she had been forgiven a multitude of sins, whereas shiny Simon the Pharisee only ever needed to be forgiven for things like blowing his nose at the dinner table, and so he wasn't as affected by Jesus' offer of forgiveness.

Tonight when I re-read it, the picture had flipped.  I realised how crazy that interpretation is.  It doesn't tally with what we know of the nature of sin, which is that all have fallen short: everyone is equally in need of God's grace, and everyone is equally undeserving of his mercy.

So what is going on?  Could Jesus be saying, “Because of her faith, this woman has been forgiven, and so she loves me.  But you, Simon, have not been forgiven, because you have never thought to repent”?

Ouch.

Or is he just making the point that the more sin we are aware of in our lives, the more acutely we are aware of our need for forgiveness, the more grateful we are for the knowledge that we have been forgiven?

Another thing I notice about the passage is that there is a sort of circular motion going on. Jesus describes the woman's actions and says "Therefore her sins have been forgiven" - as if the outpouring of tears and perfume led to the forgiveness - but then, "As her great love has shown", as if the outpouring is a result of being forgiven.

That circular motion, I suppose, is how faith and grace are all caught up with each other: and the difference between Simon and the sinful woman is not the level of sin, but the fact that Simon hasn't yet leapt into the whirlpool. Believe in a reality in which you have already been forgiven, and your thankfulness and the actions that love and gratitude lead you to perform will make it so. Know that Jesus has accepted you, and your confident approach will make you accepted. Like Esther when Xerxes points his sceptre. Like Elijah calling down fire. Like all the many people to whom Jesus says "Your faith has made you well", and they stand up realising that healing has taken place, but they are not entirely sure when, or what, or how; only that they already knew that if they just touched the hem of his cloak, everything would be all right.

Rave On!

Today's continuous Old Testament reading is the defeat of Baal's prophets, from 1 Kings 18.  This is one of my favourite Bible readings, because of the brilliant descriptive vocabulary used in Elijah's mocking of the prophets: they limped around the altar, apparently, and at one point he asks them whether their god is on the toilet.  Then it says this:

"And as midday passed, they raved on until the time of the offering of the oblation, but there was no voice. No one answered; no one paid attention." - 1 Kings 18:29

If you're not very familiar with Buddy Holly, you might want to listen to this song.

No-o-o matter what you pray and do

Baal’s not here to stay with  you

Rave on with your crazy fooling and

My God will soon be ruling

When he sends fire from heaven, rave on

The way you dance and limp about

The way you beg and scream and shout

Rave on, you crazy lot, you,

Maybe your god forgot you, or

Maybe he’s on the potty, rave on!

Rave on, I’m gonna match you, cos

I know your god’s a statue,

I’m so glad that I’ll dispatch you when I’m proved right,

Rave on, rave on and tell me

Tell me not to be holy

I tell you, the Lord’s the only saviour in sight

[Instrumental] Come on, you crazy prophets of Baal!  Show me some real rock ‘n’ roll!

Rave on, I’m gonna match you, cos

I know your god’s a statue,

I’m so glad that I’ll dispatch you when I’m proved right,

Rave on, rave on and tell me

Tell me not to be holy

I tell you, the Lord’s the only saviour in sight

Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha!

The Daniel Song

Yes, I know.  The May Meme has fallen by the wayside, because of Life.  Who knows whether it may reappear before May is out.

In the meantime, I have been guest blogging about telling Bible stories to children, over at the Families First magazine blog, and have also been inviting questions and requests on Facebook and Twitter.  One question was about how to make children, most of whom barely know the Christmas story, aware of the whole scope of the Bible and the way it all links together.  

Some of my favourite Bible tells have been of entire lives - Joseph, Daniel and Moses - over church weekends when there are several days or sessions for episodes.  I wrote this song a couple of summers ago when telling Daniel for a holiday club, and thought I'd post it here as an example.  The refrain was part of the story, and the new verse was learnt by the children at the end of each episode.  As it's a cumulative song, the whole thing was sung every time and thus memorised.  It goes to a jazzed-up version of the tune of When I First Came To This Land - if anyone apart from me still knows that folk song!

1

We are in a foreign land

Trying to live by God's command

The king said “Praise my man of gold,

You must do as you're told!”

But God's no liar

He saved us from the fire

Though the world might think it's odd,

We will follow God!

2

We are in a foreign land

Trying to live by God's command

The kings were spooked by dreams and ghosts

But Daniel knew the most

He said: The writing on the wall

Says your kingdom's gonna fall

And God's no liar

He saved us from the fire

Though the world might think it's odd,

We will follow God!

