The Secret Life of Bees

Bookmark last night and we all agreed that we LOVED this book by Sue Monk Kidd. (Even our token man loved it.) The author, born in a small town in Georgia, started off life as a nurse but went on to study spirituality, philosophy, mythology and woman stuff. She is a big fan of Thomas Merton and C G Jung, and I think you could find glimpses of all within this book.

Set in the American South in 1964, the year of the Civil Rights Act and intensifying racial unrest, the book is a powerful story of coming-of-age, of the ability of love to transform our lives, and the often unacknowledged longing for the universal faminine divine. Addressing the wounds of loss, betrayal, and the scarcity of love, the author demonstrates the power of women coming together to heal those wounds, to mother each other and themselves, and to create a sanctuary of true family and home.

The book revolves around Lily, a 14 year old, who lives with her harsh father, both mourning the death of her mother when Lily was 4. Lily is led to believe that she was responsible for her death. Lily is raised by Rosaleen, her proud, outspoken African-American nanny and when Rosaleen tries to vote she is attacked and thrown into jail. Lily springs her from jail and they run away together to a small town, the name of which Lily has found in her mother’s possessions. There they are taken in by three black beekeeping sisters who worship the Black Madonna. There Lily makes her passage to wholeness and new life.

The book is funny and sad and empowering and the ending is not what you might expect. We’d love to see the film when it’s made, but weren’t sure if we wanted to read a sequel if the author ever does one.

Chernobyl art

Here is the painting I was telling you about. It is by a 15 year old girl, I think, who studies at the Minsk School of Art. Her name is K Shimanovich - perhaps Katya. All money raised goes to buy them more paintbrushes and printing materials, something they lack. Isn’t it gorgeous?

A weekend in church

Saturday was our Overseas Mission sale. It’s a strange one this. All the money raised goes Overseas, as the name suggests. It used to go to Links (our Provincial Overseas network) but I suggested half should go to one that we have personal links with. Nobody could answer me when I asked where the Links money goes. I’m sure it goes to a good cause but sometimes a personal contact means more to some people. That hasn’t gone down particularly well with some. It has been organised by the same people for years, perhaps centuries, and no newcomers welcome. Well that’s how it seems to the outsider. Oh no, I’ve got that wrong… newcomers are welcome to move the furniture and come and spend money. As a result it is not terribly well attended because not everyone feels involved. Oh maybe I’m being too harsh - just my Monday morning thoughts. However, we did raise about £670 and half of that went to help pay for children from Chernobyl to come over the Portie in June.

The children from Chernobyl have been coming for years and stay for a month and have a wonderful time. Their home stories would make you weep, but with a bit of fun and good food (pizza is a favourite!) and trips to dentists and doctors (not so much fun but it helps and all treatment is given free) they go back home refreshed and healthier. This year we had some paintings for sale by the older children (aged c14-17) who attend Minsk School of Art. The school houses and educates about 500 children and is officially supported by the State but resources are limited. Most children don’t even have a basic set of brushes and come from extremely poor and disadvantaged backgrounds. Their lives are also blighted by the after-effects of the 1986 Chernobyl disaster. Despite all this their talents shine through and their paintings were just amazing. Sorry I didn’t have my camera but I did buy one which now hangs above the fireplace. Will photo it later. We actually sold five paintings (not included in the total above) and the money goes straight back to the school to pay for art materials and a printing workshop.

Then on Sunday of course it was Pentecost fever. As we celebrate the Birthday of the Church we all bring birthday presents wrapped up. Good to see nice soft toilet paper, more felt tip pens than you could shake a stick at, bleach, washing up liquid (anti-bacterial as requested on our Health and Safety inspection), an iron and a new jug and basin for Maundy Thursday, etc. The children love unwrapping them all. Sunday School decorated the trees in the garden with scarlet streamers symbolising the Holy Spirit (shower curtains cut up, courtesy of Ikea). We are a generous lot at St Mark’s. Oh, and we had something new at Communion. Instead of a communion hymn we were treated to two beautiful numbers by the Alternative Service choir. Lovely to listen to.

Thank you one and all for all your help and generosity over a busy weekend.

…but hush! for God is here!

Many years ago I stayed in Firenze (that’s Florence to you!) at the Anglican Church with Fr Alex and friends. What a glorious time we had too. Chianti with every meal and enough empties to make a zillion lamps. Our Lady’s birthday (and mine) celebrated in style with lanterns in the streets. Climbing on to the roof of the Duomo and seeing a palette of Tuscan hues spread before us. Handbags in the market - many handbags. Bridges and Boboli and bruschetta. So many memories.

Fr Alex was taking the services and also had to go to Siena to service them too. Did you know there was an Anglican church in Siena? I was greatly taken by the sign on the door and just came across it today. (Not the actual sign, but a copy you understand.) Thought I’d just share it with you.

Enter this door as if the floor within
were Gold and every wall of Jewels,
all of wealth untold;
as if a choir in robes of fire
were singing here;
nor shout, nor rush:
but hush! for God is here!

A question of death

In Church we keep registers of baptisms, marriages and deaths. It occurred to me today that they don’t really ask the right questions.

