Liturgy for Yorkshire Day

The Greeting

Archdruid: Peace be with you.

All: And with tha spirit.

Archdruid: where hast tha been since I saw thee?

All: On Ilkla Moor baht 'at.

Archdruid: Today we celebrate all the things that make the Yorkshire character great.

All: Misery, resentment, and rhubarb?

Archdruid: I was actually thinking of doggedness, determination...

All: And rhubarb?

Archdruid: Oh ay, rhubarb. And we remember those great moments in Yorkshire history... Those great Yorkshire folk like Richard III...

All: Born in Northamptonshire.

Archdruid: Peter Sallis?

All: Born in London.

Archdruid: And Sean Bean.

All: Oh yeah. Sean Bean. His nephew's got a chip shop in Sheffield.

Archdruid: Gradely. I did offer him a part in our "Passion Play", but he guessed he'd be playing Judas.

All: Can we push the Oldest Man downhill in a bathtub now?

Oldest Man: No!

Archdruid: Oh, ay.

The Oldest Man is pushed downhill in a bathtub. Terrifying assorted badgers, Hern the Hunter, and an adulterous couple out for an "innocent bike ride". Old women in pinnies and headscarves make a guard of honour, sticks of rhubarb aloft.

The Dismissal 

All:  Ear all, see all, say nowt; Eat all, sup all, pay nowt; And if ivver tha does owt fer nowt – Allus do it fer thissen.

Liturgy for a Bishop Closing Down a Choir Concert

Based on these curious events 

Hymn: "I'm gonna make you love me"

Bishop of Fulham: Oh no, you're not.

Audience: Oh - is it panto?

Bishop: Can you stop this racket?

Audience: Who are you? And why are you in a dressing gown?

Bishop: I'm the Bishop of Fulham.

All: It's what you do.

Bishop: The night is over.

All: And the day lies open before us.

Bishop: No, that's the door out that lies open before you. You know what to do.

A Small Child may ask: 

Small Child: But why do you have no shoes?

Bishop: I don't need shoes.

Small Child: Why not?

Bishop: Because I'm a flying bishop.

Drummer: Boom-tish

Bishop: I'm here all week. Which is more than you are. Get out.

Recessional: Dancing Queen

With thanks to Alice Goodman for the tip-off and "it's what I do" joke

Commemoration of Ozzy Osbourne (1948-2025)

 Tomorrow's amended programme is as follows:

10 am - Being hung upside down by Don Arden's heavies (not sexy slang)

1 pm- Biting the heads off bats

4 pm - Being paranoid

7 pm - Just generally swearing in a vaguely Brummie kind of Way

10 pm - Howling at the Moon 

Introductions to Paul by EP Sanders

 

When AI took over Wimbledon

There has been concern about poor line calls by computer at Wimbledon. 

But they're barely trying at the moment.

Given the current levels of accuracy in AI, it's only so long before a tennis player receives a call of "offside". Or possibly "knock on", whatever that is (the Beaker Folk have never been in favour of  the game invented by the Revd Webb-Ellis). 

But what is sure is that Wimbledon is under real threat. What happens when their Artificial Intelligence Overlords decide to replace the ball-children with wombles? Wombles are notoriously efficient. But their habit of travelling overground and underground means the integrity of Centre Court is at risk.

And if AI truly takes over then the whole integrity of the history of Wimbledon is at risk. Who is to say that Vinnie Jones didn't win the men's singles in 1986? Who can put their hands on their hearts and say that Tim Henman didn't win the title ten years running? The entire record of this pointless, inexplicable sport, with a scoring system based around the quarter-hours on a clock, is at risk. When we're told that the points are 15, 30, Pi, and 19.45 - who will stand up for the truth versus the convenient lie?

(Image is Virginia Wade as "Girl with Dolphin". It's true that our Jubilee Grand Slam winner was once used as a nude model for a bronze on London's north bank.

Or is it? Maybe AI is just taking over our entire history.

Rural Ministry Studies - Revised Exam

 Two hours. Only use ChatGPT if you're truly desperate.

1) A congregation member has offered you a second-hand bookcase. Not because he's fly-tipping. He just thought it would be useful as he's recently ordered a nice one.

a) How loudly should you shout "no"? (to the nearest decibel)

b) What are you going to do with the three you already have?

