BATMAN?!

I’m so glad I was at church this morning.  I walked in, and was met by a diminutive Batman, haring down the aisle.  Then the church warden walked in with what looked like a dead animal (faux fur cape).  What WAS going on?!

The answer was a dramatisation of Elijah, how he got fed during a famine - this can be found in the Old Testament - the first half of the Bible -1 Kings Chapter 17.

And “Batman”?  He was one of the ravens who brought the prophet Elijah (Church Warden - duly decked out in fur cape and leather belt) enough bread to keep him alive.  His only source of water, a brook through the Kerith Ravine - slowly dried up.  The two little boys complete with beaks and black capes which they flapped enthusiastically, raced around church, finding bread and bringing it to Elijah.

You can imagine, there was lots of laughter.  The stream - running down the middle of the aisle - had now run dry, so the Lord told Elijah to move on outside the boundaries of Israel.- the front of Church standing in for Zarephath - where he was met by a widow, an old crone (retired teacher - my! she’s aged a bit, long white locks and bent back) gathering sticks.

Elijah asked the widow for water and bread.  I can just imagine how unfair this seemed to her - she’s just about to cook a last meal for herself and her son and has just enough for the two of them - and no one else - and there’s this chap asking her to make a small loaf for him, before she even begins to cook for herself and her son!

But God promised, through Elijah, that if she does that, then the jar of flour will not be used up, and the jug of oil will not run dry until the Lord sends rain again.  She did what was asked of her, and the flour and oil did not run out.

This reminds me of what was shared with me, years ago, by someone who knew the lady concerned personally.  The newly widowed lady was buttering a lot of sliced loaves, for the refreshments after the funeral of her husband.

Beside her, in the kitchen, was a man who talked incessantly about how stupid the dear departed’s faith was, and how useless it was for her to go on believing that she would see her husband again.  Having finished buttering multiple plates of bread, she turned to him and said,

“Well, I just had half a small packet of butter, and when I saw it running out, I prayed to the Lord, and look how many slices of bread have been buttered since.  It should have run out, a long way back.  I thank the Lord Jesus Christ for answering my prayer.  And I leave the rest in His faithful hands.”

On 6th April, I visited Wicken Fen RSPB Nature Reserve with my friend Margaret.  In the picture, above you can see a view back to the entrance to the Reserve.  To the left were a cottage, and workshop of  the site Fen Wood Worker.  We had an fascinating  conversation with him.  He showed us the tools of his trade, and the materials he worked with.  We also explored the fen cottage, dressed out for the 1900’s.  Scripture Texts on the walls, and so many things that reminded us of years gone by in our grand/great grand mothers’ homes.

We entered the RSPB Nature reserve and quickly found a hide, just beyond the left of the picture, with a view over a small, reedy fen pool.  On the banks were two sets of bird feeders.  These are the birds we saw:  Blue Tit, Bull Finch, Dunnock or Hedge Sparrow, Gold Finch, Great Tit, Green Finch, Red Poll, and later on, on the walk back, a possible Marsh Harrier.  I have to admit I was very excited.  I hadn’t seen some of these for years!  Excitement isn't good for birdwatching!  I quickly realised I had to sit on my excitement, to see any birds!

Beneath, and feeding on dropped birdseed, were little families of - wondered if they were water voles, but with their sharp faces and little ears, think they were mice.  Their boldness alone precluded water voles, which are shy and elusive.  Then we walked round the wooden walkways, back to the site office.

What a wonderful afternoon - full of simple enjoyment.  It blessed me to see so many texts, and a picture of Ruth in the cornfield, gleaning - perhaps close to the life of the housewife, who lived in the cottage.  Looking at them, the sheer numbers told me, these weren’t just for decoration, but an expression of real faith in Jesus Christ.  

Christmas Wrappings

I thought I would share a friend's Christmas poem, anyone who has children will say "Yes".

CHRISTMAS WRAPPINGS

They spent a lot of money on young Johnny’s Christmas toy.

After all, he was their grandson and they loved to bring him joy.

They wrapped it up so brightly and placed it by the tree,

Then watched the little fellow as he pounced on it with glee.

