Commendation for a Secular Funeral Where the Celebrant Doesn't Want to be too Depressing

And so we commend Bertie to whatever comes next for him, if anything.

Thanking him for all he was to us, if he can hear us.

And hoping that he may be united with Barbara, if that's the kind of thing that might happen, if they both really want to be reunited cos gosh wouldn't it be embarrassing if she's found someone better on the other side.

If there is another side.

And if finding someone is the sort of thing that happens.

Anyway, [shouts] Cheers Bertie! Bon voyage! At least, if there's some kind of river or sea involved! 

And now we will listen to our exit music, "Imagine".

Celtic Evening Prayer

I think it's generally known that I don't approve of "Celtic" liturgy. The whole thing is totally made up, a way of giving bogua authenticity and a fake patina of vintage to some stuff about puffins or trees that somebody just wrote.

But Burton Dasset nagged and nagged. And he'd just bought a set of Northumbrian Pipes. So I gave in. But I did say last night's Celtic Evening Prayer would be a disaster.

And it certainly was.

A load of Rangers fans turned up.

Liturgy for the Nativity of John Clare (1793)

 First Yokel: It's that John Clare's birthday today then.

Second Yokel: Who were 'e then?

1Y: Some upcountry poet from where they eat eels, drink opium ale, and splash around in swamps.

2Y: Not from Casterbridge then? No relation to Tommy Hardy?

1Y: No.

2Y: Well, shall us go to Peter's Finger for a pretty drap o' summat anyway? I've not been so thirsty since nammit tide last Lammas.

1Y: Wi' all my heart.

2Y: What was that poet called again?

1Y: Can't remember.

Football is Purgatory

Diego Maradona: So I'm still here...

St Peter: Yes.

DM: Outside the pearly gates.

SP: Yes.

DM: Waiting to come in.

SP: Yes.

DM: Yet I can't.

SP: That's right. You have an unexpurgated sin.

DM: Is it the coke?

SP No. It's bad news for your heart. And it damages your nose. And your body may have been a temple. But it was always a short-legged, ugly little temple anyway. It's not that.

DM: Is it the illegitimate child? 

SP: The boss says, who's not had a child where the parentage is a bit... complicated?

DM: So what is it? It's not the hand....?

SP: Hand...?

DM: Of.....

SP: Of...?

DM: Is that it?

SP: Yes, first up, borderline blasphemy. But beyond that, cheating.

DM: Cheating? Is that such a sin?

SP: You know that God really is an English man?

DM: Oh no. 

SP: Yes.

DM: So what do I have to do?

SP: A high ball will be crossing the Miami Stadium. All you've got to do is knock it down to Anderson.

DM: So you're telling me to cheat to change the result of a game?

SP: Well, it's not like you haven't done it before.

DM: But surely people will see it on telly and know that really was the "hand of God"? I thought God refused to show proof of his existence.

SP: Don't worry. They'll blame it on a cable.

DM: So this is it? Just stick my hand out... 

SP: Well done! Nice finish from Bellingham.  Do you want to watch the rest of the game?

DM: Do England lose on penalties?

SP: No.

DM: Miracles do happen then?  Open the gates, Pete boy!

Gifts to the Clergy

You know how it is.

You have an item you no longer need in your house.

And you have a choice.

You could try and sell it on Vinted. But it's old and/or broken.

You could take it to landfill. But that would involve lugging it onto a trailer, or hailing a (wo)man with a van to get it there.

Or  you could give it to your local church or clergy.

It's so easy.

'But I thought St Murgatroyd's could use a sixth out-of-tune piano.'

'Why would St Jude's in the Wold not want a sixth book case?'

'If you replace the broken leg, and deep-clean the cushions, that would be the perfect manse settee. It was great for my great-aunt Angie for the last 60 years.'

Just no. Dear innocent clergy person, who wants to be thought well of by everyone - if you say 'yes' you will be mopping up your settlement's used TV cabinets, filing cabinets, computer desks, Sodastreams and crappy paintings forever.

Just say no. Ignore the siren voices saying 'it's only an old air fryer. What could be the harm?'

Just say no.

Your garage will thank you.

Liturgy for the Day after Summer Solstice

Archdruid: Nights are drawing in.

All: Soon be Christmas.

The Beaker Collect for the World Cup

Inspired by the Church of England's prayer, the Beaker Folk of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (but not Epsom) has released its own World Cup Prayer. I am delighted to share it with you.

