Sunday, 24 January 2016

Maybe, Cavy

Once again our desire for congregational, interactive and spontaneous worship has led to an awkward pastoral situation.

It's lovely, during a time of open prayer, for everyone to be free to bring the matters most pressing on their own hearts and minds.

So today, Hnaef prayed for Donald Trump's hair to receive sentient life - if it doesn't already have it - and rise up to overthrow the demagogue whose head it covers. Which seems like fair comment.

But then Jazmyn prayed for the Worship Hutch of the Guinea Pig Worshippers of Stewartby to be thrown down "and all their holy plastic tunnels be consumed by fire."

I've just had a call from the Great Guinea Pig. As usual it was very hard to understand - his liturgical language being a mixture of clicks, squeaks and whistles. But by the limited assistance one can derive from sticking a goldfish in one's ear, I believe what he was saying was, "My ceremonial furs are singed and we are rescued as brands from the burning. Please can we stay with you while we get the  Hutch rebuilt?"
"Hallelujah, raise your paws" 

Once again I must insist. All spontaneous prayers must be submitted in writing, a week in advance.

Does anyone have a few bales of straw and some feed pellets?

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