We will remember them

THE FINAL INSPECTION

The soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.

'Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you ?
Have you always turned the other cheek ?
To My Church have you been true?'

The soldier squared his shoulders and said,
'No, Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.

But, I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills got just too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.

If you've a place for me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand.

There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.

'Step forward now, you soldier,
You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell.'

I received this as part of an email today and felt it was worth sharing.

Out of nothing...

I used the following during our all age worship this morning. I thought it was beautiful and challenging all at the same time. Beautiful in the way it is written - the challenge being the potential in each of us as seen by God and the possibilities - if only we let him.

Creation out of Nothing by Peter Dainty from The Electric Bible

Darkness is nothing
but the absense of light;
and, out of nothing,
God made all things visible,
sparking the empty black
with blazing stars
an innumerable mornings.

Silence is nothing
but the absense of sound;
and, out of nothing
God made all things audible,
plucking the noiseless tension
into the throbbing music
of creation's song of joy.

Stillness is nothing
but the lack of movement;
and, out of nothing,
God made all things move,
broadcasting seeds of life
in the growing fields of space.

God's nature always is
to turn poor nothings
into something great.
He called weak slaves
to be his chosen nation;
he made a dying man
the world's salvation;
and from the grave he raised
a new creation.

If from such nothings
God makes all things new,
what might he, in his wisdom,
make of me and you?

We are amazing creatures - so full of potential, so loved by God.

The Runes

Back and forth, to and fro,
In and out, ebb and flow.
In the name of the Triune
I make this sacred rune.

In the Name of the Father, Creator He,
Maker of all, in land and sea.

In the Name of Christ upon the Cross
Redeeming mankind, accepting loss.

In the Name of the Spirit, God of power
Protecting each of us every hour.

Back and forth, to and fro,
In and out, ebb and flow.
In the Name of the Triune,
I make this sacred rune.

From "Tides & Season - Modern prayers in the Celtic tradition" by David Adam

I came across this as I flicked trough this gem of a book, this morning. I found myself swaying to the rhythm of it. It physically moved me as well as spiritually. I had only every heard of runes in a new age fortune telling kindof way. So I thought I should investigate! Apparently they are of Germanic/Scandinavian origin. Runic characters are letters that can be used for writing, but each rune is also a vessel of natural potency. There is a rune for water and a rune for earth, a rune for hail and a rune for ice, a rune for horse and a rune for man. So it seems entirely appropriate for a Celtic prayer to be written using runes.

The physicalness (I know thats not a real word!) of our world is there, it is God's earth and it speaks. It speaks to us of creation - of a world given to us to look after and enjoy. I am often moved by the beauty of creation. "How can they say there is no God?" is a question that often pops into my head as I look around me and see the beauty of God in nature, in the magnificent scenery and in the faces of people. I watch my cat curled up on the couch and think how beautiful she is. I drive through the autumn trees and think how stunning the colours are. I look into the face of an wrinkled old lady who smiles despite her pain and all I see is a beautiful woman.

How can they say there is no God?

Who am I?

Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, 0 God, I am Thine!

Dietrich Bonhoeffer March 4,1946

"The Prodigal" by Shuna Dicks

“I want it all and I want it now!” He demands.
“Here my son, take it. I love you.” The father responds.
“Ah, this is the life! Wine, women, song...” He rejoices.

“Wait, where has it all gone? These pigs have more than me.” He bemoans.
“He wasted it all.....he wasted it all.” The demons taunt.
“No one will want me; I’ve let them all down.” He cries.
“My heart is broken.” The father weeps.
“He is better gone.” The brother fumes.
“I miss my son.” The mother wails.

“I have no choice, I must head home.” He decides.
“My son, my son. It’s my son.” The father beams.
“He has a cheek.” The brother stews.
“He looks so thin.” The mother worries.

“I am sorry.” He sobs.
“I love you.” The father soothes.
They party.

We are all our Father’s prodigals – we may leave but God’s door is always open. God’s party is our return.

"Parents" by Shuna Dicks

Parents
Young, old;
Fit, infirm;
Colourful, grey;
Bendy, stiff;
Working, bus passed.
Whatever! You are the child!

You are born, a child.
You grow up, but remain a child.
You grow older, but still someone’s child.
You stand on your own two feet, but still a child.

You are a child, always a child.
Not everyone will be a parent.
But all are a child.

"Faith Feels" by Shuna Dicks

Faith feels.
It touches the core of your being.
You cannot control it,
It arrives with a bam!
Or creeps up on you and takes hold.

Sometimes it feels strong;
Sometimes it hangs on by its finger tips.
But even in weakness it is tough.

God is tough.
He takes hard knocks –
But never gives in.
He hangs on by his finger tips –
But never let’s go.

Faith is tough.
It can survive hard knocks –
If you never give in.
It can hang on by the finger tips –
If you never let go.

"Psalm 139" by Shuna Dicks

You know me,
There is no hiding,
No escape.

You anticipate me,
What I will do,
What I will say.

You surround me,
Protecting,
All knowing.

You never leave me,
Up, down;
All around.

You created me,
My shape, my hair,
My life.

You amaze me;
Your knowledge, your thoughts,
Your power.

Lord protect me;
Keep the evil away,
Stop their words of pollution; they are my detractors!

Lord know me.
Test my thoughts; be my guide,
Always!

Lord God, you are my birth, my life, my death. I trust in you always.
Amen