Green Church

Covid hit our church hard. Several much loved older people died, afflicted by the isolation and delayed medical treatment of Lockdown rather than the Covid virus itself. Some of the members who had been most creative and most generous with their time moved away. One or two developed long-term illnesses. And then our vicar retired.

So coming out of Covid has felt like the aftermath of a nasty fall. Gingerly we have picked ourselves up and tested each limb for strains and bruises.

However, there is now a very tangible sign of new life – the creation of a green space in front of our church. A team, led with great energy by Celia, has packed the modest plot with flowers to attract bees and a wet area for amphibians. Above, there are swift boxes and a swift call playing to attract the birds to nest, (my own contribution). On either side are benches for people to sit and appreciate it all.

The fact that we have accomplished this long-awaited project now in the spring, and that it will blossom and flourish through the summer must be a good sign.

So by the time winter chill creeps in once more, the plants will have become established and our new vicar will have taken up his post.

For more about our environmentally-aware church http://www.saint-lukes.co.uk/

 

A Mother's Day Service

At church, Mother’s day is called Mothering Sunday and is said to be the day when people would traditionally revisit their mother church – the one where they were baptised.

But I have always held this to be an evil rumour put about by clergymen who have forgotten to buy their mothers a card.

Mother’s Day is about ME.

Obviously.

So although I’m a regular churchgoer at St Luke’s, I usually eschew Mothering Sunday Services and force my benighted children to accompany me on a day trip into the countryside.

However, due to current guidelines, I couldn’t gather my offspring this year.  We phoned Nigel’s Mum in Northumberland, mine in Cornwall.  My kids Skyped and Zoomed in.

However, the thing that really made it feel like Mother’s Day was, paradoxically, church.

The church Mother’s Day service was not held this year owing to Covid 19.  In the Vicar’s garden paraded a legion of brightly-coloured pots of polyanthus. They had been purchased to hand out on Mother’s Day, but were now unclaimed.

A few of us who could not think up an excuse quickly enough were delegated to place these on the doorsteps of the women who should have received them.

Initially, the freezing East wind and the fact that my recipients were dotted all over town made me curse.  But then I got into it. 

I began to feel a bit like the Easter Bunny come early.

And in the end, one of the nicest things about my Mother’s Day was the thought of those other mothers opening their doors to an unexpected splash of colourful flowers.

God With Us

At Christmas, we have only two firm family traditions.

On Christmas Eve we attend the beautiful sung evensong at St Albans Abbey – or The Annual Festival of Coughing, as we call it.

On Christmas morning we go to our own church, St Luke’s.

At quiet moments in the services I pray for people I know who are sad, ill or bereaved.  Then I move on to considering the year ahead and praying that God be with us.

And this year, I have already received a blessing.

Let me tell you the story:

This morning we attended our church.  SO MANY people we knew were there for Christmas.  And so were their children, grandchildren, aunts and uncles. 

We circulated around the church to exchange the handshake of peace with everybody. 

We processed up in front of everybody to receive communion.

Then back again.  

In front of everybody.

But it was not until I got home that the pants which had been caught up my trousers in the wash fell out onto the floor.

As I say – a blessing.

Just Stop

A few years ago when I trained as a teacher, I had a placement in rural North Hertfordshire.  Showing me round,  the pupils focused on the most important thing of all – the procedure for snow days.  

It was only September, but they already had an eye on a day off.  And I quite liked the prospect too.

From that day to this, however, there has been no snow day in Hertfordshire.  Until today.

Even today there is not really a snow day off school as it is Sunday. 

However, there is the same delightful feeling that whatever we were going to do today, it will not be done. 

And it is not our fault.

It’s a very busy time of year, preparing cards, gifts, food and social life for Christmas.  But today it’s as if God just shook his finger at us and said “Shush now – doesn’t really matter.  Settle down.”

We put on our boots and did the things that counted - got to church, called on an elderly neighbour, filled the bird feeders.

But then everything slowed down – home made bread, the wood-burner lit, an old film on the telly.

And a nourishing day’s rest in Advent.

Thank Heavens for Churches

 Last week, the most beautiful thing I saw was in a church.  It was Sarrat Flower Festival and the ancient church was glowing with fragrant dewy arrangements, each representing a saint.

Last week, the funniest thing I heard was in a church. Sue was being ordained as a priest in Aylesbury.  A senior priest issued a cautionary tale to the new ordinands.  She had been visiting an old lady and had helped herself to the little dish of peanuts on the old lady’s coffee table. At length she realised she had eaten all of them.  Guilt-stricken, she bought her another bag.  The old lady’s response: “Oh you needn’t have bothered, Vicar.  I don’t like peanuts.  That’s why, when my son gives me a box of chocolate peanuts, I just suck the coating off, and put them in this little dish.”

Last week, the most inspiring thing I heard was in a church.  Kath was preaching at St Luke’s.  She reminded us of the brilliant rainbow which had lit up our neighbourhood the night before.  When God blessed us it felt like that.  However, just like the rainbow, the memory would fade.  But that did not mean we had never been blessed.  Just like the rainbow, it had really happened.  We must try to hold on to remembrance of glory.

And in each of those places, a volunteer was manning the tea urn and offered me a cuppa afterwards.

Thank Heavens for our churches – still at the heart of our communities.