Lent Me Your Ears

As we enter the final week of Lent I see my job very much as a spiritual cheerleader. No, I’m not going to run around Harold waving poms-poms! But I am going to say well done and keep going to all of you who have chosen to bring themselves closer to the Lord by giving something up for the Lenten period. Properly, I mean, not cheating on Mothering Sunday and over-indulging like some people but I’m sure our curate had his reasons for what went on at The Squirrel Lickers’ Arms that night. Do tell, Andy!

It isn’t easy and I write as someone who hasn’t had a cigarette, a glass of wine or a piece of chocolate for five weeks. It isn’t easy but it is rewarding. I feel spiritually renewed and I’m pleased to say the stitches are out of my hand now – thanks Dr Clive and the team! – and Col. Hallet’s jaw is on the mend.

This last week in Lent is, of course, called Holy Week. Or though perhaps at St Paul’s we should call it Holey Week given the state of the vestments I have to wear! In these tough times it is hard to spend wisely and fruitfully. It is also hard to represent God, The Father, The Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth and of all things seen and unseen in a cassock that looks like one of the residents at Piebald House has made it in one of those marvellous therapeutic craft sessions that they have up there. I’m just joking and making an inclusive joke centred around some of our mentally less-fortunate brethren who are so often left out of the jokes and japes that those of us who are, thank God in a very real sense, completely normal take for granted.

So hang in there for one more week, everyone! Don’t get cross with each other and make a date to join me in St Paul’s at ten-thirty next Sunday for our Easter Day Family Service where we’ll be singing praise to a man who knew all about the meaning of cross, but in a different way. Plus there will be Cadbury’s mini-eggs for all the children to go with their after church orange juice if the curate can keep his big, fat hands off them!

God Bless,