Sunday Sermon

21 Feb

I had an enjoyable morning at church – seriously; it happens occasionally.  Our parish has three churches and can’t fill any of them but this morning we all came together at our church and roped in the Methodists as well (whose church it really is; we rent their space).  We were packed out, despite the overnight snowfall.  It was lovely to be squashed in next to ancients I hadn’t yet met.   The Bishop of Stockport took the service so I can’t help wondering if it was the local equivalent of the Songs of Praise effect: a full church because you might get on telly/touch a Bishop.

I did touch the Bishop, and it hurt.  I said to him, ‘That’s quite a handshake – I bet you don’t lose many of your flock.’  Once he’d moved on I whispered to the vicar, ‘What’s he Bishop of?’ because I wasn’t paying attention last week when they told us he was coming.  He seemed nice enough.

Afterwards, we had a bring and share lunch so I was finally able to offload the Twiglets we bought at Christmas and which we all thought tasted foul.  They weren’t that stale and went down well, but not as well as the quiches and pork pies: there’s nothing like a hungry Christian for a table full of sausages.  I won’t need any dinner.


I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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