3

We are in a foreign land

Trying to live by God's command

The king was tricked by jealous men

Threw Daniel in the lion's den

But he said: Now I've prayed

I know I'm not afraid

Because the writing on the wall

Says your kingdom's gonna fall

And God's no liar

He saved us from the fire

Though the world might think it's odd,

We will follow God!

May Meme 11 - Someone I Love

Ah, "Someone You Love!" Now there's a dangerous title: ignore it, and you look stingy; write on it, and you offend everyone you don't mention!
I very nearly missed it, anyway, because one of the people I love decided to cry for an hour before settling to sleep in his cot, and then because I love him, I decided to try egg-free baking experiments so that he can have a birthday cake in a couple of weeks.  And somebody else I love was using my computer to write a sermon research some fun early church conspiracy theories.

Nonetheless - is it cheating if my introduction far exceeds the 100 word limit? - continuing the completely unintentional exploration of form poetry (I'm hooked now), this is a Double Tetractys.  A tectractys is a 20-syllable poem with the syllable count 1,2,3,4,10.  A double one does the same thing again backwards.  I don't think it has to reflect the words themselves, I just thought it would be fun if it did.

Someone I Love

Songs

make me

remember

someone I love

I hum along, but here's the curious thing:

did I recall the music first, or did

someone I love,

remember,

make me

sing?

A Little Bit Traumatised Ever After

May Meme 10 - yes, I know I haven't been keeping up.  However, today's experience of storytelling in a school gave me the perfect fodder to write on today's theme, which was supposed to be "Something You Created". It's 28 words over my limit, but nobody's perfect...

The Lindworm


“And they all lived...?”


There's an amused silence. I have just told the gruesome story of the Lindworm to a group of 14-18 year olds, mainly boys. Twenty minutes ago they thought fairy tales were for little kids. Now they're mentally savouring the image of a naked girl scrubbing the last layer of skin off a giant maggot with a toilet brush.


“...A little bit traumatised ever after?” suggests one of the boys, finishing my proffered sentence.


As a storyteller, what do I create? Not the stories themselves. The tellings? Only in part. But stories create shared silences and opportunities so that something is new every time.


As for “A little bit traumatised ever after” - that's how I'll be finishing that story from now on!

May Meme 6 - Words

Although the weekend has made me miss a few (I may catch up later), today's topic of 'Words' was very inspiring.  I'm also enjoying my renewed love of form poetry.  This is a kind of Kyrielle; first I made it harder by adopting a difficult rhyme scheme, then I made it easier by making the refrain only half a line long rather than the whole line at the end of each stanza; then to even things out I made it harder again by repeating the refrain at the beginning and the end of each stanza.  I can't decide whether fiddling with the punctuation in the refrain counts as cunning or cheating.


Words

Words work for me, my employees
A quarter of a million strong
buzz round my head like swarming bees
as I direct: words, work for me!


Words work for me, I send them out
to fill each story, verse or song
Some I make whisper, others shout.
They wound, move, heal. Words work for me.


Words work for me: all except one,
the master to whom I belong:
and every word beneath the Sun
Cannot explain Word's work for me.

May Meme 3 - Black and White

For what the May Meme is all about, see this post.

True story -we have black and white china, including mugs on cuphooks.  Whenever I unload the dishwasher, I place my mugs in a certain order, alternating spots and stripes with their red companions in between.  Recently my husband was on kitchen duty and put every single one back in the right place.

Black and White: A Rondelet

It's black and white

I like my cups arranged this way,

It's black and white -

And when I came back home tonight

and saw the monochrome display,

I thought - I love you. We're OK.

It's black and white.

A post a day May: first two

This is a meme that has been going around Facebook.  The words are supposed to inspire a photo a day, but I'm going to try to use them for inspiration to do quick pieces of writing, under 100 words each.  I don't know whether I'll manage them all, but if I do at least the ones that fall on writing days, my hope is that it will help the creative juices to keep juicing during what is set to be a very challenging month.  Here are the first two entries (because of course, in true Amy fashion, I have started a day late!)

1. Self Portrait (in contrasting colours)

A girl who, whenever the sky is a certain shade of blue, brings an orange in her pocket, so that she can throw the orange upwards and be transfixed by two seconds of colours at opposite ends of the spectrum.

A girl who tumbled out of Narnia a queen, and on the wrong side of the wardrobe, had to learn how to pretend she was a girl.

Someone who only likes the beach in rainy weather, but loves a city park in the sun because it succeeds in being an oasis, home in the middle of a foreign land.

