From Our Church Mag – July

Only 6 months until Christmas

I reckon just about everyone in Langdon Hills gets foxes in their gardens, but do you have cubs visit? I love them. The way they play and chase each other up and down my lawn and in and out of my conifers has my rapt attention for ages.

We had one three years ago, a young female, who kept us amused by trying to jump up at the bird feeder. She only managed to get half way and would bounce off the fence on her way down. I felt very privileged when she chose our garden to die in after being badly injured by some other animal.

Recently, some Jehovah’s Witnesses gave me a leaflet on creation versus evolution in Basildon. I haven’t read it fully yet, but it trotted out the one argument that Earth is just the right distance from the sun to experience the narrow range of temperatures needed for life to survive. Then again, I have read science fiction stories that suggest underwater volcanic activity on Jupiter’s moons could produce the right temperatures for life to develop. The environs of Earth’s underwater volcanoes are certainly teeming with life because of all the nutrients that get churned up in the oceans.

I have heard a few Christians I know say they’re not descended from monkeys and the theory of evolution is still just a theory, I understand. It has never been proved beyond all doubt.

Whatever the truth is, and I think it’s a combination of both ideas, I just need to look at those foxes and I KNOW God’s creation is good however He achieved it.

When daughter Jericho one was born, even before her mother dragged me up to St. Mary’s kicking and screaming for the Christening, I looked at her (daughter, not the trouble) with a sense of the wonder of God’s universe. Kids are so fantastic, as I expect most people that have had the blessing of bringing them up would testify, if pushed.

Today is a case in point. As I write, I have not long returned from the St. John’s Fathers’ day service. It was not the shambles I normally expect when the pre-school children and parents join services, much to my surprise. Only one tiny cried, that I saw. Not one was spotted with a digit surgically attached to the inside of a nostril. For a change, they actually seemed to comply with the script. First there was a prayer that sounded like the Lipsmackinthirstquenchinacetastinetc. Pepsi slogan, then we had a holy hokey cokey, then a song about the wise man building his house on rocks in the rain. The actions were a cross between one potato two potato and incy wincy spider. The piece de resistance though was when the instruments were handed out. Quite spontaneously, the littluns performed up the front with their assorted percussion without a hint of stage fright instead of returning to mum and dad. That’s the sort of innocence that gets people into heaven. I hope my second childhood’s like that.

Last month I said small groups are fun. They can also be educational. This week we were looking at Acts 17 where Paul got the Greeks all wound up in a market somewhere. The Agora it was called. It got me thinking that our word agoraphobia may well derive from there. Picture the scene…….

“Hey Melina, nip down the Agora and get some dolmades for dinner!”

“Behave, Stavros. That Paul caused a riot there yesterday and I’m not going back in a hurry. You’ll have to make do with kalamari and chips until the fuss dies down.”

I wonder how Paul would get on at Pitsea if he ever came back for a day.

And so, finally, St. John’s is 20 years old and twice the size it bagan with. Who’d Adam and Eve it, where does the time go? I never got to go to the bunfight, but I am led to believe that despite a valiant effort on Steve’s part, there was still a barrel of ale going begging at the end. I wonder if it was Bishop’s Finger.

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