Nativity of Thomas Hardy (1840)

(two besmocked yokels lean over a gate)

Yokel 1: It be that Thomas Hardy's birthday then 

Yokel 2: That it be.

Y1: Shall us goo and wish en well?

Y2: Mortal craters like us voäkes can't do that.

Y1: Why's that?

Y2: Because he's dead and gone, as we all shall be.

Y1: Shall us wish en "Happy Heavenly Birthday" then? Like on Facebook?

Thomas Hardy: No. For an afterlife is but a human invention, to make the modern life more bearable for us as we walk the shaggy heaths below the empty Wessex skies.

Y2: How come you can talk to us then?

TH: Because I am but the personification - the anthropomorphization, if you will - of your hopes for what comes beyond the grave. Incidentally, any chance of getting my ashes back from Westminster Abbey? I'm weary of people treading on me, and never wanted to be there.

Y1: If this is our imagination how can you say words like anthroponilification which we unlearned yokels don't even know?

TH: Bugger. I knew I'd get caught out if I got sucked into the discussion.

Y2: Art coming to Peter's Finger for a pretty drop of tipple?

TH: No. I've got tea and crumpets with TS Eliot.

Y1: And Peter's Finger has been turned into a trendy suburban house.

Y2: The Convivial Rabbit then?

Y1 Wi' all ny heart. It's more expensive than the Royal Oak, but a much nicer place.

When Trinity Sunday coincides with Brian Harvey Day

It occasionally happens that Trinity Sunday coincides with Brian Harvey Day.

On 31st May 2005, Brian Harvey of the boy band East 17 ran over himself with his own car after eating too many jacket potatoes.

And I looked into the history - sometimes troubled, it has to be said, of Brian Harvey and East 17. And I noticed that after many line up changes, only one original member of what is called E-17 now is still in the band. I'm not even convinced that they're all from Walthamstow.

And this isn't unusual, of course. People of a different generation will remember Syston's finest, Showaddywaddy. Still touring. Only one member left from the good old days though.

Or Genesis fans will argue that Genesis weren't Genesis when Peter Gabriel left. Or Steve Hackett. Or Phil Collins. And were Take That still Take That when Robbie left? Or when Jason did?

We don't apply the same criteria to other groupings of course. Nobody claims Liverpool aren't the same football club because the original line-up aren't still playing. It's the club that matters. Nobody says the London Symphony Orchestra aren't the same organisation as when they were founded, or Marks and Spencer fundamentally changed when Spencer left the band.

And I think we can learn a lot about the Trinity from that.

Melt Down in the Moot House

And so as the temperature passed 90°F in the Moot House this afternoon, we had to face a terrible fact.

Not that the world is becoming increasingly hot, though that is disturbing.

Not that the most powerful men in the planet are engaged in a ceaseless flurry of activity to stoke up the warming. Through "drill, baby drill," and endless unnecessary data centres, churning out pictures of trolls carrying badly-rendered Union Jacks and American flags in the cause of "patriotism". Because what says "authentically Ingerlish" more than trolls with bizarre fingers and back-to-front Union Jacks in a computer-generated image that costs the earth?

No.

Worse even than that.

The tea lights have all melted.

So we have spent the afternoon combining them into a giant tea light in the shape of Andy Burnham, "King of the North". Whose puzzled looks and puffing cheeks are now topped by a flame rising from the top of his head, as we celebrate the Feast of St Andy. So we will eat us black pudding pies this evening, and prepare for the liberation of England from something undefinable by a bloke we'd half forgotten. Or, at least, its liberation until in 2 years' time the Labour party panics at the state of the polls and installs Angela Rayner, Jess Phillips or Nigel Farage.

Still - I hope all the Beaker Folk enjoy the Northern Pie Experience. We've packed plenty of tripe in with the black pudding. You can't get much more authentically northern than that.

Trinity Sunday Sermon - pre-release

Every year we get the stress from the people preaching on Easter Sunday. The illustrations that are blatantly heretical. The crying because the vicar has gone away and left the curate to preach (mostly the congregation crying rather than the curate).

So I'm saving you the trouble.

Before you even get near Trinity Sunday. 

It's a traditional three-point sermon, based on insights from three theologians:

1. 'Tis mystery all (Charles Wesley)

2. It's a mystery (Toyah Wilcox)

3. A mystery it is (Yoda)

We may have the wrong Yoder.