Vincent's pecking order, communicant retrievers and Hugo Boss Messy Vintage ......
Vincent van Cock is enjoying life in his new home.
A Barnevelder surrounded by rescue chickens that he is organising into a pecking order, eggcouraged by his challenging crowing as he strides around the gardens.
The favourite grazing ground, watering hole, for Vincent and the posse is under the bird table where there is a plentiful supply of corn, oats, peanuts and suet balls and if they scrabble hard enough the occasional unsuspecting worm.
The hens are an eggcelent addition to the life of the garden alongside the pheasants, the collared Doves, the Owls and the Woodpecker.
Today I left them to their foraging and went to a meeting in Newcastle. The meeting was to promote the work of a Bible Reading Fellowship project called the Gift of Years.
Inspiring, equipping and enabling every church in the UK to meet the spiritual needs of older people.
It seemed to me as I listened to what was being said about the recruitment and deployment of chaplaincies in residential homes known as Anna Chaplains that the whole project is a reflection of the strength and weakness of the Church in the 21st Century.
As a Curate during the year that man first walked on the moon I attended the local Derby and Joan Club. If playing Whist was the main aim after the tea and before the Raffle. The spiritual purpose was deeper and more significant.
Taking communion to nursing homes and residential centres offered a sacramental continuity with the previous lives of those residents who had been regular church goers.
But ever since Sarai left the old peoples home to be rushed to the maternity unit Gods purposes for the elders in our society has been purposeful, merciful and miraculous.
My Golden Retrievers enjoyed accompanying me to one local nursing home, I thought they offered an additional therapeutic ministry alongside mine, until I realised that they had become communicant dogs courtesy of the residents and so that had to cease, forthwith.
In Snods Edge much of what happens and what we do engages with people at the age they are. Apparently alongside Messy Church, whatever that is? I now discover that there is Messy Vintage. When I returned home Elizabeth presented me with a present, a vintage present, not a messy vintage present but a Hugo Boss shirt from the local charity shop.
But apparently that's not what messy vintage means.
Messy Vintage is a way into worship for older people, regardless of their background or faith journey. It has come out of the worldwide Messy Church movement, which is a fun and creative way of 'being church' for families from all kinds of backgrounds.
Well anyone present on Sunday when Brian sat down with the young people to describe their activities in Sunday School as he talked about his experiences as a young man at he outbreak of war 80 years ago, would have seen both fun and creative ways of being church for families of many and different backgrounds.
However during this mornings discussion I did find myself wondering about the wider political context of growing older in our society, of the poverty of old age, of the declining value of the pension, of the ending of free TV licences for the over 75's, of nursing home chains filing for bankruptcy as elder care has been privatised often to the under bidder who then cannot afford to deliver their service to the required standard.
As with so much, the Churches singular failing is to focus on the personal expression of the Gospel as though it is has no wider political or structural significance.
But as we were reminded to ask on Sunday by tSt Luke's Beattitudes and Woes, if the news for the poor is good, what is the news for the rich?
So we continue to enjoy the eggcelence of life and the weather, I drove to and from today's meeting in my MG with the hood down and UB40 blasting from the speakers:
A Barnevelder surrounded by rescue chickens that he is organising into a pecking order, eggcouraged by his challenging crowing as he strides around the gardens.
The favourite grazing ground, watering hole, for Vincent and the posse is under the bird table where there is a plentiful supply of corn, oats, peanuts and suet balls and if they scrabble hard enough the occasional unsuspecting worm.
The hens are an eggcelent addition to the life of the garden alongside the pheasants, the collared Doves, the Owls and the Woodpecker.
Today I left them to their foraging and went to a meeting in Newcastle. The meeting was to promote the work of a Bible Reading Fellowship project called the Gift of Years.
Inspiring, equipping and enabling every church in the UK to meet the spiritual needs of older people.
It seemed to me as I listened to what was being said about the recruitment and deployment of chaplaincies in residential homes known as Anna Chaplains that the whole project is a reflection of the strength and weakness of the Church in the 21st Century.
As a Curate during the year that man first walked on the moon I attended the local Derby and Joan Club. If playing Whist was the main aim after the tea and before the Raffle. The spiritual purpose was deeper and more significant.
Taking communion to nursing homes and residential centres offered a sacramental continuity with the previous lives of those residents who had been regular church goers.
But ever since Sarai left the old peoples home to be rushed to the maternity unit Gods purposes for the elders in our society has been purposeful, merciful and miraculous.
My Golden Retrievers enjoyed accompanying me to one local nursing home, I thought they offered an additional therapeutic ministry alongside mine, until I realised that they had become communicant dogs courtesy of the residents and so that had to cease, forthwith.
In Snods Edge much of what happens and what we do engages with people at the age they are. Apparently alongside Messy Church, whatever that is? I now discover that there is Messy Vintage. When I returned home Elizabeth presented me with a present, a vintage present, not a messy vintage present but a Hugo Boss shirt from the local charity shop.
But apparently that's not what messy vintage means.
Messy Vintage is a way into worship for older people, regardless of their background or faith journey. It has come out of the worldwide Messy Church movement, which is a fun and creative way of 'being church' for families from all kinds of backgrounds.
Well anyone present on Sunday when Brian sat down with the young people to describe their activities in Sunday School as he talked about his experiences as a young man at he outbreak of war 80 years ago, would have seen both fun and creative ways of being church for families of many and different backgrounds.
However during this mornings discussion I did find myself wondering about the wider political context of growing older in our society, of the poverty of old age, of the declining value of the pension, of the ending of free TV licences for the over 75's, of nursing home chains filing for bankruptcy as elder care has been privatised often to the under bidder who then cannot afford to deliver their service to the required standard.
As with so much, the Churches singular failing is to focus on the personal expression of the Gospel as though it is has no wider political or structural significance.
But as we were reminded to ask on Sunday by tSt Luke's Beattitudes and Woes, if the news for the poor is good, what is the news for the rich?
So we continue to enjoy the eggcelence of life and the weather, I drove to and from today's meeting in my MG with the hood down and UB40 blasting from the speakers:
Red, red wine, stay close to me
Don't let me be alone
It's tearing apart
My blue, blue heart
Don't let me be alone
It's tearing apart
My blue, blue heart
I'd have thought that with time
Thoughts of you would leave my head
I was wrong, now I find
Just one thing makes me forget
Thoughts of you would leave my head
I was wrong, now I find
Just one thing makes me forget
Red, red wine, stay close to me
Don't let me be alone
It's tearing apart
My blue, blue heart
Don't let me be alone
It's tearing apart
My blue, blue heart
It's easy to forget that you might have enjoyed but have now exceeded your three score years and ten when the motor is humming, the radio is singing in your ear and the sun is shining.
My mother always said never a borrower or lender be. But now it seems to be time that I am borrowing.
I'm sure that Vincent never gives any of this a moments thought as heralds the start of new day bossing his posse around(maybe he should have been named Hugo?) for a day spent free range foraging in the Messy gardens of the Vicarage.
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