Harvest time

This evening, we will be holding our Harvest Thanksgiving service. I made the harvest loaf last year and I was asked to do it again so I spent yesterday morning happily rolling and pulling dough to produce this:

I will have a basket of homegrown goodies to take, too, unlike last year when I had to buy everything from the greengrocer. I have  a good crop of potatoes, tomatoes, aubergine and sweetcorn to take and there may even be a few raspberries left if the birds don't beat me to them. I love this opportunity to bring the summer to a fitting close.

! ! Harvest Festival

When on a glorious day – one such as this –
you’re overcome with awe and wonder, praise,
and part-formed gratitude… which seeks some one
to thank for this, by laying at their feet
all that the world has brought us unannounced
as seedcorn turned to golden harvest wheat –

then who would hesitate, to draw in light
a greater One as whom to kneel before,
to make of our humility, a ‘One’
as if we were some grateful ‘other’; we,
less worthy, painting pure duality..

..don’t hesitate: praise is beyond a ‘two’;
what now we praise, becomes our very self;
in praise, name radiates as kingdom, come;
and kingdom hallows all, as all its own;
so, glory in that sound of praise so fine;
for when you shine with praise – then all things shine.

Michael Shepherd

 

 

Five funerals and a baptism

During the last six weeks I have attended three funerals and am now waiting for details of the funerals of two more friends. When I came to live here, 22 years ago, our little church on the hill was the centre of a small but thriving community. The church holds about 70 people and we had two services on Sundays in order to accommodate everyone. In the holiday season, the extra visitors would stand outside, crowding the area around the well.

Life has changed a lot in just a few years with fewer young people attending church or supporting village events.  Just ten years ago, I had between 20 and 30 children in my group and now not a single child comes to church. 


Our ageing population is dwindling. These latest deaths bring our regular congregation down to forty. The little parish is no longer viable and we have had to join with a larger one in a nearby town, with our beautiful little chapel being used only for weddings and funerals. I don't know if this is typical of village churches everywhere.


On a happier note, we were in Oxfordshire last weekend for our grandson's baptism. Benjamin was too big to wear the family christening gown, last worn by Millie but here he is looking very smart in his blue velvet suit:

And here he is with proud parents, godmothers and Fr Jamie in their bigger and, hopefully, more thriving parish church.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

Alexander Pope

Rumpeta, rumpeta

The very best children's books are those that everyone enjoys, from baby to great grandma. Phrases from them are absorbed and become part of a family's shared experience, triggering laughter that cannot be explained to anyone outside the magic circle of that particular memory.

One of our family favourites is The Elephant and the Bad Baby by Elfrida Vipont, with wonderful illustrations by Raymond Briggs. My children loved it when they were small and we all still pick up on anyone in a restaurant, shop or on TV who fails to ask politely for anything by chorusing, "But you haven't once said please! You haven't ONCE said please!" Now it is granddaughter Millie's turn to love the book. She doesn't understand about manners yet but she loves rumpeta, rumpeta, rumpeta all down the road, joining in with gusto as I turn the pages.

I know that Millie will go on to find more and more to interest and amuse her in the illustrations and that sooner or later she will think the Baby is naughty and then begin to wonder about the morality of the Elephant. (I have a feeling that this book might be responsible for the increase in interest in philosophy among young people, since 1967.)

A few years ago, I was asked to speak at a conference of clergy and catechists. There were about 120 of them, from all over the south west of England. They had come, I'm sure, to enjoy a peaceful weekend in sunny North Devon, only to find the worst freak storm in years.

I was used to speaking to groups of teachers and medical practitioners in my professional life but to speak about the gospel to a bishop and crowd of Catholic priests was a real challenge. Who would want to preach to preachers? The gospel reading I had to speak about was John 4:3-30, the story of the woman at the well. After tearing up all attempts at writing something spiritual or intellectual (and most of my hair!) I decided to speak from a place that would be entirely unknown to my listeners - my experience as a mother. And I used my battered old copy of The Elephant and the Bad Baby as my visual aid.

I picked out the words of Jesus to the woman, "Give me a drink" and said how my family, listening to this story, would have cried in unison, "He never ONCE said please." I went through the Bad Baby book, linking the demands of the baby with the many demands that are made on priests and teachers, who frequently feel unappreciated. They loved it! I wasn't challenging their position in any way, I was being a Mum, recognising their tiredness and hurts and comforting them with a story. And, like all good mothers, I finished with a message of hope, if they were to take time over the weekend to listen, even amid the sound of those 12 foot waves crashing onto the rocks outside, they might just hear a "Please."

I bet Elfrida Vipont never expected her children's book to provide the basis of a homily! Or, as the Episcopal Vicar for Formation referred to it - a homilette. Well, he had to draw the distinction, I am a woman after all.