2. On The Wall

On my wall, haphazardly pinned: a leaflet about Early Years storytime, some information about things to do with toddlers around here, a collage of Peppa Pig in a hot air balloon, the number of someone I've probably forgotten to ring, the first flowers my daughter ever drew, and almost buried, a reminder: 2 Corinthians 3:4-6 which tells me not to claim anything as coming from me: “Our competence is from God, who has made us competent to be ministers of a new covenant, not of letter but of spirit: for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”

The Source

This was the product of the first Create session at Spring Harvest, when the text used for inspiration was John 1.  We didn't have very long to play with our creations, so I simply made a list of words and phrases that meant 'first' and then made them rhyme...

The Source

He is the Source, the Beginning, the Maker,

The Origin, Big Bang, Primeval Earthquaker,

The Author, Composer, the Dreamer, the Dream,

Foundation, the Cornerstone, Load-Bearing Beam,

Creator, Inspiring, he sang the first song,

Alpha, Word, Logos, the There-All-Along

The initial brush stroke on the page waiting white,

The Crux and the Reason why, Let There Be Light

Firstborn from the dead, he's the one up before us

The Number One, Rising Sun, leads the Dawn Chorus

The breath before speaking, the thought before breath,

The spark before thinking, the Life without death.

Running (Easter Poem)

Since I didn't manage Palm Sunday on time for anyone to use it this year, I'd better post an offering for Easter!  Here's a performance poem I've used many times in the past.  It works a little bit like 'We're Going on a Bear Hunt'.  Feel free to add actions for each of the bits in brackets and get everyone joining in.  The 'running, running, running, running" refrain is usually accompanied by very fast pats on the knees.

Running, running, running, running,

there's a girl running through a garden (mmm, pretty flowers)

and in that garden there's a stone

and behind that stone there's a tomb

and that's where they buried him,

the special one,

the saviour,

the one they all believed in,

that's where they buried him.

Running, running, running, running,

there's a girl running through a city gate (hustle bustle hustle bustle)

and outside that city gate there's a hill

and on that hill there's a cross

and that's where he died,

the special one,

the saviour,

the one they all believed in,

that's where he died.

Running,running,running,running,

there's a girl running to a house, (home sweet home)

and in that house there are stairs

and up those stairs there's a room,

and that's where they're crying for him,

the special one,

the saviour,

the one they all believed in,

that's where they're crying for him.

Running,running,running,running,

that girl runs up the stairs (huff puff huff puff)

she bangs on the door (bang bang bang bang)

and when they let her in

she shouts HE'S ALIVE!

the special one,

the saviour,

the one we all believe in,

HE'S ALIVE! AND I'VE SEEN HIM!

Running,running,running,running,

now there are two men running

they run out of the door (bang)

down the stairs (huff puff huff puff)

out of the house (home sweet home)

through the city gates (hustle bustle hustle bustle)

past that cross

into the garden (mmm, pretty flowers)

past that stone

into the tomb and -

it's true

he's gone

so now they're running, running, running, running

to tell the whole world about

the special one

the saviour

the one they all believe in

Have you heard yet?

Riding On A Donkey

It's a shame I didn't manage to post this in time for Palm Sunday; but then I only finished writing it about five minutes before The Rector went off to sing it to the children at the Palm Sunday service!  This is not the first time I've written a donkey-themed song to this traditional folk tune.  The Snail Tales Christmas donkey show has one too, with a verse for every story and, of course, the same chorus.

Jesus, with his group of friends
Going to Jerusalem
Called them near and said to them,
"Go and find a donkey!"

Hey ho and away we go
Donkey riding, donkey riding
Hey ho and away we go
Riding on a donkey

Two disciples went ahead
A donkey's colt away they led
When the owner asked, they said
"The master needs your donkey!"

Hey ho...

So they brought the donkey back,
Spread their coats upon its back,
And some more along the track
Where Jesus rode the donkey

Hey ho...

Crowds and crowds were gathering,
And they all began to sing
Loud hosannas to the king
Who rides upon a donkey

Hey ho...

Prologue from The Bridesmaid

This was my very first attempt at NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) way back in November 2006.  I only managed 25,537 words in the month, half the number a NaNoWriMo winner writes!  The novel was great fun, though; deliberately written in the style of Wilkie Collins, I'd only ever be able to publish it if I could travel back in time, but I'm proud of it nonetheless.  This was the opening of the book.

    So you wish to know what she asked me, Sir? I confess, I am affronted. Which other professional would you ask so impertinently, and be so arrogantly certain of a reply? Which trusted doctor or member of the clergy would give you an answer and betray such a confidence?