He loved the shiny paper and he tied the string in knots,

But with some help from Grandad, Johnny opened up the box.

He lifted out the costly toy and put it to one side

Then peered into the empty box, and quickly climbed inside!

He wrapped himself in paper, with ribbon for a scarf.

The box became a boat, a car - he made the grown-ups laugh.

‘I’m in a space ship, Grandad - and Teddy’s coming too!’

So much for costly presents for a boy who’s only two!

But even so, they had to smile as they watched young Johnny play.

That cardboard box and wrappings kept him happy all that day.

Amusing little tale you think, but maybe fail to see

What little Johnny’s antics can say to you and me.

There’s so much joy at Christmas, so much that’s good and right,

The family, the presents, the food, the tree, the lights.

But all these things are wrappings (like the paper and the string

That little Johnny found more fun than the gift that lay within).

We need to look beyond them to the gift that God has given,

His only Son who came to earth that we might go to heaven,

The baby in the manger who grew to be a man

And sacrificed His perfect life to pay the price of sin.

May we not be like children who throw the gift away

And get absorbed with wrappings which only last a day.

Let us accept with humble hearts the gift that God has given,

Then we shall know real Christmas joy - the peace of sins forgiven.

Val Joslin

The Lilies of the Field

This month we have an invited blogger, Judith Raymont:

“Why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?”  

Sometimes easier said than done.  

Take, for example, packing to go on holiday:  

What a nightmare! It is a tricky exercise at the best of times. But this time. Oh dear!  

This particular holiday was in multiple sections, requiring clothes appropriate for: fell walking, dining, sightseeing, shopping, swimming, lengthy spells of driving, meeting old and new friends, rain, shine and high water!  

How do you pack for so many scenarios – what do you put in and what do you leave out?  

I think back longingly to a previous holiday when I packed everything I needed, including evening wear, snorkel, mask, sea shoes and puffy pillow all in a Ryan-Air-small, carry-on, wheelie suitcase. But now I have all the room I could possibly want in the interior of a car and therefore enormous amounts of that dreaded word – CHOICE!   Aargh!    I know I should be grateful but actually I hate it.  

The lilies of the field are lucky. They have no choice. They are either arrayed in white, or yellow or pink petals and that’s it. Glorious as they are, they can’t change their colours. if only I had a limited set of petals to wear it would be so much easier.  

So, my husband comes home to find a multitude of garments strewn all over the bed. “Haven’t you packed yet?” He comes back a little while later to see a suitcase full of clothes, in some semblance of order. He smiles and wanders off again. Next time he looks in, the case is empty once more, and there, all over the bed, and floor, is a jumble of trousers, tops, dresses, shoes, undergarments. His face falls as he realises all is not well, and his wife, rather than the unworried lily he had hoped for, is swiftly wilting into a neurotic heap of indecision.  

Finally, we are off. The car is laden down with heavy suitcases (I can’t even lift mine), laptop, extra bedding, boots, walking poles, anoraks, maps, books on wild flowers and not forgetting the Mitchell Beasley guide to trees of the English countryside.  

Halfway up the motorway a conversation begins about the possibility of dining out in a swanky restaurant in Liverpool, and a chance to wear the ‘Little Black dress’, or LBD, as they are now referred to in magazines. I begin to whimper, not very quietly, as the realisation dawns that the one garment I should have packed, is still hanging in the wardrobe at home.  

This is obviously somewhat of an exaggeration but has the potential for a fortnight’s worth of regret and misery. I know in my heart of hearts I am being ridiculous. God looks on the inside and is more concerned with my spiritual state than what I am wearing on the outside.  

Consider the lilies of the field!


Judith Raymont

THE WORLD WIDE WEB“’

"Are you on The Web?"
The question might be asked
"Are you the spider or the fly?" 

Are you the one who
Sends out sticky threads,
That hopes to trap by guile?

Or, are you the one
Stuck upon the thread,
Who, with twang and shake

Endeavours to be free?
The World Wide Web
Is waiting there to trap

Unwary browsers who
See not the spider's eyes,
Beady, greedy and black,

Jaws ready to snap up
    The electronic browser
                Whole!

