It is Ash Wednesday and I am at the St. Oswald’s service, that, to be honest, I have rarely attended. This year, I am making a special effort in order, I hope to give a kick start to my Lenten effort. Jesus managed to Fast for 40 days and nights, also fighting off the devil’s attack during this time, so its a pretty poor show if I can’t manage to give up a few biscuits for Lent and maybe even some chocolate?
This feeble original attempt to abstain from biscuits had not taken into account Kevin’s delectable home-made offerings, that he presented to us all after Martin’s wonderful organ recital on the day after the ‘Ashing’. I am not going to be drawn into whether or not I managed to turn my back on his delicious biscuit offerings (the word ‘delicious’ perhaps speaks the truth on this issue) However, well done Martin for playing a well known David Bowie song amidst the classics, although few of us were brave enough to join in as he suggested. I did begin a croaky accompaniment from the back pew in church (without of course the dance moves), but finding myself alone in attempting this, I decided to keep quiet, listen and recall with mixed emotions, thoughts of those hedonistic Rock and Roll days. Not only were there Kevin’s biscuits to tempt me away from my abstinence vows, but I returned home to find a newly replenished biscuit tin offering its wares. I convinced myself at the Supermarket that these were for visitors only! (hmmm) Putting them out for the birds was not an option either with a hovering Misty cat lying in waiting to pounce on any hungry feathered visitors, I can feel your frowns and can hear myself saying…well maybe just the one!
However, I digress…..Getting back to the altar rail on Ash Wednesday and the Rector marking my forehead with the cross, I am reminded of a distinctly secular occasion involving ashes. Years ago our black kitten was accidently run over by a refuse lorry. The bin men took her remains back to the depot and incinerated it, delivering simply its tiny collar and name tag to me at my address as proof of its sad demise. Horrified as to how to tell my young son of this much adored kittens death and to help him achieve some closure, I made the rash decision to collect some nearby bonfire ashes for him to bury instead, just to say goodbye. Son In Law and Vicar Matthew was on hand to carry out the last rites on the supposed remains of the kitten in our garden, although I am thoroughly embarrassed to admit that he was far from aware, at the time, of my cardinal sin of deception. My little son, now a fully grown adult, has forgiven me for the dastardly act, but the family Vicar I don’t think has. So ashes do indeed hold a rather chilling memory for me.
On this occasion however (yes it is still Ash Wednesday), the cross on my forehead has a special Christian meaning and should remind me of my sins and my repentance (including the deceased pussy deception) It has reminded me also of not only what we try to give up for Lent, but for me this time, an attempt to begin Lent and my Journey towards Easter with a different approach. A promise to myself to commit to adding a regular prayer routine to my Lenten days and nights and a ‘proper fast’ for some period over Easter itself. Having spent some time recently with someone at the end of their lift whilst actively committed to a fasting for Ramadan, I am sure that my ‘mini fast’ for Good Friday should be possible. Living alone however does mean that there is no one around (except the cat) to check on my fasting compliance. But of course….God knows.
Finally, my Lenten activities – notwithstanding the excellent Lenten Course offered to us by Fr. David – has involved me taking more care to notice the striking interior of our wonderful Ancient Church, and to begin to learn a little about its past. I was thrilled to find a copy of a History of the Church, compiled by Liz North, which is currently, I understand being updated, and whilst I would not dream of making any insensitive remarks about our recent or current Rectors or Church Wardens I am aware that a little chuckle, or indeed a right good laugh is vital to our health. Indulge me with two which I have chosen from a veritable pot of suspects……
In the 16th Century a certain Robert Moore, a puritanical 17th Century preacher in post at St. Oswald’s, in fact he who was responsible for initiating the building of the stone Rectory, apparently refused to read from the Book of Common Prayer. Elizabeth 1 – the reigning Monarch of the day did not take kindly to those priests who would not ‘toe the ecclesiastical line’ in this respect, and those like Robert, who liked instead to preach incessantly or as we say nowadays – was too fond of the sound of his own voice – was chastised by his Parishioners by shooting and killing his Bull Mastiff. A harsh lesson to be had there about the perils of too much vigorous preaching! Current incumbents please note!
I loved also the reports of a certain Edmund Thomas, Rector of St. Oswald’s at the turn of the 20th Century, He was known to be miserly and eccentric and on cold nights he could apparently be found in the church vestry burning the church wardens coal rather than his own. Needless to say, his behaviour was far from popular with his flock and he Resigned his post in 1906. He must have heard that our Church was becoming Environmentally aware!
I await the current update on the History of St. Oswald’s booklet, to view perhaps with some glee and interest, the idiosyncrasies of our more recent Rectors. Both myself and the Green Team are hoping to find no evidence of similar miserly coal appropriation to burn in the vestry. Its a Fossil Fuel you know!!!
So, I will sign myself off there, and leave you all in peace. My Lenten Loggings at an end.
Until next time dear friends.
Sue