    Stay! I am neither doctor nor clergyman, though I could be both if you were rich and wished. I am anything to those who wish and can pay. Give me silver in my hand, and I'll tell you what she asked me. What, are you surprised now? No, Sir, it is your own heart you should search and reprimand! What am I to you? And what was I to her? Humble and low, providing a service for your money, that's all. Why deny it? Your conscience, as a gentleman, should be quaking; mine is clear. Reserve your shocked expression for yourself and your own desires and actions. If your pride allows you, you shall hear what she asked me.

(I see I have touched a nerve. His pride and doubt and disgust at me are making playthings of his face. But he will stay. That is my business; I am like Shakespeare's fool, allowed by maligned status to speak the truth and live, hated but untouched. There: his hand strays to his pocket. I live on the shillings taken from those whom I have persuaded thus far.)

    Why, she asked the same question they all ask, Sir. Male and female, high and low life, young and old, tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief! Do you draw near it now?

    (The question I hear daily, nightly, whispering in the hearts of men and women. They are taught to ask it from the moment they are born. The Bible teaches them to ask it. Does it not say that he made them male and female? Does it not say that it was not good for the man to be alone? Creation teaches it, the rivers teach it running to the seas, the whole globe spins to the question she asked me.)

    Did you expect me to speak plain, Sir? That is not my art. The soothsayers never spoke plain. The oracle never spoke plain. I see that although you ask, you are afraid to discover. You need not fear, however. It is not the question she asked that makes you tremble. It is the answer I gave, and you have not yet requested knowledge of that. It is a brave and bold heart that would ask that question.

    (There! Now I have him. An appeal to his courage has left him defenceless. He will stay; he will ask; he has braced himself for the knowledge to destroy him, the noble soul. He does not see that it already destroys him, from within. The story is in his possession, not mine. For what do these people know, upon leaving me, that they did not know upon seeking me? Knowledge is only the worm that I have drawn out, like a skilled surgeon, and dangled before them to show them what was hidden, curled up inside their bodies and doing its subtle work.)

    You are very generous, Sir, with your gifts. I will be as generous with my replies. She asked me whom she would marry.

    (Did I say it was the question they all ask? It is, indeed, nearly the most frequent. There is only one other question above it. Girls ask whom they will marry, and men ask when they will die. But the two are in essence the same question; and it is equally unwise to know the answer to either. Wisdom, however, is not good for business.)

    I do not know the answer directly, Sir, that is not within my power. It is something only she could see. I told her the way to find out, since that is what she paid me to do. I can see that I am making you afraid again, and I do not blame you; even I feared when I saw her eyes, but my business is to foresee the future, not to alter it. She was given what she paid for.

    (I told her, at first, what I tell them all. I read her palm and her cards, I gave enchantments and told stories. But she returned.)

    Turn away that angry look from me. I am not deserving of it. I have done my job and served those who paid me. Do you suspect that I wronged her? That I am not as I seem? No, I am not as I seem, to you. To the next man I will not be as I seem to you now. I am changeable. I am all things to all people, it is necessary for my art that it should be that way. To you I speak as a gentleman, because you desired information and you asked politely. To those who are paying for witchery I speak low and mystical, to romantics I speak with an accent and to tourists I speak as a traveller from myriad countries. You understand that these are tools of my craft, secrets of my trade and nothing more. Dissembling? Only to those with expectations. I am what people expect. My business is to become what people want. But I do not tell lies to make mischief. Where would be the joy for me in that?

    No, Sir, I did not deceive her. There was my great error. She came as a free soul, without expectations and believing all was lost. And she returned. Without confidante or chaperone, she took me into her confidence and made a sister of me, viewing me as she did without the barriers or hindrances that modern views provide as a safeguard. While she was still bringing me her pennies, she heard what people pay to hear. But when she became my friend, I mistook. I told her that which makes all men tremble. I speak of the truth, Sir. She was not ready to hear it; and no more are you.  

Pure Nard

A poem for this Sunday's reading from the Gospel: John 12: 1-8.

A final time at Bethany

in old, familiar company

Jesus, were your thoughts pierced through

with knowing what you had to do?

And did you clutch within your heart

a world about to break apart - 

or steady, with a conscious will,

a brimming cup so soon to spill?

