CHOIR

Robes cover a multitude of sins
But we know what they're hiding
And God reaches the parts that
Ordinary mortals have given up finding
And there they perch like hungry vultures
Waiting for their moment , to rise
And attack the hymn with gusto
Or their captive audience
With those prying eyes
I wonder how they qualified to take
Such elevated status
A singing test , ancestral rites
Or gate crashed without invitation
Yet there they stand and not all blessed
With vocal chords of gold
But duty to the cause remains
For the face behind the robe

FUNERAL

A real good friend was buried today
Near the church at the top of the hill
And the tears of his closest family
Mingled with those whom he knew well
The minister offered his sympathy
Speaking well of the recent deceased
Its not always so easy to know what to say
For the mourners know what they believe
So strange when you die
Everybody's your friend
Plans are altered to see your last day
But the talk is of farming or business or sport
As the cortege rolls slowly away
And black is the colour and sad are the tunes
And deep are the voices who sing
For some , the beginning
For others , the end
Who are happy with three score and ten

CHILDREN'S CHURCH

Where do they go every Sunday
Just after the choir sing
And the organist plays on half-expectedly
Keeping one eye on the congregation
We tell them not to talk to strangers
But happily let them go with someone
They hardly ever see.
He looks a bit old for Children's Church
That man with the red complexion
Dragging a small dissenter along the aisle
Embarrassed by his partner's lack of attention.
He won't return - he'll sit it out
Having weighed up the lesser of two evils
Missing the sermon because duty calls
And the wife needs a well earned break.
I know where I'd like to go next Sunday
If I can latch on to a child
For just a few minutes
I'm as young as I feel but too old
To join the mass exodus on my own

THE BACK SEAT

You must be early to get the back seat
To beat off competition
Where one can hide from pulpit view
And scan the congregation

To be the last you must be first
Or make a reservation
It matters not that you can't see
Or hear the preacher's sermon

Today I came especially prompt
To be one of these mortals
But not a rear seat space remained
Within the building's portals

I'd like to ask them when they came
My guess is Saturday night
But when the Benediction ends
They're up and out of sight

FEELINGS

So how would you have felt
If a man , old enough to know better
Began to build a boat while warning
That it would get wetter and wetter
When it took a forest of wood
Made up of Gopher trees
Enough to fill a furniture store
Or make several small libraries
When he called again and again
For everyone to change their ways
Or preach about a coming flood
On the sunniest of days
But on and on he persevered
Undaunted by the task begun
And never stopping to consider
That the nearest sea was miles from home
When he gathered up his family
And every animal he could find
And shut the door behind them all
Everyone laughed until they cried
Because soon a tiny drop descended
From a small cloud in the sky
To dampen a small piece of Gopher wood
And the spirits of those outside
Who couldn't quite believe their eyes
That what he said had come to pass
And when that tiny drop became a shower
Their hearts were sinking fast
In a flood of selfish hopefulness
That it would never be too late
To take the moral higher ground
And so escape their fate
So how would you have felt
To view a rainbow for the first time
To see an olive leaf again
And the top of a mountain high
Me , I felt so sorry for those outside
And glad that I'd escaped
To be the first to see the sun again
Yes , being a giraffe is great

SUNDAY

Sunday was a special day
In our house
Roast beef , gravy and veg
After Sunday church
Then a quiet afternoon stroll
Down a country road
Or a comfy little snooze
Listening to Tennessee Ford
A quiet fireside family tea
In the background , Songs of Praise
Soon uncles , aunts and cousins came
And for supper always stayed

Sunday's still a special day
In our home
Bombarded by this crazy age
We hold on
To values taught and handed down
From a parent's knee
Not just about right and wrong
But the way Sunday should be

Sunday's not a special day
In some lives
The church and God are far away
In past times
The trouble is we're easily swayed
To join the crowd
Who think its just another day
Not His now

Sunday's still a special day
In His eyes
He rested when He made the world
And so should I
Not just for doing as I please
But taking time
To think of what He means to me
The True Vine

AFTER

After the flood
The Rainbow
After the fleece
The dew
After the whale
Forgiveness
After the famine
Food
After Goliath
Victory
After the lions
Prayer
After the greatest testing
We know He was always there