Its been some time since my last confession

My first year of ministry has been rather hectic so I have not really had time to blog.  Hopefully I will get back in the swing of it again soon.  I was encouraged recently by one of my deacons telling me that her friend had been reading my blog and suddenly realized who I was.  At least I know my words have not been completely wasted. 

We had a great week of prayer a couple of weeks ago.  Everyone was encouraged to try as many sessions as they could and to try different ways of active praying, such as, praying through art, praying through walking, praying through music, and praying through writing.  Here is my contribution from the day on writing.  God does speak in some mysterious ways - here is my confession, however, I would point out I have never done drugs....!

Its been sometime since my last confession.

I don't know how long its been.

I know I missed the bus last week and shouted out and screamed.

If only I'd have been on time.

If only that man from number forty-nine hadn't made me read that sign.

What was he trying to tell me?

What was he trying to say?

'Keep off the grass' it read.

Its been sometime since my last confession.

Gargoyles

Gargoyles always seem to amuse me - but then I'm easily humoured.  Designed to stop the rain water from the roof falling directly onto the stonework below.  Designed to look evil or at least menacing to remind us that evil can be found outside of the church or cathedral and not inside it or perhaps to ward off evil spirits.  

These were all taken at Gloucester Cathedral.  It was a beautiful sky that day.

Do Youthful Tears Still Flow?

DO YOUTHFUL TEARS STILL FLOW?

Each November we remember those

who gave their lives for us.

Those remaining from the wars

without complaint or fuss,

Will bow their heads in homage and

think of those that died.

Up and down the country they will

            lay their wreaths with pride.

Some will talk in ageing voices of

comrades buried young.

And recall a distant land where

those boys did not belong.

Many have seen the unnamed graves

where crimson poppies grow.

They have seen the price of freedom,

where youthful tears still flow.

As images reel round and round

            in their ever fading sight.

Let us bow our heads and give thanks

            to those who fought for right.

copyright Maggs Payne