Lazarus sat next to you

so grateful, and yet puzzled too

the dark thoughts of his tomb not quite

extinguished by the rising light

while diligent Martha, unreserved

and practical as always, served

her living brother, sitting by

the healer who had let him die

and round the table, sharing food,

those dear disciples loved and known

a band as close as flesh and blood

in whom the kingdom seeds were sown

yet no companion understood

the fullness of the fears you faced

until that generous sister

with a love learned from the master

poured out a salve so precious

that it seemed just like a waste.

Children of God

I'll be singing this again tomorrow morning, so I may as well put it here while I have it up on my screen.  As silly songs go, it's on the sillier side of daft.  Needless to say, the various animals have various actions/dance moves.  It goes to the tune of 'If I were a Butterfly' which I thought everybody would know when I wrote the lyrics two years ago, but sadly, that particular ohrwurm from my childhood seems to be less ubiquitous now.  I suppose it's also copyrighted, so...what can I say?  You'll have to make up your own tune.  This does in fact have an original tune as well, but it was written by my colleague Chip, and I don't have a way of reproducing it here.

Children of God

To the tune of 'If I were a Butterfly'

A mother hen's children are lucky things

She keeps them safe beneath her wings

And a kangaroo's kids have a comfy couch,

They get to ride inside her pouch,

And hyena babies have a laugh, it's true,

But they're not as lucky as me or you,

'Cos we all get to be called the children of God.

God really loves us, like a mum or a dad,

When we're happy or sad, if we're good or we're bad,

We still get to be called the children of God!

A koala mum is never slack,

She carries her children on her back,

Baby birds eat the juiciest bugs

And I bet mummy bears give the very best hugs,

But all the same, I'm glad I'm me,

Because it says in 1 John 3

That we all get to be called the children of God.

God really loves us, like a mum or a dad,

When we're happy or sad, if we're good or we're bad,

We still get to be called the children of God!

Performance poetry for Mothering Sunday

Hmmm.  The story of Lois and Eunice is not, in fact, a story, but a mere mention: a sort of 'thumbs up' from Paul, commending in a single verse the mother and grandmother who passed their knowledge of scripture and love of God on to Paul's new helper Timothy.
How to present this single verse in an enjoyable way to a group of children tomorrow?
Here's a performance poem rap type thinger.  As always with performance poetry, the scansion is rather free (critics would say that the scansion is rather rubbish, but I prefer to say free!)  Watch out for the longer line in each chorus...

Lois was a lady who lived long, long ago,

Her mother used to say to her, when Lois was small,

Lois, here's a story that you need to know,

It's about the God who loves us and who made us all.

He's the great creator who made you and me,

When we were stuck in slavery he set his people free,

He's a shepherd who guides and feeds his sheep,

And he's given us the scriptures to read and keep.

Lois grew up and had a daughter as well,

She called her Eunice, and she said when she was small,

Eunice, here's a story that my mother used to tell,

It's about the God who loves us and who made us all.

He's the great creator with the world in his hand,

He led us out of trouble and gave us the Promised Land,

He's a steadfast God who does no wrong

And you'll find him in the scriptures, full of story and song.

Eunice grew up and she had a little son,

She called him Timothy, and said when he was small,

Timothy, this story is for everyone,

It's about the God who loves us and who made us all.

He's the great creator of the heavens and earth,

He made you and he knew you long before you came to birth,

His works are perfect and his ways are just,

And he's given us the scriptures to read and trust.

Timothy grew up with his mum and gran,

Till one night he came to dinner with a friend named Paul,

Who said, “Here is a story about a man,

He's the son of God who loves us and who made us all.”

He's the great creator who made you and me,

He has led us out of trouble and has set his people free,

He's the shepherd of the lost and he hears our call,

And he loved the world so much that he died to save us all.

And when Timothy and Eunice and grandma Lois too

Heard the story about Jesus who was dead but is alive,

They recognised their God and they believed that it was true,

And that's why you'll still find them in 2 Timothy, 1:5.

Evening Hymn

Another transfer from Blog The First, by special request - although it is timely, because I've been wondering about entering the Crossing Songs competition.  There's a category especially for lyricists to provide new lyrics to old hymn tunes.  I don't think this is quite what they're after, though, do you?


EVENING HYMN

The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended
The darkness falls at thy behest
To thee my morning prayers should have ascended
But I was grumpy and sleepy and stressed.

I'm sorry, Lord, that I have stumbled
Through today without your word; 
And any prayer I might have mumbled
I'd be surprised if you have heard.

And I will soon be deep in slumber
My night time prayers cut off midway,
I wouldn't like to count the number
Of things that I'll forget to say.

But wait here, Lord, while I am sleeping,
You know the troubles of my heart,
And when my snooze alarm starts beeping,
Help me to make a better start.