2)  You have squeezed in so many services on a Sunday, to ensure everyone gets one, that some are now scheduled to start before the previous one ends. Do you have a TARDIS? Or are you just struggling to please everyone?

3) If Bryan in Little Tipping hates Gervais in Pigwell Magna, and Felix in Chipping St Stephen hates Marjorie in Boswell St Jude - why do you keep sharing the Peace at benefice services?  (bonus points for explaining why you have benefice services)

4) After driving 87 miles on a typical Sunday, you can hear squeaking. Is it you, or the car?

5) You're considering consolidating all your PCCs into one giant PCC. Have you also thought of therapy?

6) All these retired clergy who are apparently keeping the rural church going - have you ever met one? Or is it just me?

7) [Methodist ministers only] On a scale of 9 to 10 - how lonely are you?

8) [Anglican ministers only]  Don't you wish Justin Welby had cared about rural churches as well? Please do not use swear words

9) Explain the latest exciting new strategy to reorganize pastoral care in your diocese / region / county in diagrammatic form. Try to use no more than 4 dimensions.

10) Regarding that exciting new strategy. How soon do you plan to move to a place with a less exciting new strategy?

11) Sir John's income is £4 million pounds per year. The average house in your area is worth £3 million pounds. 10% of the people in the village come to church. How are you struggling to replace a light bulb in the loo?

Extravert / Introvert Church

 Interesting experiment today, as we experimented with the way different worship styles appeal to different personality types. 

Both services started at 11 am. I led the Introverts service in the gym. Some quiet background music, a short "thought" and everyone given some time for quiet reflection. All done by lunch.

The Extraverts are still going. Checking the CCTV recording I see that Hnaef started by asking if anyone had anything to share.  They're currently onto the third hour of the Peace. 

The Friday Night Prayer Gossip Meeting

So we pray for Mabel. That nobody finds out about her gadding about with Chazney. Especially her husband.

And for Drenzil. That he discovers what that worrying rash is.

And for Modric. Who's not been the same since he found out who his dad really is. Obviously it would be indiscreet to reveal who, but the Lord, who knows everything, knows it's Canon Benskins, the former rector.

And that Thelma can find something to cure her flatulence. It's been agony for her holding it in till the end of the service. Last week she managed to blow the tea lights out after the final blessing.

For Marge, who's confided in me that she's not too sure what Bran is up to when he borrows her make up of an evening.

And for Kit, who's been combing over his bald spot. Quite successfully, until he walked past Thelma after a service.

Amen

Release the Mythical Beasts

This is so embarrassing.

And I should have noticed.

Normally on the morning of the Summer Solstice we have problems with the mythical beasts. They try to follow the timetables, but they originated before British Summer Time. So they have a habit of turning up an hour late, thinking that BST is GMT. Or vice versa. Or something.

But this Summer Solstice, I locked Drayton Parslow in the Doily Shed for messing with my orders of service.

I just went to let him out. It's been five days, after all. And nobody's got a bladder that strong. And we needed to sell some doilies.

And found that the Woodwose, the Piper at the Gates of Dawn, and Hern the Hunter, had all followed me in for a laugh. 

Do you have any idea how terrified a Fundamentalist Baptist gets, when locked in a shed for five days with three mythical creatures?

No. More than that.

He's run off screaming to his cottage. And while I realise that, in a very real sense, we are all to blame, I particularly think his wife, Marjory, has let him down. Surely she should have reported his absence by now.

Liturgy for the Day After Summer Solstice

 Archdruid:  Nights are drawing in

All: Soon be Christmas.

Summer Solstice Sunrise Celebration

Archdruid: Hail, mighty Solstice Sun!

All: Risen like a big, orange, hot ball of exploding gas.

Archdruid: That's a bit literalist innit?

All: Yeah. Drayton Parslow thought it was all a bit pagan, and so he  made everything literal and sober.

Archdruid: So the bit about the mighty chariot crossing the depths of the sea beneath the worlds, the horses' fetlocks flowing in the wind?

All: "You were just at the other side of the world but now you're back on this side again," you mean?

Archdruid: And all that stuff about Phoebus Apollo shining in wisdom and bringing life to the earth?

All: "Gonna be a scorcher today, keep hydrated!"

Archdruid: OK. I'm just off to tie Drayton up in the Doily Shed. See you for sunset.

All: Pimm's already on ice!

Archdruid: And can someone get that Rollright Stone back? People are gonna miss it.