A Christmas poem from our archives

By Mancott

It was Sunday in a small town Ecclesia, it had fallen on a bright Christmas Day
The President said "Now please bow your heads we are just now a-goin` to pray"


The Grey heads did all slowly lower their beans, and the sisters` large hats were a-flutter
But a sister was thought to say something rude, but the noise heard was only a mutter

Her thoughts were now quite in a different place, whilst the President moaned a slow prayer
Her mind was way back in her cosy old kitchen where an unstuffed large turkey lay bare

"I do hope" she thought "that this age-ed exhorter will be brief and just stick to the point
Then I`ll gallop back home as quickly as pos, my turkey to stuff and anoint"

The service wore on at a very slow pace and the speaker was ponderous and slow
The sister tried hard to contain her impatience and not to shout out 'Go Man, Go'

After thirty long minutes she almost did burst at his halting delivery, so boring
And what she had thought was the old central heating was simply the brethrens` loud snoring
Another ten minutes of nothing uplifting made her seethe with a stirring of heart
"ENOUGH, IT`S ENOUGH" she shouted out loud, and the President woke with a start

He jumped to his feet and thanked the good brother who was just getting into his stride
The greybeards awoke with a shake of their heads, though to some it appeared they had died

The sister stood up and said "REALLY, ENOUGH and I`m leaving this very same minute
You`ve wasted my time on this new Christmas Day and my oven needs a bird to be in it"

The AB`s were livid with thumbs down to each other, agreeing she`d been quite in the wrong
Meanwhile the exhorter still prattling the while had now mumbled for full an hour long

The President grabbing the brother`s rear end said "You really are driving us mad
Sit down you buffoon, it won`t be too soon, enough we have certainly had"

The brother turned round with a shake of his head as he thought he was doing just fine
"You`ve really upset me" he said with a sob, "I`m only on page thirty-nine"

Meanwhile with a flurry all sisters were leaving, their bibles and hymn books all scattered
The AB`s were flummoxed and puffed up their chests (as if any of this really mattered)

The story`s clear moral I`m sure you will reason, just open your minds and you`ll see
An extended oration in anyone`s nation comes second to well-cooked tur-key

1 comment:

  1. Since the picture was taken, and the poem penned, things have move on for the Ecclesia depicted. The grey heads are now white, and most of the meeting is done in the dayroom of the "Eden" care home. The meeting has "withdrawn fellowship" from the president and the turkey cooking sister for "un-christlike behaviour". The Sunday School superintendent's wife has divorced him and taken the kids with her, so now there are no "scholars" left to teach about creation. 4 of the senior members have "gone the way of all flesh" and "sleep awaiting the return of the lord", 2 got demetia and can't even tie their own shoelaces never mine listen to "Bible hour". One soiled themselves in a "Saturday Special"- so she is not mentioned anymore.
    The remaining 5 members meet on alternative Tuesdays at the local scout hut at 10:00 AM and "share fellowship" with 2 Iranian asylum seekers whom it is hoped "the angels" will work on so that they join, rather than just coming along for the tea and biscuits.
    So all in all, a typical 21st Century ecclesia.

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