For example, in the Burial Register (which includes Cremation now) they don’t ask for the date of death (or birth for that matter). All they require is the date you fill it in and the date of the Burial or Cremation. So when it comes to your Book of Remembrance for your Years Mind you can’t back check whether the dates are correct or not.

In St Mark’s we have two Books of Remembrance - one on the Requiem Altar and a little one that I keep at home for the pew sheets. There have been a few discrepancies noted and we don’t know which dates are correct. So it may be that our Years Mind is actually the date of the ceremony rather than the actual death.

It also means that we can’t put the details on the internet for those interested in doing family trees because we don’t have the info needed.

Personally, I always write the dates in any space I can find.

Handbag of glory

This is the new handbag of glory. There are not more than one handbags of glory. Others that once bore that name have now gone to handbag heaven. This is the only one. All others are imposters.

St Mark’s raids Culzean Castle

Yesterday was the parish outing - this year to Culzean Castle in Ayrshire. When I say parish outing, I actually mean some of the members of the parish who can escape all day on a Tuesday so that excludes about half who work. Oh, and some of their friends. Ok, is that clear?

Anyway, we set off from Portie in a haar and drove into the sunshine on the way to Ayrshire. It was a gloriously sunny day (the power of prayer at work) and we quickly realised that an afternoon was not nearly enough time to do justice to Culzean Castle and its grounds. (Not to mention the wee gift shops and second-hand bookshop which I missed. Drat.) Did manage a scamper round the castle though.

Oh, and I did find another handbag of glory in lilac tweed. To die for!

Then it was back on the bus and a short drive via the electric brae where the bus rolled backwards although the hill went up. (No alcohol had been consumed at this point, I promise.) A whizz past Rabbie Burn’s cottage and on to Ayr for high tea. For those who don’t know the Scottish High Tea, it involves fish and chips (or similar), white bread and butter, followed by scones and cakes. Delicious, if not carb ridden. We know how to do carbs, we Scots. This was the view of sun on water…

Then we waddled out to have our photae took by Tony the driver. Here we are in all our glory. It was a lovely day and we drove home with a glorious red sun (no pic cos I was on the motorway).

Suggestions for next year’s outing gratefully received.

Gas dilemma

My central heating has died. You would think this wasn’t such a problem, it being such a mild weekend. But these stone houses seem to really keep the heat out and it has been pretty chilly. We’ve been smelling gas too in my study, which is where the back boiler is, ever since it was serviced a few weeks ago. I have one of those Carbon Monoxide Detectors but its been twinkling away with no beeps so I assumed I wasn’t dying or anything like that. So today I am going to have to phone the Gas Board which you’d think wasn’t a big deal.

But… I don’t ever use the gas fire in my study. This means that my desk is up against it along with the computer and all its wires and hubs. The top of it contains my scanner and all the reference books I use. Next to the fire is my tower of CDs and on the fireplace are my computer CDs. Then there are two printers, a guillotine, a laminator, and my Stanley stapler (the best stapler in the world for booklets).

So phoning the Gas Board means moving all of that to the other end of the room and I hate doing that. (Which is why I never reported the gas smell in the first place.) And things are never the same when they get moved back. Grr.

Footprints (the alternative version)

Following several requests this morning after my sermon here is the alternative version of Footprints…

One night I had a wondrous dream.

One set of foot prints there were seen.

The foot prints of my precious Lord

but mine were not along the shore.

But then some stranger prints appeared.

I asked the Lord, “What have we here?

These prints are large and round and neat

but Lord, they are too big for feet.”

“My child,” he said in sombre tones,

“For miles I carried you alone.

I challenged you to walk in faith

but you refused and made me wait.

You disobeyed, you would not grow;

the walk of faith you would not know.

So I got tired, I got fed up

and there I dropped you on your butt.

Because in life there comes a time

when one must fight and one must climb.

When one must rise and take a stand…

or leave your butt prints in the sand.”

Are church cafes worthwhile?

I’ve been pondering this question for a while now. One of my last churches had a monthly cafe and St Mark’s does too. There is a huge amount of effort that goes in to these cafes. There’s the furniture removal, tables put up, buying the food and preparation, soup making (in church now because of Health and Safety which has cut down on volunteers), getting volunteers, working together in teams (not always easy!) and after its all over there is the same process in reverse. All that for an average profit of £100 to the church.

In both churches I notice that most of the volunteers for the cafe are on the elderly side. Most young parents treasure their weekends, quite rightly, and usually stay away.

Ah but its mission, I hear you cry. Outsiders coming in to your church who might not otherwise. Quite. But most of the customers are current members, with a few supporters from other local churches who have no intention of changing allegiance. It is a rare occurrence when an unknown person comes in (not that we don’t pounce if they do!).

So what’s the point? Would two people handing over £50 each be just as good? If I thought that the Cafe brought people together in a loving way to work towards a common missional purpose then I’d be more than happy. But let me tell you, that ain’t happening. It is bloody hard work. Tempers get frayed and sometimes I feel my role is better served as mediator. And it is the same young-ish folk who have to come in every time to do the heavy work.

What do you think? Anyone out there have similar problems and have a solution?