We had an excellent turn out at last Saturday’s parish meeting. Thanks to all for your participation. We are at least moving in the right direction and this has not been another ‘talking shop’. We hope to take it to the next stage by developing ways forward. We will bring prayer to bear on this process at the Parish Retreat this weekend. Excellent Film Night and discussion last Thursday on the film ‘The Old Oak’. An improved screen (still not as it could be), and the presence of a group of Syrian friends, enhanced the evening. Again, an excellent turnout. Thanks to all. There is a Liturgy meeting next Wednesday. We’d be delighted by any ideas you might have for Liturgy generally, and especially for Easter.
top of page
Parish News and Announcements
Search
A Lenten Poem from Wendell Berry – Sabbaths, II from 1985
A gracious Sabbath stood here while they stood
Who gave our rest a haven.
Now fallen, they are given
To labor and distress.
These times we know much evil, little good
To steady us in faith
And comfort when our losses press
Hard on us, and we choose,
In panic or despair or both,
To keep what we will lose.
For we are fallen like the trees, our peace
Broken, and so we must
Love where we cannot trust,
Trust where we cannot know,
And must await the wayward-coming grace
That joins living and dead,
Taking us where we would not go–
Into the boundless dark.
When what was made has been unmade
The Maker comes to His work.
14 views
There are still a few places left for our Parish Retreat in Keswick. Our parish meeting next Saturday takes on more importance as we get nearer the time. I’ll mention it in more detail at each Mass this weekend. The Mass for the families of this year’s first communicants was well attended. Thanks to all who came, and to our schools especially.
‘Ash Wednesday Unshowered’
by Anya Krugovoy Silver
My hair’s pulled back to disguise the grime,
though maybe it’s well that I’m unclean,
since from dust you came, to dust you will return,
the priest recites, smearing my forehead.-
Once, twice, and I’m marked,
a lintel in plague years.
I’m invited to kneel and read the fifty-first Psalm,
recalling how David watched Bathsheba bathe.
Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
Merciful one, save me from slight repentance.
I pierced the center of the white orchid, Lord,
and it was mud, blood’s cry, my body’s blighted tender.
18 views
bottom of page