I wrote this, after asking a businessman friend of mine, if he was "on the web".  The poem is not a reflection of him, but simply, my impression of the way the world of commerce is going, fast!

In the 1960's, when I worked as an office junior in a bank in the City of London, the motto of the Stock Exchange was still "My word is my bond".  Naively, I imagined it would always be so.  How things have changed!  Family banks being brought down by individual traders and computer theft and insider trading are just a few of the things that have made "the City", a far less safe place.

Financially, the world seems much less a secure place than it was when "My word is my bond" was a standard that was looked up to, but there is "Someone" whose Word is still His Bond, who does not change, the Lord Jesus Christ, whose heart is full of love and compassion and who says, "Whoever comes to me, I will never drive away". 

Why not reach out to him today, He is already reaching out in love to you.

Father's Day 17th June

I belong to an email “poetry circle”.  When the subject “Fatherhood” came up, I replied, “I have only seen fatherhood from a distance" (Dad was a bit knocked up after the war) "and being single myself …”.  To which my Vicar’s wife replied,

“Come on Liz!  If you can’t write about your own father, you have observed other fathers over a lifetime - and there is always the Heavenly option”. 

Well, I didn’t write about my Heavenly Father, but I did write something, and in view of the fact that it is Father’s Day on the 17th June, I though some of you might like to read this:

My Father

Two photographs
Ten years apart.
In one, they stride
Along the promenade.
He, with curly hair
And laughing face,
Strong, vigorous,
Loving arm gripped
Around the little
Lady at his side.
She, can step out
Strong - He is there
To help her keep
Her feet in canvas
Sandals, though
Her steps are weak.

And now it is their
Wedding day.  How
Grim he stands.  A
Promise made, he
Keeps it.  She wears
Blue, so dark it brings
A shade, made deeper
By the angle of her hat.
Khaki declares the
Reason for this change.
A soldier now, the
Curly hair all gone.
In the years that come
Only seconds give a
Glimpse of that so
Lovely smile.  A husband
Come - a father gone
Before I ever knew him.

A shadow in the corner
With eyes that saw
Only pain and death
And loss of people
In that war. Things
He could not share.
But one golden
Glimpse was there,
As in patriarchal
Fashion, he gave
Thanks for food
And named his God
His “Dear Redeemer”.

Elizabeth S Wells

May blossom or month?

“NAY SHED A CLOUT BEFORE MAY IS OUT

” This is an old and familiar weather rhyme. There are two interpretations of this. The question is, does "before May is out," mean we can shed our extra warm clothes (clouts) when the May flowers bloom, or when the month of May ends? I still don't know for sure, having often taken it to be the May coming into bloom and getting caught out by a really chilly day in late April or early May.

Smell and scents can be powerful triggers for memories. For my mother, the scent of paraffin would bring back the memory of her mother lighting the oil lamps in the home near the cross roads in Borough Green in Kent. My mother was born in 1903, and her mother passed away in 1906, so this was a very early memory in deed.

For me, it is the scent of may flowers that are so evocative, bringing back memories of the banks of may that were ranged across the grassy green slopes above the little town center of Abbey Wood, in South East London, at the edges of Kent. We moved from there when I was ten in 1954, and before moving day, I stood amongst the great, white mounds of may blossom, breathing in the wonderful, intoxicating scent, and promising myself I would remember this for ever - and I have.

I also remember being on a spring holiday with my mother, beneath the South Downs in Sussex, when I was a lot younger. I dashed into the house where we were staying with a bunch of may blossom and got the sharp response from the lady of the house, "Not in here! That will mean someone is going to die!" How sad that anyone should think of these beautiful flowers, with their wonderful scent, as bringing a curse! I prefer to think of them as part of the Lord's gracious and loving creation, and to thank God for them.

Edith Holden in “The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady”, when writing about May, quotes Chaucer:

“Among the many buds proclaiming May
Decking the fields in holiday array,
Striving who shall surpass in braverie,
Marke the faire flowering of the hawthorne tree.”